August 04, 2012

More Footer Action

As mentioned in the previous post, we had a design meeting on Wednesday with our builder, the windows and doors guy, the site manager, and the framing and truss designer for our house. During that two hour session, we went over in great detail the design plan for the basement, main floor, bonus room over garage, and other considerations. While we had toyed with the idea of a bathroom next to the bonus room upstairs, we decided that the complication it would introduce to the roof truss design not to be worth the cost. So this means we are sticking with the original design and leaving the closet to the bonus room, so that it can be counted as a bedroom.

One feature that could be "new" is an expanded deck in the back. In the original house, we had a screened deck with just a small landing able to hold a grill, with stairs down to the ground level. Now that we have lost our "tree house" view, due to the fact that 22 trees behind the house have given way to an expansive view of the cotton fields to the east, I have become enamoured with the idea of a sitting area outside that would allow us to enjoy an unobstructed view of the night sky. I've asked for conceptual renderings of the idea; we'll see what the cost turns out to be.

In the new basement design, we had decided to add a wall running north-south, to separate a storage space from what we envision to be the open family space. One of the things we had asked the builder to review was a better placement of the support posts at the basement level. During the meeting, he came back with the recommendation of making that proposed wall load-bearing, which along with the use of a floor-truss design instead of standard i-beam joists, will allow us to span the family space without support posts. That, and we can run duct work through the truss, better hiding the climate control system. Of course, to make that wall load-bearing, that means we needed another cut in the pad for a new footer. And, since there weren't other footers under that particular space, they had to run it longer than the wall will be, all the way to the south wing wall footer.


All I need now is a small camera strapped to the back of a toy X-Wing Fighter.

The new footers for the new storm shelter have already been poured. The tractor is sitting inside where the shelter will be.


All things considered, it's been a pretty good week out there.

July 31, 2012

Foam Forms and Footers

There are days where I truly wish I could click my heels and jump to the finish of this rebuilding effort. This is doubly sad given the fact that we are just getting started, having only had a permit in place for a few weeks. Nevertheless, there is action on Chase Manor Version 2.0, so it is time for an update.

Most of the effort at the start has been devoted to demolition and site prep for the foundation repair. The original house had an unfinished daylight basement, with cinder block wing walls (north and south) and 2x6 framing on the back wall (east). The remnants of the wing walls have been completely removed, down to the pad level, and in some cases below pad level down to the first layer of intact block resting on the footers. The only original wall remaining is the west wall, which with some repair will be reusable.

Having decided to finish out the basement for 2.0, we have elected to build a fairly large storm shelter (roughly 10x18), with reinforced concrete on every side. In order to make this work, the basement pad was channeled out in that space in order to lay down new footers to support the safety structure.


Rebar has already been laid out and tapped in to the existing west and north side footers. I'm not sure yet when they will come to pour those, but I imagine it will be soon.


In addition, we have elected to go with insulating concrete form (ICF) technology for all the exterior walls at basement level (as well as the storm shelter). Taking a closer look at this, you basically assemble these Lego-like styrofoam forms and fill them with concrete. In addition to the structural benefits we believe it offers, we also expect to gain some level of energy efficiency as the styrofoam forms remain a part of the structure, providing built in insulation.

Right now, the crews have assembled some of the forms, which wait in a corner for placement. However, much of the block around the perimeter of the pad will need to be replaced before any of this happens. I may have to find a way to go to the site and loiter when they begin assembling the forms, because I'm intrigued by how all that will work, to include the cutting out of the windows.


Tomorrow we have a major design meeting with the builder and the subcontractor for the framing, which should go a long way toward finalizing the overall floor plan for the residence.

It is good to be moving forward, and seeing some action at the property. But spring cannot get here soon enough.

July 23, 2012

No More Weekly Reader

I haven't thought about Weekly Reader in years. Receiving those venerable, thin periodicals every week in grade school was, if not a highlight, at least a memory that generations of students have shared.

But no more. In the modern era, sadly, the Weekly Reader no longer has a place:

Weekly Reader, a staple in American classrooms for a century, has some hard news for its young readers: it’s shutting down.

Chief rival Scholastic, which bought the school newspaper earlier this year, is folding it into Scholastic News and axing all but five of Weekly Reader’s 60 employees in White Plains, NY, The Post has learned.

