Gettysburg

One-hundred and fifty years.

It's a long time. Certainly longer than any man now alive will ever live. Longer than most people in the history of the world have lived. And longer than the lifetime of most words.

There are obvious exceptions, of course. Most notably among them are the words of prophets. But others, such as the Gettysburg Address, may as well have been spoken by prophets, for in my mind, they were inspired by God. They will last forever.

This past Tuesday, November 19, 2013, marked the 150th anniversary of Abraham Lincoln's famous speech. It was only 272 words in length (that's also debated) and only took about two minutes to deliver. But it changed the face of this nation and set the stage for freedom for all men and women, not just white ones.

It was my honor and privilege to be in attendance at the anniversary celebration this week.

Many TV stations were there, both local and national, and thousands of others trying to capture a bit of the historical significance of the day. In one of the pictures above (third from the left) you can even see the 16th President of the US (or his reasonable facsimile) delivering the speech.

After the address I went to the battlefield and spent the rest of the day exploring, taking photos and soaking in the history that is Gettysburg. I love the place. I wish I could go there more often. Though it's only about 80 miles from my house, I'm the only one in the family who really digs history. So I go alone or not at all. Too often it's the latter.

In some historical places it's hard for me to imagine what went on there. I have a hard time with the Manassas Battlefield and Ford's Theater and even to some degree the Carthage Jail. But in Gettysburg, the battlefield is so vast that, for me at least, it's easy to see General Pickett charging across the mile-wide field. It's elementary to see Chamberlain's immeasurable bravery, fixing bayonets and holding off the rebel charge up Little Round Top. It's a simple thing for me to see General Lee and General Longstreet conferring on what to do next.

I love this place. Though I know the awful and gruesome things that happened here, for me, history lives on. I'm so grateful to have been able to attend.

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WWJD

I read the newspaper on-line just about every day. I like to keep up with what's going on in the world.

After all, I am a former news guy myself. I've always been sort of a news junkie. I think that's why I enjoyed being in the media so much. I have always liked being the first one to tell people about something that was happening. I like being a news-breaker.

Over the years I've read about Presidents (some good, some not so) and Kings. I've read about stupid criminals and smart doctors. I've read about sports and life and money.

And I've also read about natural disasters.

So it's been with great interest that I've read about the awful typhoon that hit the Philippines on November 7th. I've watched the evening news for word on how clean-up efforts are going. I've talked to people who have family there, interested in finding a way that I can help. I'm just one guy, but I think the efforts of one guy, especially if they are multiplied by several hundred or several thousand even, can be very influential.

Last Friday, as usual, I pointed my browser to USAToday. I know, not the hard-hitting journalism that a newspaper like, say, the New York Times or Washington Post would afford me, but news just the same. As I read through the headlines on the front page, I noticed two that were side-by-side. They read:

• Philippine People Anxiously Await World's Help
• Thousands Camp Out Overnight Hoping To Get New Xbox

The first thought to cross my mind was of Jesus. What would He do if He were here? Somehow I don't think he would be reveling with the campers. I am pretty confident in saying that He would be trying to find a way to help. I believe He'd have His hands dirty, helping clean up the mess and helping rebuild. I believe He would donate whatever time He had to helping alleviate the suffering.

The second thought that crossed my mind was literally this sentence; "Well, Jesus IS here. YOU are His representative."

Humbling experience. Head shaking experience. Get some determination experience.

So, now I'm trying to help. It's mostly her idea, but Kelly and I are gathering clothing in our home that we never wear anymore. Instead of taking it down to the Starvation Army, we're trying to find clothes that are too small for the kids that we can send overseas. We're sending them via a gal in Kelly's office who has family there. She will send whatever we gather to those in need.

It's not much, but it makes me feel good. It might not make much of a difference in such a vast sea of suffering.

But, you know, I honestly think it's going down the same road that the Savior would walk if He were here.

Because in all actuality, He is.

And I don't think He's playing Xbox.

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I Love Life

If you have a minute, I'd really like to tell you how much I love life.

First, I have the best, most loving and lovely wife that ever graced this rock. She has given me way more love than I deserve over the past 20 or so years, and I will never be able to afford the love she will give me in the future. I love her so much it makes my mind hurt when I try to comprehend it. She is THE BEST. The absolute best.

Second, my kids are so intelligent, good looking and basically just danged good kids, that they make Wally and The Beaver look like trouble-makers. I'm so proud of them for their accomplishments, but I'm also just so danged proud as a dad because they're my kids. They are the best kids a dad could EVER have. I love them with all my heart.

Third, I come from a wonderful family, with a loving Mom and Dad who were the best examples I could ever have. I love them both more than I could express. And I grew up with siblings who were my friends and continue to be so. I truly have been blessed in this regard. I've also got friends who I know will be my friends throughout all eternity. Maybe I can build my house in the hereafter next to theirs. Too many of them live in places I never get to go. Those reunions are so sweet.

