Time for New Tech?

So my PDA (Personal Digital Assistant) just sounded its alarm, reminding me of an appointment I have today.

I opened it up and discovered it was reminding me of...

Groundhog's Day.

2004.

Time for another trip to the store, honey!

A Small Conversation

So in my disguise as a mild-mannered postal retail clerk, I had this conversation at my window yesterday.

A classic "little old lady" had walked up and purchased a few stamps, when she looked at my name tag and said, "My son's name is Mark."

I smiled and confidently replied, "It's a good name."

"He died."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"When he was 41."

At a loss, I offered, "Was he able to leave you any grandchildren?"

"No."

"Well, I am sorry for your loss, ma'am."

"He had Crohn's Disease. He died two days after his fifth operation."

At this point, before I could muster another response, she said, "I had five sons. He was the youngest." And then she toddled away.

The selfish part of me was squirming. It was all, like, "thanks for letting me know my name reminds you of something tragic...." but the more mature spirit in me realized she just wanted someone to talk to about it. I had the sense this had happened in her life quite some time ago, not recently, but we honestly didn't talk about that.

And now I've talked about it with someone. The circle of life goes on.

Schooled By An Agnostic

If you read enough books by one author, you can generally pick up on his or her worldview. Terry Pratchett - I'm reading his Discworld series - is definitely an agnostic. The extent of his faith seems to be trusting that the cars will stop when the signal turns green. He believes what he can see. But recently, I ran across a passage in his book, "Carpe Jugulum," that put my own belief to the test and set a higher standard for living.

The first thing you have to understand is that the series is a fantasy and a satire, set as far away from our world as it is possible to get. Which means that he can, of course, write about truths in our own world that are as close as your next breath.

In the book, Esmerelda "Granny" Weatherwax is a witch. Not the demonic, Satan-worshiping type we fear, but the wizened old lady of the woods type found in folklore. Another character is called "Mightily Oats" and he's a priest of Om, one of the gods of the Discworld. At one point these two characters discuss their beliefs and Granny says,

"Now, if I'd seen him, really there, really alive, it'd be in me like a fever. If I thought there was some god who really did care two hoots about people, who watched 'em like a father and cared for 'em like a mother ... well, you wouldn't catch me sayin' things like 'there are two sides to every question' and 'we must respect other people's beliefs.' You wouldn't find me just being gen'rally nice in the hope that it'd all turn out right in the end, not if that flame was burning in me like an unforgivin' sword. And I did say burnin', Mister Oats, 'cos that's what it'd be. You say that you people don't burn folk and sacrifice people anymore, but that's what true faith would mean, y'see? Sacrificin' your own life, one day at a time, to the flame, declarin' the truth of it, workin' for it, breathin' the soul of it. That's religion. Anything else is just ... is just bein' nice. And a way of keepin' in touch with the neighbors."

And then Granny goes on to say,

"Don't chase faith, 'cos you'll never catch it ... but, perhaps, you can live faithfully."

I'll pray for Terry Pratchett. And I'll take his words to heart and try to rekindle the flame of my own faith, and I'll try to live faithfully. And I'll pray the Lord brings someone into his life who can do the same.

And if I ever meet him, I'll thank him for making me a better Christian.

Black Light Hands

Just watched this, thanks to "Pastor Tim" of the Cybersalt Community. It's to the tune of the Casting Crowns song, "Who Am I?" and though the word is overused, it is, well, awesome.

Cool Optical Illusion

Sent by my friend Brian. The "blinking" part really brings out the detail of this relatively blurry graphic.

You Know You're Getting Old...

...when the year you were born no longer appears on the drop down list of birth years at websites.

...when the baseball card you clothespinned to your bicycle spokes now sells for more than a grand.

...when you realize that you can either stay up late or get up early, but you can't do both anymore.

...when even your eyebrows start to go gray.

...when you begin to enjoy going to the bathroom.

...when the radio presets in your vehicle are all oldies, classical, NPR, or other talk radio stations.

...when you go see your doctor to follow up on one thing and talk about the two or three other things that are now wrong with your body.

Just a few observations.

How do YOU know you're getting old?

A Taste of the Celtic

Every year the little town of Saline, Michigan hosts a Celtic Festival. Their sister city is Brecon, in Wales, and the festival began in honor of that relationship. You can read more about it here.