Like all papers, Weekly Reader was struggling with changes roiling the print world and was under pressure to develop digital editions. Along with school budget cutbacks, those challenges were compounded by ownership turmoil that left the paper with few resources to invest, sources said.

Weekly Reader and its predecessor My Weekly Reader, which grew out of Current Events magazine in 1902, was read by two-thirds of all kids in grammar school at its peak and hit a high of 13 millions subscribers across its editions for pre-school through 12th grade.
I'm feeling older by the day. But no fear, because soon every student will have their own school-issued iPad, able to access the world. (Eye roll here).

Sometimes, simpler is better. A lesson we simply cannot seem to learn.

July 20, 2012

Like a Good Neighbor ...

My brother-in-law shared this with me today ... a genuine laugh out loud kind of moment. Of course, you might have to be a Cubs fan to really enjoy it.

July 19, 2012

Sweet Suite from a Movie About Bugs

Most weekdays, I provide taxi service for my children, getting them wherever they need to go while hoping that the effort doesn't make me too late in getting to the office. During the school year, this is often easier, in part because I'm considerably more "firm" in the enforcement of departure times. I admittedly relax that standard during the summer months.

The morning commute usually runs about 20-25 minutes, and I realized long ago that fighting a battle of what (if anything) plays on the car's CD player simply wasn't worth the effort. Happy kids increases the likelihood of good behavior - or at least behavior that minimizes the distraction to the driver. So we pretty much listen to whatever they want.

Fortunately for me, my kids enjoy a variety of music, and that includes soundtracks and instrumental compositions. Many of them, not surprisingly, have a Disney element. In the player right now is a Pixar's Greatest Hits compilation. On the whole, I enjoy it, in part because a substantial portion of the CD contains music composed by Randy Newman.

If you are aware of Newman's songwriting and singing, you know about his recognizable and distinctive voice. But he has also written numerous scores composed and arranged for orchestra or symphonic band. One such example is the piece below, entitled "A Bug's Life Suite" from, yes, the Pixar movie A Bug's Life. While not my favorite movie in the Pixar family, the piece below would be a delight to play. Having once had the opportunity to play the main theme music from The Magnificent Seven, I find some fun similarities when I listen to the Newman score. A similar flavor is found in the City Slickers soundtrack (which I adore) by Marc Shaiman.

Yes, I'm pining for the good old days where I could sit down with a symphonic array of musicians and lose myself for a few hours. I'll probably never stop pining for it, either. But I'll always make time to listen. Here's "A Bug's Life Suite", composed by Randy Newman.


July 15, 2012

This is My Story

"You did not choose Me, but I chose you …" (John 15:16a, NASB)

So begins what I consider to be my "life verse," that one special piece of Scripture that anchors me in my faith, that spurs me on as a Christ-follower. John 15:16, indeed, was at the very center of my return to Christ after my own prodigal journey some 20+ years ago.

In this chapter of "A Portrait of Me," I tell this story. Indeed, you could say that I have been building up to this moment on this blog for a couple of years now. I am fortunate enough to be able to present this story in a special audio format.

Over ten years ago, I served as a substitute speaker on occasion for the Wednesday night 2:42 services at Chase Valley Church. While Chase Valley no longer exists as a unique entity, its DNA lives on after a fashion in the Chase Campus of Cove Church. I had the opportunity to teach at least 4 times, each message recorded and stored on CD. It was to my great relief that all of these CDs were found in the rubble of my house after the storm destroyed it back in March.

Finding these CDs impressed upon me that left in a box, they serve no purpose. In time, as the opportunity warrants, I will awaken these messages from their digital dormancy and share them here on this blog. Indeed, we have the technology. The last message I gave shall be the first.

We love to tell stories. Some stories we tell over and over again. Others, we don't share often enough, but clearly should. This is my story, although it is not mine alone ("all creation tells the story, and testifies of His great glory"). Some of you were there when it was told. Others of you were there when it happened. Still others of you played a direct part in the plan to bring me back home. To each of you, my deepest thanks. To my family, I love you all, more than you know.

Run time is about 35 minutes. You have a couple of options: you should be able to play the mp3 file directly using Windows Media Player, or whatever player you have as your default media player. Or you can right-click on the link and select Save Target As and download the file.

So here it is. Thank you for listening.