Fourth, have you looked outside lately? Isn't it gorgeous? This world is so beautiful. Just look at this picture I took the other day of the sunset here in Virginia. Looking at that, how could you NOT love how beautiful this place is? The colorful trees in Autumn, the beautiful flowers in Spring, the gorgeous sunsets you can see just about any day. I can hear Louie Armstrong singing "What a Wonderful World" right now.

My niece, Alison, wrote on her blog this morning about people who think they are ugly or fat or somehow less than wonderful. It got me thinking about how I feel about myself, what I'd like to be in this life and how I'd like to be remembered. I'm not perfect, but I am absolutely perfect in some things. And to be quite frank about it, I like me. I really do. I sometimes wish I were taller and had more hair, but you know what? I've come to accept that neither of those, along with a host of other things, is going to happen, so I'd best get on with loving me. And I do. I'm a child of a loving and perfect Heavenly Father, and to be quite honest about it, with His genes coursing through my veins, how could I be anything but spectacular?

I receive a weekly email from the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. It gives me updates on the Choir and its activities. It also gives me the Spoken Word from the previous week's radio broadcast. In the email I got today, it talked about the lessons of our lives. It quoted an obituary a few kids wrote for their mother when she passed away. I'd like to quote it again here:

To love fiercely, and tell people before it's too late.
To be loyal, always.
To enjoy life-one bite at a time.
To laugh easily-with others and at yourself. . . .
To be generous with your time, money, and heart.
To love [yourself].
And to never forget that God adores [you].
- Obituary of Lucile Johnson

Think about it. If people remembered YOU this way, and you thought of yourself this way, wouldn't that make your whole life, even all of the suffering, worth it?

So here's my question for you. What are you going to do today to make it so?

I can tell you one thing we've done in our family. Since my sweetie and I got married and had kids, we've not gone ONE day without saying "I Love You" to each other. We never say goodbye on a phone call without saying it. We never leave the house without saying it. I also take the opportunity to tell me kids the same thing every chance I get. I think it's made a difference. At least I know my kids aren't shy about saying those three words. Of that I'm glad.

God adores me. God adores you. He really does. God, who made the world, the universe and everything in them, loves us! He knows our names. He knows everything about us. He is interested in our lives. God. Interested in me!

Makes you think, doesn't it?

I LOVE LIFE!

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Honey Don't

While my tests ran this morning I cruised around the Internet for a couple of minutes. I was VERY troubled when I came upon an article on Yahoo (it's here if you want to read it) about the mass disappearance of our country's honey bees. It stated that in the last seven years, about one-third of all of the honeybees in our country have just disappeared, and no one knows quite why.

They call it Colony Collapse Disorder, but evidently no one knows what causes it. The worker bees just leave the hive and don't come back.

This guy at the US Department of Agriculture says that they're not dying from starvation because they would find bodies. They're not dying in the hive from pesticides because they would find bodies. They're just leaving and not returning. He says the experts don't know where they're going...they are just disappearing.

But, he says, it's not uncommon for a diseased animal to want to die away from their home. So, the bees could be diseased in some way and are flying away from the hive (just not dying IN the hive) and are dying elsewhere.

Then he points out the part that scared me. He says that if scientists don't figure out what's killing the bees, in a few years many of the things we eat will be gone, such as apples, nuts, fruits and vegetables. Gone. With nothing to pollinate the flowers, many of the foods we eat won't be able to grow.

I sat here ruminating about that for a short while when a scripture screamed out in my head like almost nothing has before. Look it up. Doctrine and Covenants Section 45, verse 31. I'll wait.

Instead of that, let me print it out here for you.

D&C 45:31
31 And there shall be men standing in that generation, that shall not pass until they shall see an overflowing scourge; for a desolating sickness shall cover the land.

You may think this is a stretch, but I'm not so sure. I've been somewhat of a conspiracy theorist my whole life, so my brain is used to thinking like this.

What if the scourge, the desolating sickness, isn't human?

What if the D&C is talking about the bees?

We know from not only modern-day revelation but also ancient scripture that there will be bad times in the coming years. The Brethren have been challenging us, pleading with us and begging us to stock up on food, to have a year's supply, to start now.

At the very least it's something to think about. I'm not saying my thoughts are gospel, and I may very well be wrong.

But what if I'm not?

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UD Man!

After many months of sleepless nights, wondering what I was seeing, I just found out what this sign means! It's been bugging me so much that I asked the prestigious BYU-bred 100-Hour Board. This board is made up of current and former BYU students who have 100 hours from the submission of a question to post an answer. However, the all-knowing board was stumped and no curiosity-slaking answer was forthcoming. Since the signs I see on my way to work each day are next to a road that was just constructed, I decided to ask a good friend of mine who works for an environmental construction company here in VA. I believe they had helped build this new road. He told me that the sign stands for "under drain". It's the marker for the outlet of an under drain for the road. He also said I may see other signs that have CD on them. Those signs mark the inlet/outlet of a cross drain on the road. My curiosity has now been satisfied, and I can go back to my regularly scheduled programming! Thanks, Mike!!