We went down with four good friends last Saturday and, mostly, enjoyed the day. The picture above was right near the entrance and let us know immediately that we were at a Celtic Festival. One assumes that this event happens, presumably, *before* you've eaten the Haggis.

I say we "mostly" enjoyed the day because Steve made a mad dash for the shuttle bus just after we'd parked the van and ripped a hamstring muscle. He insisted we stay and enjoy ourselves, so we did, but the poor guy limped around the grounds all day and just had to be in nine kinds of pain.

The weather called for scattered showers and so my wife didn't bring her good camera, leaving just my cell phone to snap some photos, which I did. They are now up on my website. There's only five of them, including the one above, but there ya go.

Best line of the day? From the band "Tartan Terrors" when they said, "What's the difference between England and yogurt? Yogurt has an active culture."

Just Checking In

Trying to keep my promise of posting at least once a week. Enjoy the photo, sent to me by my buddy, Tim.

I'm still in the minivan stage, longing for the mini-SUV stage.

Well, maybe not with these gas prices, but I'm just about due for a little mid-life automobile change.

Vacation, Thy Name is Offline

Okay, so I didn't post "later today." I *would* have updated the blog while I was out on vacation, except my furshlugginer laptop decided to kill my wireless Internet connection and so I was completely offline for the past two-and-a-half days.

Traumatic, indeed.

At any rate, above is my favorite picture from our trip to Ludington, which sits about an hour north of Muskegon, which is about 30 minutes north of Grand Rapids, which is about 2 hours west of our home, to give you some idea of perspective. Our hotel was only a block away from the Lake Michigan shoreline, which was very nice.

We had walked out to the North Point Pier Lighthouse, and the photo was snapped by my photog wife on the walk back. It's our son, Matthew, and his fiancee, Jenn. They had decided to jump over the cracks in the cement and Bonnie captured them mid-jump ... looks like they're levitating, doesn't it? For as much as they love each other, they might as well be walking on air.

I'm back at home and back to work, now, but hey, anytime you're away from the job and the city with some people you love, it's all good.

Anybody Got A Feather Duster?

Wow. Look at all the dust in here. Layers of it on this blog.

Blog. What's a blog? Well, kids, it's the "shorthand" name for a Web Log. You know, a log, as in "Captain's Log, Stardate....." It's meant to be a diary of sorts, for all the WWW to see. You know, a diary, as in a recording of events in your life.

I confess I've been an awfully poor reporter of late.

But that's going to change. Truly. If I don't start posting here at least once a week, I'm going to bring this thing to an end. Put it out of my misery. Write it off. Call in the dogs. Put out the fire. Turn out the lights.

Well, you get the idea.

I'll be back later today with the first of my vacation posts.

Baseball Glossary, Part 1 of 5

Since the Boys of Summer are in full swing, and I am a big baseball fan, I thought I'd do you a little public service and go over some of those colorful expressions the announcers use as you watch the ball games. I won't attempt to go into the etymology of these words or phrases, as that would go into extra innings, but I will give you a handy little reference guide. Today we will discuss some of those quirky terms that describe some of the plays in baseball. But first, one general definition:

Bush League - The minors. You've heard explorers in Africa talk about going out into the bush, which essentially means the wilderness. The same reasoning applies here. All major league teams are in major cities, leaving the minor league teams to find support in the "wilderness" of small town America. (Well, smaller town America.) Places like Peoria, or Wilkes-Barre, or Grand Rapids. Interestingly, this has also become an insult in our culture, as in, "That was really bush league, George," meaning not professional, or intentionally small-minded and mean.

Can of Corn - an easy fly ball. (As easy to catch as a can of vegetables tossed to you lightly, and hit about as well.)

Frozen Rope - a baseball hit very hard on a line drive to the outfield. Hit so hard it almost leaves an after-image on your retinas, hence the frozen rope image.

Seeing-Eye Single - kind of the opposite of a frozen rope. This is a base hit (meaning the batter hit the ball and reached base safely) that more or less dribbled through the infield and none of the fielders were able to reach it and make a play on the ball.