April 10, 2002 - Chase Valley Church
Jim Chase - "This is My Story"


Other chapters:

A Portrait of Me: The Key
A Portrait of Me: River Walk
A Portrait of Me: Journey's Dawn
A Portrait of Me: I Am Prodigal
A Portrait of Me: This is My Story

July 11, 2012

Version 2.0 is Underway ... Sort of

Over four months after losing our home in the tornado, the task to build Version 2.0 is finally underway!

The good news: We have a contract with a builder, paperwork is at the bank, and a permit should be in place in a matter of days, if not sooner. Preliminary site preparations, to include residual demolition along the wing walls and some foundation repair is anticipated this week.

The bad news: After almost 6 weeks of hot, dry weather, mother nature picks THIS week to replenish the thirsty soil. So just as we're getting started, the weather throws a rainy wrench into this. Ironic, in a way.

Nevertheless, we are undeterred in our excitement to finally be moving forward on V2.0. There are lots of decisions still to be made, and we're waiting on several subcontractors to provide us needed feedback, but it does feel good to be looking at what's ahead and less so at what's behind.

The rain continues to fall. And that's okay.

At least we've got a sign:



July 04, 2012

Red, White & Blue

Sometimes, you simply need to let the voice of liberty ring out. May our voices never cease to celebrate life and liberty.


Happy Fourth of July!

June 30, 2012

Government Gets Weaker as it Gains More Power

After a couple days of layman's analysis and digestion of others' assessments, I am standing by my initial reaction to the Supreme Court ruling on the Affordable Care Act. The ruling in effect says that while the Government cannot "make" you purchase insurance, it can penalize you for your failure to make that purchase, in the form of a tax. Legally, the Government cannot mandate your choices, but apparently it can levy a punitive tax on the choice you make. And it is all constitutional, so says the Court.

In many ways, this is nothing new. Gasoline has taxes that are paid by those who choose to drive. Alcohol has taxes paid by those who choose to drink. Smokers are taxed based on their choice to purchase tobacco. There are taxes everywhere, based on the consumption choices we make. Only now, we can be taxed by choosing not to consume.

Theoretically, we can now be taxed based on our non-participation in just about anything.

I can't remember where I read the following thought, so forgive me for not properly citing the reference, but in essence someone wrote that modern jurisprudence (the last 100 years or so) has perverted the original intent of the Constitution, which was designed to ensure the protection of our natural rights - those universal and unalienable rights that we have by virtue of our existence and sentience - against the potential tyranny of governments. In other words, the Constitution was established to ensure our liberty as citizens from overly oppressive forms of government. In the modern era, however, the Constitution is being interpreted to allow creative social engineering that involves the expansion of "rights" to include the wants, desires, and needs of special interests within our society for the common good (entitlements). The problem is that these views are in conflict with one another. There is no protection of an individual's right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness when the Government actively and/or punitively intrudes on the individual's choices.

More and more, I'm coming to the conclusion that the more power the Government gains (power over its citizens), the weaker it actually becomes. Weaker in the sense that the system of governance we've celebrated for over 223 years no longer holds dear to the principles upon which it was founded. And for this republic, that's dangerous, because it means the American Experiment is coming to an end. The intellectual, philosophical and moral foundations that gave birth to America are fading into antiquity. That makes us weaker, even though on the surface the government appears stronger.

I cannot help but to think Roberts and this court took a sledgehammer to what will turn out to be a load-bearing wall. Decline is not inevitable. But what happens next, as it always does, depends on the choices we make.

Just be ready for the inevitable tax if you choose poorly.

June 28, 2012

Apparently, No Limiting Principle

Obviously it is early, and analysis of today's Supreme Court ruling on the Affordable Care Act (Obamacare) has just begun. But my first blush reaction is simply this:

The Court has ruled that Government can impose upon its citizens anything it wants - there is, apparently, no such thing as a limiting principle.
By limiting principle, I simply mean that line that limits what an elected government can do, the limits of its power. In the issue at hand, as long as a thing purports to be for the "common good" or "general welfare", then Congress has the power to create laws that force people into choices they would otherwise not make, eliminating at least in part their freedom to choose. Should any discriminatory group (think special interest groups) decide that a certain entitlement is a "right", then with enough votes in Congress and a willing President and a bureaucratic army of regulatory enforcers - what they say goes. Individuals will not have the right to "opt out" of these so-called mandates. Every individual must now, by law, be insured, and if not, must pay a penalty - a tax. It will be the insurance industry, in cooperation with the Government, that imposes that tax. By establishing this precedent, there truly is nothing to stop any other Government-subsidized industry from wanting to push for their own brand of universal entitlements to promote the "general welfare." All it will take is willing participants in the halls of power.