Indulge Me

Come with me, if you will, while I take a short sojourn in history. Today we'll be visiting the year 1517 and a dude named Martin Luther.

Martin Luther was a Catholic priest in Germany who strongly opposed the sale of "indulgences". Remember that an indulgence was a temporary forgiveness of sin. According to the church, after you had shaken off this mortal coil, an indulgence could actually shorten the time you had to spend in purgatory In Luther's day, these indulgences were being sold for money.

Luther didn't cotton to that idea very much. He vehemently disputed the teaching that God's forgiveness could be sold, and so he wrote up his "Ninety-Five Theses" and nailed them to the door of All Saints Church in Wittenberg, Germany (picture to the right). When he refused to retract his theses, even though admonished to do so by Pope Leo X, he was excommunicated and branded an outlaw. Thus started the Protestant Reformation.

Now, I don't know if you were aware of this or not, but indulgences are still granted by the Pope to this very day. In fact, now's your chance to get one! If you are forward thinking enough and have a Twitter account (it's free!), you can get an indulgence (maybe more than one?) between July 23rd and 28th. How? Let me explain.

No, there is too much.

Let me sum up.

July 23rd through the 28th is World Youth Day in Brazil. And though it seems like that's really more like World Youth Week than World Youth Day, the Pope has decided that he is going to be granting indulgences via Twitter to his nearly 2.7 million Twitter followers.

The only requirement is that you have to somehow "tune in the world to World Youth Day broadcasts or take other spiritual actions." What those actions are, I'm not sure, but according to the Vatican, this whole Twitter idea is a way for the "faithful to get the spiritual benefits of World Youth Day even if they can't be there."

Before you get out the clubs and pitchforks, let me assure you that I am NOT making fun of Catholics. Having served my LDS mission in Argentina, I have the utmost respect for the Catholic Church. I worked with them every day for two years. I've seen what good that church can do, and I have seen plenty of good people who were associated with it. And I'm being serious about that.

But indulgences? Via Twitter? REALLY?

I'm all for forgiveness, believe me. I, among all men, need it most. But what about Godly sorrow? What about making amends? What about confessing? All of these are NECESSARY steps to being forgiven. It's a hard, long, drawn-out process that's supposed to take a lifetime. Can you really just follow a Twitter feed and be forgiven? Sounds pretty easy!

Wait for it. This one was even better! In 2001, then Pope John Paul 2 granted indulgences to anyone who walked through the bronze door of St. Peter's Basilica in Rome. Get that? Walk through a door! That's all you had to do! Dang it! And where was I that day? Mowing my lawn! You mean to tell me I'm going to have to spend more time in purgatory because my lawn was too high? Dang it!!

Now that I've thought about this a little more, though, I am kind of warming up the idea of social media being a good source of forgiveness. Heck, maybe I'll mention it to the Bishop when I see him at Church on Sunday. Maybe I can get him to cut me some slack because I'm his friend on Facebook. After all, I HAVE been coveting a new cell phone lately.

Where is Martin Luther when you need him?

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The Fear

The fear sits alone inside my heart,
No friends to keep company.
Sometimes it stands and tries to speak,
And show off it's buff physique.
But no one will stand to accompany,
At long last it breaks apart.

Like nervous sheep on a moonless night
I wait on the coyote's howl.
The blood and the fangs will surely flash,
When brawn and clever finally clash,
The fear is back on the prowl.
And I am left doused in fright.

The fear sits alone, scared of itself,
And so it does all it can
To lash out and wound and take control.
But Another's there and on patrol.
A calming touch, a gentle hand
To redeem me from myself.

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Day Three - Panama Canal

Today was the day we got to sleep in! YES!!

It was also the day we were going to do some things the kids actually wanted to do. Like go to the Panama Canal.

I've been hearing about this canal my whole life, how it was one of the major miracles of the world, one of the greatest things man had ever accomplished. After seeing it, I must agree. Pretty danged cool.

We watched some smaller boats go through, but seeing how they close the locks, let the water out (or in) and fill the adjacent locks to the same level, then open the gates and let them through was pretty cool. I found myself wishing I'd see Ginger and Mary Ann out for a three hour tour, but no. Just some drunk guys on the deck of the catamaran. Oh, well. Next time we go to Panama, maybe.

The photo on the left above is of Hannah and me before we went up to view the locks. That's the visitor's center in the background. We were at the Miraflores locks. If you want to look it up on the map, it's here.