Texas League Single - a cross between the previous two. It generally defines a ball hit in a little "flare" of an arc and it lands softly - and safely - between an infielder who went back to try and catch it and the outfielder rushing forward to try and catch it. The Texas League wasn't quite up to major league standards, and neither is this base hit.

Grand Slam - Despite both tennis and golf appropriating this term, it refers to a home run hit when the bases are loaded, driving in four runs. The "grand" refers to the bases being full of runners and the "slam" refers to the home run.

Ducks on the Pond - this means there are runners on base for the batter to try and drive home with a base hit.

Walk Off Homer - a home run hit in the bottom of the last inning that gives the home team the victory. You hit the homer and then everyone can walk off the field because the game is done.

Bunt - this is a play where the batter intentionally tries to tap the ball just a few feet from home plate, attempting to force the first or third baseman to field the ball so the runner on first (usually) can safely move to the next base. It is also called a "sacrifice" because the batter has sacrificed his turn at bat to move up the runner. (The batter is almost invariably thrown out.)

Swinging Bunt - this is kind of a comedic version of the previous. The batter takes a full swing, but catches just a small bit of the ball and the result dribbles in front of home plate just a few feet, as if he had intentionally laid down a bunt.

Squeeze Play, or "Suicide Squeeze" - this is a bunt with a man on third base, who comes screaming down the third base line attempting to slide home when the ball was hit just a few feet from the plate. You don't see this in major league baseball much anymore.

Hit and Run - technically this is a "run and hit." The runner on first base takes off for second, drawing the second baseman back toward that bag, thinking the runner is attempting to steal. The batter then attempts to hit the ball between first and second base, which - theoretically - should be open because the second baseman is sprinting toward second base. The success of this play usually depends upon the batter having what is called "good bat control." If he misses the ball, the runner is usually thrown out stealing. If he hits the ball but not where he should, the play often results in two outs instead of one.

There you have the first installment. Hope that helps. I'll also be doing "glossaries" on hitting terms, fielding terms, and pitching terms over the next couple of weeks.

Of Unicorns and Alligators

I woke up this morning with the refrain from "The Unicorn Song" running through my head. Y'know, that old hit by The Irish Rovers that some radio stations drag out every March.

You got your green alligators and long-necked geese
Some humpty-backed camels and some chimpanzees
Some cats and rats and elephants
But sure as you're born
Don't you forget the unicorn

Only in my dream/wake version, I was singing "You got your blue alligators."

Why? Why?? WHY??? Why would my brain do that? Any armchair psychologists out there?

I left a window cracked open last night. You think maybe I was just cold? You can't get much more cold-blooded than a blue alligator, am I right?

Am I right?

Idiots Are Among Us

First of all, let me tell you right up front that I say that with love.

The other day I read in some random "Overheard in the Office" pages about one worker saying to another coworker, "Hey, it's not my fault the guy is an idiot. Though it was probably my fault that I told him so." The tag line was, "But in all fairness, he didn't seem to know."

I confess I laughed until I stopped.

Let me give you an example from my everyday life. One of the things we do at my job is process applications for United States passports. The questions are really pretty basic, and one of them is your height. The State Department doesn't care about your weight, apparently, but they want to know how tall you are.

I overheard this conversation transpire between one of my coworkers and a passport applicant.

"Ma'am, you put down that you're 10 feet, 6 inches tall?"

"I did?"

"I don't think you're 10 feet tall, ma'am."

"No, I'm not."

"See right here? Where you wrote 10?"

"That's my shoe size."

"What....?"

"Well, it says 'feet'!"

In all fairness, I don't think she knew she was an idiot.

Signs of Spring

I saw the first real signs of Spring just a couple of days ago.

I saw my first housefly of the year.

I saw a blonde in a convertible, hair flapping in the wind.

This weekend I experienced something that tells me Spring is finally here for sure.

I mowed my yard.

What are your signs of Spring?

Short Rant

"By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work. And God blessed the seventh day and made it holy, because on it he rested from all the work of creating that he had done." (Genesis 2:2)

The Seventh Day. The Sabbath Day. A holy day. A Day of Rest.

As Christians, we supposedly believe this.

THEN WHY IS SUNDAY THE BUSIEST DAY OF THE WEEK FOR THOSE WHO BELIEVE????

Aargh.