You know what other forms of government purport to uphold and impose solutions for the common good? Socialist forms of government do that. By act of Congress, signature of the President, and judgment of the Supreme Court, the social compact of our nation has gone from one that upholds as primary the ideal of liberty to one that seeks to engineer a better society "for the common good."

If this is our future, so be it. Elections have consequences, as they say. But whatever you do, don't try to pawn this off as a victory for liberty and representative democracy.

Because it is not.

Update: Knee jerk reactions are often just that, and I admit the above probably should be characterized as such. Reading more on the ruling seems to imply that the Commerce Clause (under which the mandate was first argued), cannot be used to prop up the law. Therefore, the only way to allow the mandate to stand is to specifically characterize it as a tax that must be implemented like any other tax. Congress has the power to tax. Of course, citizens have the right to express their opinions on such taxes through the ballot box. I still don't like the ruling, but it will be interesting to watch this play out over time.

June 27, 2012

Thinking of Colorado

Like so many, I've been watching the events in Colorado with an unsettling mixture of grief and horror. The fires that are ravaging that state, in particular the Waldo Canyon fire invading the confines of Colorado Springs, are catastrophic and uncomfortably captivating. I tried many times today to focus on my day job, yet found myself looking around for any and all updates I could find.

My folks used to live in the Springs, and I still have family in the state. My extended family has members that have been forced to evacuate, and at least one involved in fighting the fire.

At one point today, I was stricken with the realization that may explain in part why watching homes succumb to the inferno affects me so deeply. I know, in part, exactly what these folks are going through. Yet where the loss of my home came quickly and suddenly, there one moment and smashed beyond recognition the next, these folks are watching this disaster play out in slow motion in front of them, and on TV, each of them wondering when, or if, their homes will be standing upon their return. Surely, many are hoping against hope, praying as fervently as they know how for rain and wind to cooperate and end this unspeakable nightmare. I'm not sure which is a worse way to lose a home. But a loss is a loss, and the shock will last for some time.

Helpless as I am, I pray. Prayer is all I have right now, and encouragement that things can be replaced, a lesson I continue to absorb into my own reality and circumstances. The loss of a home is a terrible thing, but more terrible would be the loss of family, the loss of faith. Retain these latter two, we can all survive and even rejoice.

I wish you all, especially those in danger's path, peace and safety and grace. May the Lord be with you.

June 26, 2012

An Enjoyable Read: So Brave, Young and Handsome

Several years ago, my wife bought me a book to read based on a review she had read in one of her magazines. That book was a debut novel by Leif Enger, entitled Peace Like a River. Peace was a thoroughly enjoyable tale about a young asthmatic boy and an unfortunate family adventure across the upper Great Plains in the early 1960's. I'm not sure if it was an unsurprising affinity I held with the main character, or if it was simply the pure and inspired imagery of the prose, but I distinctly recall thinking that this was a book I could read again and again. I waited eagerly for the next work that I was certain would come.

Years passed, and yet there was nothing forthcoming from Mr. Enger. After a while, I stopped looking for new releases. That is, until a couple of weeks ago, when I went looking for a book to read during our brief vacation in Hilton Head. It was then I discovered that Mr. Enger did indeed have a second novel that went to print back in 2008 entitled So Brave, Young and Handsome. Yet again, I found myself quickly drawn into the author's simple storytelling, guiding the reader on an adventure as slow as a meandering stream and as fast as runaway rapids. Set in the early 20th century, So Brave is an outlaw tale, part old style Western, part Les Miserables and part Unforgiven, and once again I found an affinity with the protagonist, an accidental author who found success his first time out but great difficulty in reproducing that success. Indeed, it is hard not to wonder if there is a little bit of an autobiographical thread being offered. Nonetheless, as I did with Peace, I simply allowed the wonderful wordcraft to pour over me. One example is below, where Monte Becket is helping his mysterious neighbor build a boat:
While the water heated he handed me a block plane and showed me how to remove, by long angled strokes, curls of wood from the bow's rough stem. Paying no heed to my apprehension he set me working downward on the left edge, himself working upward on the right; stroke by stroke the bow grew more fluid and proportionate while curls slid down like ringlets and dropped in aromatic heaps. I could have shouted, could have wept, but Glendon was all business and wanted that stem just so. There was no talking for many minutes. When we finished my forearms were covered with shavings and I felt the weariness of a better man.
Simply delightful. Especially that last sentence. Just as gripping, to me at least, were the inner conflicts tormenting the heart of Monte Becket. Having once written a grand tale that he could only imagine but not possibly know, Becket would find that without this knowing he would never again be able to pen words with anything resembling passion until such time as life's experiences would offer him the fortune of a reawakened inspiration. These doubts and fears of fading into nothingness play out through the entire novel, and in its wake Enger leaves nuggets of wisdom that sometimes will catch the reader unaware.