The second photo is of the gates that closed so they could even up the water levels in the different sides. If you look closely, you can see the different levels of water on either side. It only takes them about ten minutes to level them up, too. Danged cool.

The third pic is of Hannah at the controls. Note the quality of the haircut on the guy next to her. Now that's comedy! "What do you mean you're giving it all you've got, Scotty? I need more power!!"

After the canal we headed over to the Caiz de Armador, which connects Naos Island, Perico Island and Flamenco Island to the mainland. These islands, were not there when the world was created. They were created by all of the dirt that was dug out for the canal. Imagine, if you will, that you are the head dude digging all of that dirt out of the Panamanian landscape. What in the world do you do with it all? Sell it for topsoil? I think not, McDuff. Of course, you make a new island, or two, or three. Instead of making the mountains higher, they made the ocean lower, making islands where the people can go and goof off. And goof off they do!

The two pictures on the far right above are of Hannah and Jacob riding Segues on the islands. Fun times, man. Hannah wrecked, I got run into by some kids on a bicycle built for two, and Jacob nearly ran into the Pacific Ocean because he couldn't make the danged thing stopped. I kept yelling at him, "Lean back! Lean back!" He finally got it to stop, but after that he went A LOT slower.

Now look at the fourth picture from the left. If you blow it up you'll see a bus in the water. Not a great shot, but it's a bus in the water, nonetheless. We were sitting eating lunch (just before the Segue rides) and saw what looked like a bus gliding through the water. As it got nearer it looked more and more like a bus. "But, Ralph. How can a bus float on the water?" "Good question, Ed. I don't know." But it was a bus, I swear! It floated right up to the a road and drove up into the parking lot. Amazing! Gives new meaning the old term busman's holiday.

Nothing left to do today but put the B&B address into the GPS and drive home. Bless Garmin for their wonderful little invention. I don't know how we would have gotten around Panama without it. Of course, we had to drive through some of the nastier parts of Panama City, as evidenced by some of the pix below, but it was a good edumacation for the kiddos. Not everyone in this beautiful world lives in the same semi-luxury they do. I think that goes way underappreciated today.

By the way, don't let me EVER give you the impression that Panama is nothing but a gorgeous land with WONDERFUL people. They have problems just like everyone else.

Peace out!

Coming soon - Day Four - Pipeline Road

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Sitting at My Window on a Beautiful Day (with thanks to Robert Frost)

I sit in my cube, the window bare.
I look outside at what is there.
The clouds, the birds, the rain, the sun.
Such pretty things. I sit and stare.

Inside of me a war is run.
It aches my heart when even one
Of God's good children turns away.
From this good fight we've all begun.

Can't they see the beautiful way
That God's created the world today?
The things beheld from my window keep,
Fill me with joy as I make my way.

Please think to see and then to keep
The sacred things we hold so deep.
For at the end, ere we fall asleep
The beautiful things we all can reap.
The beautiful things we all can reap.
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Wall of Cold

I like to go on vacation
where there's a lot of surf and sun.
I like to put on the sunblock
and bake until I'm done.
But the best is going back to the room
(I treasure it as gold),
And opening up the hotel door
and feeling the wall of cold.

I've been to the jungles of Panama,
and seen lots of birds and such.
I've been to Costa Rica where
the bugs are just too much.
I've skied in Utah, laid on the beach,
gone wherever my life has rolled.
But the greatest thing about any trip
is feeling the wall of cold.

I've seen dart frogs in the rainforest,
and sailed on the ocean blue.
I've rafted in West Virginia, and
visited old Yellowstone, too.
Visited Mickey and all of his friends,
where joy is so uncontrolled.
But the thing I like best at the end of the day
is feeling the wall of cold.

England, Germany, Holland and Wales.
Ireland and Belgium and France.
I've seen them all and had a great time,
And even had some romance.
Caught some games at the old Yankee park
With joy that I could not withhold.
But the greatest of these was turning the key
and feeling that wall of cold.

I've climbed a volcano on the Big Island
and bungeed in Charlotte, NC, too.
I've ridden some roller coasters
and driven without a clue.
I'd do them all again someday.
I say it loud and bold.
'Cause anywhere you go is great
if you can just feel the wall of cold.

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Day Two - Parque Metropolitano

I never imagined how miserable life could be without a camera battery.

You see, I left mine at home.

Knucklehead!

Dope!

Dimwit!

IDIOTA!!

Believe me, I've called myself every one of those names and way more since discovering early that second day that I had indeed left the battery at home. In fact, the Geoffrey's Tamarin (which species we saw) above has the look on his face that Kelly had when I told her. "You did what?"

I just left the battery, though, not the camera nor the lenses. Nothing like carrying around a useless paperweight while on vacation.

Oh, well. Pucker up and kiss the ugly fat girl on the jaw (sorry). There's nothing else you can do, because evidently Nikon does not supply Panama with any of their fine products. I tried.

So, every picture you see here was either taken with my Ipad, my little point and shoot Kodak, or is borrowed from some anonymous user on my Google machine. Talk about disappointing.

To finally get down to it, day two was dedicated to birding. We hired a dude named Gonzalo to show us around, and show us around he did. I think we got a good 30 different species of birds at the Parque Metropolitano, a large natural park in the middle of Panama City. To give you a little better understand of where it is and how big it is, there's a map here.

Just a few of the birds we saw on this day (not my pictures) were:

Blue Dacnis Dusky Antbird Common Potoo White-Necked Puffbird Red-Crowned Woodpecker Squirrel Cuckoo

It was a long walk around the park, most of the morning. We also saw Howlers (my favorites), a Coatimondi (look it up here, some Tamarins, and a Two-Toed Sloth. All in all, a great first day in the country, except for the fact that I was almost mauled by the Coatimundi. Thank goodness there were no Coatimundi ankle-biters with dear 'ole dad. He would have been on me like stink on a skunk.

Then Gonzalo would have really earned his money.

Coming soon - Day Three - The Panama Canal

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Panama - The Adventure Begins

Huh?
What the heck?
What's that sound?
The alarm?
Why's it going off at 2:27 in the blessed AM?
Pana-what?
Oh, yea!

Panama!!!

Yea, baby! Get up, take a shower, get ready. Three o'clock taxi. At Dulles Airport by 4. Check in, through security (take off your shoes, Alice!), hurry up and wait at the gate for a couple of hours and then on the plane by 6 and out of the US by noon. Early morning to be sure. We were all dog-tired, as evidenced by the picture to the left, but as the next few blog entries should attest, it was so, so worth it!

The first stop on our itinerary was Miami. Very nice airport with trains and everything, but boy is it crowded. So many ants endeavoring to get to their own hills. After a few hours of layover, we got on our plane and headed over the Caribbean Sea (first time I've ever seen Cuba) toward Panama. Flying in there was all kinds of rain. It's the start of the rainy season in Panama, and my heart sank a little when I saw how much rain there actually was. Not to worry. It hardly rained at all while we were there, and I don't remember it once coming down in buckets.

After claiming our bags, we headed to customs. Now, if you're a local, all it took to get through customs was your driver's license and a smile. Walk on through, brotha, and get on home. If you're not Panamanian, however, well, that's another story. See the photo to the right? That's the Disney line to get to customs for Los Yanquis. It's kind of a blurry picture, but it gives you the idea. Once we were at the front of the line we had our pictures taken as well as our fingerprints. See that cop standing over there? That's an Uzi he's got in his hand. Dude, there's no messing with the Panamanians.

Once the government had exacted their pound of flesh, we got our rental car and headed out. To say that this car was small is to say that Paul Bunyon was an average sized guy. Just a little bit of a understatement. Just a little. I called this thing our clown car. There were four of us who rode in this car most of the time. Each of us had an average of 2 1/2 bags, one of which you could almost crawl into and shut the lid. When we were in this car without any bags, like when we were going birding or something like that, the people in the back seat could almost literally read the tag in the back of the driver's shirt. I mean, it was SMALL!

You couldn't have fit more than 10 clowns in that thing, and some of them would have had to be kids. Good thing the other four of us had a larger car in which we could put a sizable amount of our bags. Still, the two people in the back had to sit nearly on top of each other. It was awful. I just laughed when I looked at it for the first time.

After we used a borrowed shoe horn to get everyone in the two cars, we broke out the GPS I'd brought from home and high-tailed it to our first Bed and Breakfast. More like a Bed and once-in-a-while Breakfast, but a nice place, nonetheless. Pool. Tennis court. Basketball goal. Outdoor kitchen/dining area. Beautiful. You can see Jacob lounging by the pool in the photo on the right. That is the house we stayed in. The rest of our party (Kelly's mom and her husband, and Kelly's brother and his wife) stayed in the main house. The solitary life was very nice. Lots to be said for privacy.

We used the rest of that first day (Friday) to rest up from our trip, to get acquainted with our surroundings and enjoy the hospitality of our hosts. Nice folks at the Coconut Lodge.

But I must mention here that Panamanian drivers are NUTS! If they are in the next lane and are ahead of you by two millimeters, they are going to try and come over in front of you, mostly without signals. Pedestrians just walk out into traffic without the slightest worry. Motorcycles driver between cars. My mouth is still agape that we didn't see anyone killed. Dogs sleep right next to the road. Kids walk to and from school IN THE ROAD. People ride their bikes in the middle of the lane. It's absolutely amazing. It seems there are no rules whatsoever. I will give you one piece of advice, though. ALWAYS carry your drivers license. I got stopped three times and once didn't have it. Almost landed me a ticket. Lucky for me I have a cute body. Ba ha ha ha ha ha!! Anyway, view the video here as evidence that I lie not.