One of the more delightful twists is the inclusion of a real life character into the story, Charles Siringo, an author himself and an agent with the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Wikipedia has a fascinating summary of Siringo's activities with Pinkerton, to include his involvement with Butch Cassidy's gang.

While my opinion matters little, I cannot but heartily recommend both of Enger's works. There are books I read that I know I'll never pick up again. Yet these two are both ones I hope I get a chance to re-read, simply for the pure, boyish fun of it.

June 21, 2012

Homeland Security Threat Level: Extinct

This one is just too amusing to pass up. Opening headline this morning: New York judge rules that Homeland Security can seize dinosaur skeleton from art storage company.
NEW YORK — One of the more unusual arrest warrants in U.S. history was issued today when a federal judge authorized the Department of Homeland Security to seize a dinosaur from an art storage company. There’s no need for handcuffs though. It’s been dead for 70 million years.
Uh, what? (And which is 70 million years old, the dinosaur or the art company?)

Created in the aftermath of 9/11, the Department of Homeland Security was established in part to bring several federal bureaucracies together under one umbrella, with focus on intelligence and law enforcement agencies. We all know about the color-coded threat level system. A little research on their website tells us that they are keenly focused on counterterrorism, border security, disaster-related activities, immigration and cybersecurity. I'm not sure how the apprehending of long-dead dinosaurs fits within their mission. We need a little more on this story:
U.S. District Judge Kevin Castel signed the warrant after finding there was “probable cause to believe” that the nearly complete Tyrannosaurus bataar skeleton is subject to forfeiture under U.S. laws. The U.S. filed a lawsuit against the skeletal property a day earlier, seeking to seize it for an eventual return to Mongolia.



The lawsuit said the Tyrannosaurus bataar skeleton was brought in March 2010 from Great Britain to Gainesville, Fla., with erroneous claims that it had originated in Great Britain and was worth only $15,000. It sold at auction on May 20 for more than $1 million, though the sale was contingent upon the outcome of court proceedings.



Tyrannosaurus bataars were first discovered in 1946 during a joint Soviet-Mongolian expedition to the Gobi Desert in the Mongolian Omnogovi Province. Since 1924, Mongolia has enacted laws declaring fossils to be the property of the government of Mongolia and criminalizing their export from the country.
Ok, so that makes a little more sense. The dinosaur shouldn't even be here, and it apparently made its way here under false pretenses. So maybe this falls under the Fraud & Counterfeit component of the Counterterrorism division. Or maybe the International Activities or Law Enforcement components of that same division. As with so many things about DHS, this one isn't exactly clear to me. Don't misunderstand - the Government is doing the right thing, if a relic such as this was indeed taken illegally from Mongolia. But it probably doesn't help DHS from a PR standpoint.

I guess it doesn’t matter. Until such time as some group of scientists decide to go all Jurassic Park on the world, we as a nation are safe from dinosaurs. Good to know. But I love this little paragraph in a related Associated Press article (emphasis mine):
Department of Homeland Security spokesman Luis Martinez says the skeleton will be moved to a government warehouse. He says the government cannot disclose the name or address of the storage site because other priceless antiquities are there.
Cool. Secret government warehouses filled with "other priceless antiquities." Indiana Jones lives!

June 20, 2012

A Short Getaway

Sometimes, you just need to get away. After 3+ months of fretting about tornado recovery and rebuilding concerns, I took the family away for a long weekend to Hilton Head Island. Admittedly, two 9-hour travel days gave it a rushed feel, but the two days in between were nice. We had good weather, good company, and overall a good time.