Coming soon - Day Two - Parque Metropolitano

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I Can Miss Like That

I run around a lot of courts
of the basketball kind near here.
I lace up my Ked's
And run with purebreds.
And then kind of just disappear.

For most of the guys I play with
Seem to think they're in combat.
When I can't hit a lick
And put up a brick
They seem to wish I'd just scat.

'Cause once I miss a couple of shots,
Or two or three or ten,
They neglect to pass
And then, oh, alas,
It seems I'm left alone again.

For all of those selfsame players
Who doink shots off of the iron
Will all look away.
They won't look my way
And I don't get the passes I earn.

G'head, take all those shots, my buddies
Hitting iron or board or air.
I can't buy a pass
I'm above your age class
But I still haven't got a prayer.

You'd rather I sat on the sidelines
And watch all your glorious play,
Instead of me playing.
Hey, guys, I'm just saying.
The message I'm trying to convey,

Is that none of you are real professionals.
We're all really there to have fun.
But it's no fun for me
When you so egregiously
Think that I can be so easily outdone.

These days I may be somewhat slower
Than I was before you were e'en begat.
But let me just say
All your dreams I'll allay
Hey guys! I can miss just like that!

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These Things I Love (My Hallmark Greeting Card Poem)

Star that twinkle.
The sun so bright.
Harvest moon
On a cloudless night.

Sleeping quite late
On a Saturday.
Mountains so high.
A western day.

Precious honeysuckle
When it blooms in spring.
And all the joy
That Christmas brings.

My children's laugh
And a cool, cool stream.
Watching tv
And having a dream.

Playing some ball
And puffy white clouds.
My children's talents
That make me proud.

Bright yellow flowers
And purple and white.
A nice cool zephyr
And flying a kite.

The smell of lilac.
Sunsets out west.
The smell of a baby
And being the best.

All of these things
I love so profound.
They give me such joy
Like nothing I've found.

But there's one other thing
I love most in my life.
I love none of these things
Like I do my sweet wife.

Going Up To Paradise

My poor heart aches,
And I want to weep.
Would it be better
To drown in the deep
Than feel the pain
This world provides?
Lord, give me the peace
That in Thee abides.

One day I'm going up
To visit Paradise.
I'll be wearing good clothes
'Cause I hear it's nice.
And when I get way up there
I ain't never gonna leave.
My reward in Paradise
Is what I work to achieve.

I feel so lost
On this big old earth.
Sometimes I feel so lonely
Like I've lost all worth.
I can feel the nails
As they pierce my soul.
And I find myself wishing
I could regain control.

One day I'm going up
To visit Paradise.
I'll be wearing good clothes
'Cause I hear it's nice.
And when I get way up there
I ain't never gonna leave.
My reward in Paradise
Is what I work to achieve.

And one day when the scars are healed
And I remember them no more,
I'll kiss my Savior's feet at last as
Tears of joy fall on the floor.

But for a few more years
I think I'll stay right here
And enjoy the life
That my Savior dear
Has given me to live
Before I live in Paradise.
And when I finally go
It will be oh, so very nice.

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Hockin' A Loogie

There's something I hate
Like nothing I know.
It grosses me out
And makes me feel low.
It sure makes me angry
And gives me a frown
When some people think
They should spit on the ground.

They spit where I walk,
Hocking loogies with ease.
Don't those folks know
Their phlegm carries disease?
It's one of the grossest
of habits I've found.
Why, oh why do folks
Spit on the ground?

It gets on my shoes
Tracked into my car.
These dopey buffoons
Spit wherever they are.
It gets in my house.
It gets all around.
Oh, why do people think
They can spit on the ground?

It's disgusting, it's crude
When the sidewalk is covered.
I saw't in a pool once
And I'm just now recovered.
I guess some folks think
I'm too tightly wound,
But I just don't get
Why people spit on the ground.

The next time you think
You have bats in your cave,
Take out a tissue
And try to behave.
Don't be so rude as
To snart where you're found.
'Cause nobody likes when
You spit on the ground.

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Get Me One

Dude, I have got to get me one of these! I don't mean to be an ad man, but you can find out how here. If, by chance, you are looking to buy me a President's Day gift this year, this would be what I want. It would also serve for St. Patrick's Day, Easter, Victoria Day (for you Canucks out there), St. Jean Baptiste Day (Quebec) or even Pioneer Day or Bastille Day (let them eat cake!). Any excuse for a new little toy!

They Always Come In Threes

The master plunged down to his knees As strength gushed swiftly from his limbs. His proud possessions drifted by While tears streamed freely, proud and grim. The prize snatched by the dragon then. The master grieved, as well his wife. The fluid seeped and filled the ground, But stabbed him as a long-blade knife.

A new vat graced the cryptic base
And dosh in thousands then changed hands.
His checkbook light, his spirits low,
He paid the man from foreign lands.