I know I've said this before, but there is something about the water that soothes me. Granted, I prefer a lakeside experience rather than the ocean surf variety, but it still brings a momentary peace that few other venues can do for me. Maybe someday I'll have the fortune to spend my retirement in a house on the lake, private dock, a skiff for fishing and maybe a canoe. I almost ache for that day.

I don't typically make a habit of putting pictures of my family online, but for this post, I'll make an exception. The photo below was taken outside Hudson's while we were waiting for a table. For whatever reason, there is something in this captured moment that goes beyond the surface, beyond the obvious. I don't have words for it, and perhaps that's the point. It tugs at me nonetheless.

I know the real world awaits - indeed it is banging on my door even now. But part of me remains, or longs to be, where the boy below appears to be now. If only captured moments could be as timeless as they appear to be in our pictures.



June 14, 2012

Wrestling with Writer's Block

Clearly, I've fallen out of the writing habit of late. Well, that's not entirely accurate. My workload at the office lately has involved a large number of writing assignments, so the majority of my resources have been diverted to those efforts. So now that I finally have time to sit down again and write for this blog … I'm drawing a blank.

So just for fun, I decided to see what the almighty Google had to offer.

This site suggests the hard-nosed, man-up approach to breaking writer's block: 1) Force yourself, 2) Write no matter what, 3) Embrace bad ideas (in the hopes it will trigger good, or at least better ideas, 4) Write about uncomfortable things, and 5) Publish something every day. On the whole, the hard-nosed approach is what I often take when I get stuck like this, but I'd prefer to latch on to a personal project of sorts that I'm passionate about. (Yes, I know that sentence ended poorly).

This site offers 15 tips to overcome the lack of ideas, which the author purports is always at the core of writer's block. His tips are basically suggestions for resources, such as: 1) looking at files on the computer, 2) browser bookmarks, 3) newspapers and magazines, 4) books and television, 5) old emails, 6) YouTube, 7) podcasts, and 8) good old-fashioned brainstorming. All of these are things I've tried, with some occasional success. But of course, the underlying challenge here is still finding something that not only interests me, but stands a reasonable chance of being of interest to others.

However, it was something that the author of this article said that I found rather illuminating:

For me, writer’s block often occurs when I’m uninspired or worn out from writing too much. Writing is an art like any other. You need inspiration to proceed, but too much work will wear you down and that inspiration will drain.
That is often precisely my problem. I produce a large amount of documentation for work on a regular basis, and sometimes it is indeed cognitively exhausting. Sitting down to work on personal writing projects, there just isn't anything left in the tank. And without a spark of inspiration to start the engine again, I just close the laptop and go off to do something else.

But I also know that if I allow myself to fall out of the habit of writing for personal fulfillment, it will be that much harder to get it going again. The hard-nosed way is really the only way for me, until a new project or essay idea comes along. The product of the hard-nosed way are posts like this.

See what I did there?

Until next time.


June 06, 2012

Ray Bradbury, RIP

Ray Bradbury, a renowned author of science fiction and fantasy, died last night at the age of 91. I haven't read Bradbury in many many years, but remember well reading several of his short stories, as well as Dandelion Wine and Something Wicked This Way Comes. Strangely enough, I have yet to set aside time to read his more notable works, Farenheit 451 and The Martian Chronicles. With regard to the latter of these two books, we actually have a leatherbound, authentically signed copy that we rescued from the storm rubble in March.

Looking through his bibliography, one cannot help but notice that even as he advanced in years, Bradbury kept writing. His last novel was 6 years ago, but he had published plays, short story collections even up to the past couple years. That's pretty remarkable. Rest in peace, Mr. Bradbury.

Little Black Spot on the Sun Today

Well, okay, it was yesterday. I missed the Venus transit across the sun, but if you search online, you'll find a number of fantastic photos and images of the event. And since we won't be around 100 or so years from now to see it again, we'll just have to enjoy the pictures. By far, the best one I've seen yet is the one below, taken by Eric Snitil of WSFA News in Montgomery. The photo itself was taken in my old Prattville stomping grounds. Click to enlarge.