The master set upon his couch,
The sweat from labor spanned his brow.
A shriek he caught, it was his mate.
He thought, "Good Gosh, what is it now?"

Descended now to cellar still
The master breathed a weighty sigh.
"What do you want, my stunning bride?"
He held before her forlorn eye.

"There is no heat," she said with ache,
"The motor's dead, what do we now?"
The master stooped and peered inside,
But fixing it he knew not how.

Sir Edwin came and sold them new.
Forsooth he seized four hundred more.
"The poorhouse will be our next home,"
He thought, ere Ed trod out the door.

The master's wife laid down her pate
As heat anew filled hearth and bone.
The master groaned and rested, too,
"If this keeps up we'll need a loan."

He shut his eyes and clutched her hand,
And stroked her elbow and her knees,
Then settled down and sighed and said,
"I hope these things don't come in threes."

POSTSCRIPT

A few days passed, the master dreamed
And worked and slept, his visage beamed.
With all things good inside his world,
All things were right, or so it seemed.

But fate can kill the sweetest thought,
Can waste the world, or so we're taught.
He came from work, his wife in tears,
What could be wrong? They hadn't fought.

What had he done? Why did she cry?
What did I do? He asked her why.
She look through tears and held his hand.
"Computer data doesn't lie."

"I've run the stats and run the sums.
I've seen the end, my heart it numbs.
I cannot lie, it makes me sad.
Beware the day, the taxman comes."

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Not So Much

I'm a cyclist. Not a great one. Not even a good one. But a cyclist nonetheless.

For the last 15 to 20 years, if you're a cyclist, you look up to Lance Armstrong. I mean, there was no one better in the whole world. Seven Tour de France titles? Come on. No one else had even won six. And he did it in consecutive years!

Since I read his book, "It's Not About The Bike", back in 2002, I have been a big fan. Having lost my dad to cancer, I marveled at Armstrong's comeback from the disease and was thrilled when he won each of his seven championships. I kept track of the Tour on my PC and shed tears of pride when he won. I even bought his bracelets and wore them for months on end.

The year before, in 2001, I watched with amazement as he and Jan Ullrich ascended L'Alpe-d'Huez. Armstrong had a lead of a couple of bike lengths when he turned and faced Ullrich and gave him what's now known as "The Look". "I'm leaving you in the dust," he seemed to say, "and there's nothing you can do about it." Unbridled, raw talent mixed with pure machismo.

And performance enhancing drugs.

After years of vehemently denying he had doped, it now appears that Lance is set to confess to the world that he cheated. Instead of shedding tears of pride and joy like I did in the years between 2002 and 2007, now I feel like shedding tears of pain and disgust.

I'm not one for cheaters. As with Roger Clemens, I stood behind Lance through the thick of it, never daring believe that he was lying to me and trusting that he was telling the truth, no matter what anyone else said. I chose to believe him, to take him at his word. Now that trust has been betrayed and I feel like I've been punched in the gut.

Honestly, I almost wish he'd kept it to himself. I was blissfully ignorant. Despite what everyone else said about him, I still trusted him. Now, not so much.

I've done some soul searching during the last few days and here's what I've found. Lance did a lot of good in this world. He's raised millions of dollars for cancer research. I know, I've heard the same reports you probably have, that most of that money went to pay staff and to buy advertising for cancer awareness. I still think he's done a lot of good.

Let's look at the facts. A lot of average Joe's like me have taken up cycling and gotten in better physical shape, at least in part because of him. Many, many people say that they've been cured of cancer because of his efforts. Who knows how many lives he's saved during his 41 years? A person who's done that kind of good can't be all bad, can they?

So, I have to ask myself, "why confess now?" Why tell we millions of fans who supported you, and supported Livestrong, that you've been pulling the wool over our eyes for years? Why not just keep it to yourself? I mean, I touted your skills for years! I cheered you on in every single race! I even bought a cotton-picking yellow jersey!

Here's what I think.

First, doping aside, Lance is still an amazing athlete. Most athletes of his caliber have extremely healthy egos. Being out of the public eye is a blow to their psyche. Look at Tiger Woods as a case in point. I liked him, too.

Second, Lance will be 42 in September. Father Time is coming up the drive toward his front door. How many years of competitive life do you think Lance has left in him? His lies notwithstanding, Lance is no idiot. He recognizes this, too.

Third, a lifetime ban is a loooong time. I think he realizes that if he can somehow reduce that virtual death sentence he might be capable of remaining a celebrity a little while longer.

Fourth, Lance can't compete in any of the USADA-sponsored events he loves so much. No Tours, no triathlons, no mountain-biking competitions, no nothing. He's done. He can't compete.