(h/t: Eric Snitil)

May 31, 2012

Remind Me to Never Move to New York

Health "experts" tell us that obesity is a national epidemic. There are a myriad of factors associated with obesity, and we would be wise not to generalize the causes, as individual situations may be unique. But as a portly fellow myself these days, I can vouch that in my case, and perhaps many cases, it is simply a matter of choice: I have settled into a lifestyle that leaves little time for exercise, allows for too much time sitting in a chair in front of the computer, and keeps me more or less entrenched in my sedentary ways. I can further acknowledge that this is not a wise set of choices in terms of health and balance, but they are the choices that I make. Inertia is a pain.

However, in that bastion of social policy experimentation, New York City, the mayor has gone on a quest to make New Yorkers the healthiest people in the nation. How? By regulating what food they get to buy, serve, and eat in virtually every corner of their lives. A few years ago, Mayor Bloomberg banned trans fats. Now, he's seeking to restrict the sizes of the sugared drinks people choose to buy:

New York City plans to enact a far-reaching ban on the sale of large sodas and other sugary drinks at restaurants, movie theaters and street carts, in the most ambitious effort yet by the Bloomberg administration to combat rising obesity.

The proposed ban would affect virtually the entire menu of popular sugary drinks found in delis, fast-food franchises and even sports arenas, from energy drinks to pre-sweetened iced teas. The sale of any cup or bottle of sweetened drink larger than 16 fluid ounces — about the size of a medium coffee, and smaller than a common soda bottle — would be prohibited under the first-in-the-nation plan, which could take effect as soon as next March.
Read the whole article at the New York Times. Inside is a handy graphic that illustrates what is allowed and disallowed. No more large size sodas at Yankee Stadium. Of course, if you are thirsty, you can always buy two sodas - and I'll wager it will cost you more at the concession stand than it did before this regulation. Granted, it is still a "proposed" regulation, but that's just semantics. It will be reality soon enough.

You know what is excluded from this ban? Diet drinks. Drinks that have completely artificial sweeteners and other byproducts that have absolutely no value in promoting bodily health. So what, you walk up to the concession stand and get a super large drink - but only if it is diet? How on earth do you enforce that, unless you have inspectors at every spot to watch with eagle eyes what's been put into the cup?

The point is that even with this regulation, people will still be able to buy the amount and type of sugared drinks they want. Only the packaging size will be affected. Which of course raises the obvious point: the regulation will be nothing but a nuisance, but it will come at a cost as all regulations do. And that cost will be passed onto the consumer. Ten years from now, if New Yorkers on average become less obese, you can be sure that it will have nothing to do with the over-regulating impulse of an eccentric mayor, but rather because of the choices each individual makes. I'm sure though, that the mayor would take the credit.


May 28, 2012

Memorial Day 2012

Scenes from Valhalla Memory Gardens, where Boy Scout Troop 228 assisted in the special ceremony honoring our heroes and their families for their service to our Nation. From my family to yours, a heartfelt Thank You to all who serve: past, present and future.




Some suggested Memorial Day reading:

As Memorial Day Nears, A Single Image that Continues to Haunt
America: Her Finest Hour is Yet to Come

May 25, 2012

Capture the Dragon!

Dragon-Flight! No, I'm not talking about the beloved Anne McCaffrey novel from my childhood. I'm talking about the first private sector space capsule called Dragon, built by Space Exploration Technologies, or SpaceX. A few days ago, Dragon was launched from Cape Canaveral on a Falcon 9 rocket, with a planned mission to dock with the International Space Station.

I'm working from home this morning, which gives me the benefit of having the television on in the background. Of the large number of otherwise useless channels I get on the satellite dish, one of them happens to be NASA TV. Ten minutes of this channel was enough to send my brand new 9-year old back to his room to play. It may be dull, but there is something mesmerizing in watching the capsule approach ISS with the earth turning steadily below. When I first tuned in, the capsule was at 70 meters and holding, and while I made my first cup of coffee, it moved to 30 meters. According to the mission guide, the Dragon is to close at 10 meters at which point ISS engineers will operate the station's grappling arm to pull Dragon in for docking.

NASA and SpaceX both have gone out of their way to characterize this exercise as a test flight only, but there are various supplies aboard the capsule for the station crew.