When you take all four reasons together, I think Lance thinks he can make this ugly situation go away just like he has done with everything else in his life. For years he figured that if he told a lie long enough, it would somehow become true, so that ugliness went away. Now he realizes that won't work after all, so tell the truth and make it go away. The American public is dumb. We'll forgive anyone. We reelected Bubba, didn't we?

I'd seriously love to think that Lance just wants to come clean, but I don't. I'd like to think he wants to clear his conscience, but I don't. I want to like Lance, but I don't.

Still, it will be interesting to see what unfolds for him in the next little while.

But seriously, I think I'll pay attention now and save myself a few bucks when the book comes out.

And you know it will.

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Keep It Pure

Let's get the disclaimer out of the way right from the beginning:

When it comes to baseball, I'm a traditionalist, and maybe even somewhat of a purist.

I believe in Lou Gehrig and Mickey Cochran. I didn't like it when they put lights on Wrigley Field. I don't like the DH. Artificial turf is a sin against nature.

I believe in doubleheaders, day games, wool uniforms and stirrups. I liked knowing that I could root for Mickey Mantle his whole career. Throw in some apple pie, a Chevrolet and a hot dog or two and you've got America at its absolute finest.

And while we're at it, let's play two.

Baseball is the greatest sport in the world. It's the only sport in which a fan could realistically believe that the players of yesteryear could have been better than the players of today.

And that's where my real subject comes in.

This week the Baseball Writers of America failed to vote anyone into the Hall of Fame. And for my money, that's exactly what they should have done.

Let's face it. A lot of these guys are cheaters, plain and simple. They may have been exonerated in a court of law, but come on. You and I both know that they took PEDs and the rest is just spit and giggles. Marian Jones kept saying she was clean, too, but it didn't make it so. Now we all know better.

We all know better when it comes to some of these guys, too. Bonds? He's guilty people. He took PEDs and we all know it. If you knew him in real life, instead of this sham world in which everyone pretends to believe that your head can grow like that after you're already 30-years old, you would think he was a freak. NOBODY'S head grows like that! And his feet grew from a size 10.5 to a 13! Come on, folks. Let's get real.

Rocket? I used to be a big fan. He'd repented of being a part of Red Sox Nation to finally sidle up to the bar at the Evil Empire. I was happy when he was acquitted. I hoped he'd come back one more time. I even had a Roger Clemens action figure on my desk at work, for Pete's sake.

Now I believe he was guilty all along. He took PEDs. We all know he did. He can continue to affirm that he didn't, and we'll all pretend to believe him, but when it's all said and done, he's guilty.

Sosa? Same thing.

Palmeiro? Ditto.

McGwire? Yup.

Don't get me wrong. I believe there are some guys on this ballot who were clean. Craig Biggio for one. I don't think he's a first ballot Hall of Famer, but I think eventually he should be enshrined.

Jack Morris is another one. Not first ballot or second, and maybe not even 14th, but an eventual Hall of Famer, sure.

But those who took PEDs, in my opinion, should NEVER get into the Hall of Fame. Here's why.

Think back to high school. You're sitting in Mrs. McKee's Algebra II class and you're starting to sweat. Your buddy, who sits next to you, is always getting better grades than you. You're taking a test and you don't know some of the answers. You want to get good grades, too. So what do you do? You let your eyes wander to your buddy's paper. You copy his answer. You cheat.*

The only trouble is that Mrs. McKee is expert at catching cheaters, and before you can write down "Associative Property" she's grabbed your paper, torn it in half and ordered you to the Principal's office. Once there, the principal tells you it's your third offense.

You are summarily suspended from school.

Other than your parent's boot sticking out of one of your orifices, what do you now reasonably think you can expect? Election to the National Honor Society? Nomination as Student Body President? Your number retired on a banner in the gym? Um, no.

What you can expect is an uphill road. No elections. No enshrinements. You get kicked out of school.

And if you're studying at West Point, you're gone for good. Don't come back and don't let the door hit you on the way out.

Same thing here. Reward these guys for cheating and you validate that cheating. You tell kids that it's all right to cheat, as long as you excel at whatever you do. The Hall of Fame, and America, would never recover.

What do we do with these players, some of whom were the "greatest players in their generation"? I don't know. I wish I did. Do you invalidate all of their numbers? Do you alter the record book? Make Hank Aaron and Roger Maris the greatest home run hitters of all time...again? I don't know. But that's the way I would lean.

One thing I do know. Cooperstown is a beautiful, small town jam-packed with rustic America. There are picket fences, houses with wrap-around porches and a beautiful, glimmering lake. When you visit, it's almost like you go back in time to when all was right in the world. It's filled with what's right with America.

So is the Hall of Fame. Let's keep it that way.

If Bonds, Sosa, Rocket and their ilk want in the Hall of Fame, they can get in the same way I do.

Buy a ticket.

* Here's my second disclaimer. I didn't cheat. I knew plenty who did, but I'm clean. Hmm. That may sound a little like someone we've been talking about.

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