As I have said before, I believe the future of manned space flight is going to require a partnership or consortium of government and commercial interests. From what I have read, there are more private venture startups lining up behind SpaceX, which I think is a good thing (not the least reason as providing employment opportunities for NASA employees and contractors as NASA ultimately downsizes due to budget pressures, and the minimization of the loss of institutional knowledge).

There was a fascinating discussion between the station and Houston as Dragon approached the 10 meter point, as the pair was passing into twilight. But not surprisingly, the space station crew has no fear of the dark, so the go to capture in the dark was given. Slowly and steadily, the grappling arm reached out toward the capture (at which point my young son came back in the room, of course). Closer, closer …

And … Capture is confirmed! Historic stuff, and way cool!

Next up, docking. And now back to work for me.




May 16, 2012

A Walkman Will Survive

Back in October 2010, I blogged about Sony's decision to discontinue the once-popular Walkman (portable cassette player for you young-uns). In that post, I wrote:

I still have my Walkman, packed away in a box somewhere. How well do I remember that beloved player, which more than once came to my aid as I pedaled my way 5 miles into a fierce 40mph Dakota headwind between the bowling alley on base and the sleepy town I called home, about which I've written previously. It was the Rocky IV soundtrack, as I recall, plus a number of other tapes I still have shoved in a closet. That Walkman also help pass the time on some long family trips. I used it up until my first year or two in college.

Ah well. The Walkman was my generation's iPod, I suppose. Am I now officially "old"?
Yesterday, while continuing the arduous task of sorting through items rescued from my former home, I found that Walkman. I put new batteries in this morning, and put in some Boston (also recovered from the wreckage). And what do you know, it still works! Acquired in 1983, my Walkman may very well be the only device we have left that will play cassette tapes (my wife's may also have survived).

It may be a relic, but it works, and that's just fine with me.


May 09, 2012

I Am Prodigal

What follows is a chapter of a personal nature, associated with a project I began many years ago called "A Portrait of Me." I have not blogged all chapters (nor do I intend to), but links for those that I have may be found at the end of this post. In these, I lay myself bare and open to scrutiny. It is, after all, my story. What follows is not a happy read, but it is critical to what came later.

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from Pole to Pole
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud,
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how straight the gate,
How charged with punishment the scroll.
I am the Master of My Fate;
I am the Captain of my Soul.

-- "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley, 19th century

Relief floods my senses as I punch the clock and head down the stairs, past the popcorn machine and out the door. The restless spirit that has plagued me these many months is percolating once again in the chambers of my teenage heart. It pounds and it pounds, feeding the angst that threatens to unhinge my mind, held together only by the sheer will of my stubborn pride. On this warm summer night, I crank down the windows, put the car in gear and go from zero to 60 in a quarter of a tank. These nights, I drive by instinct. It is the same almost every night: up and down the main roads for half an hour, through the McDonalds (never stopping), before cutting a well worn path first to the north, then west by the school, down back through town (still don't see anyone I know), to the south out by the paper mill, before finally working my way back home. Windows down, Eagles blaring (sometimes Boston, sometimes Def Leppard), headlights leading the way as I cruise. Most nights, the driving sedates the restlessness, but not so this night.

Out in the dark and away from lights, I finally pull off the road. I hop onto the trunk of the car and look up at the starry night, gazing at friends in the sky who now are virtual strangers to me. Yet even here, there is no respite from the pounding, the torment of a lonely soul who gave up his friends for others, all for the promise that was supposed to come with faith, with surrender, only to leave this feeble newborn alone in further isolation, his salvation merely a trophy on somebody else's wall, as if that alone was the prize to be won. The utter hypocrisy, the damaging words, the rationalized behavior of these deluded disciples was too much to bear. Is this what You expect of me, to walk through life as if nothing matters beyond a pathetic expression of belief? Am I supposed to believe that all this has no greater purpose than putting on airs of self-righteous snobbery? No. I refuse this. I refuse to be subject to such falsity. Let this be my declaration: You may be Lord, but You are not mine. I shall be the Master of my fate and the Captain of my soul. I alone have the power and the will to be good, and should I fail, the responsibility is my own. I cannot be perfect, but I can aim for perfection, and I shall live with the consequences of my success and my failure. For I shall not be conquered, and this restlessness shall cease. I will do it, because I will it. And I will it. With my fist and my tears, I will it.

I drive home, my path and my purpose now clear. There is no escaping what I have done, even as I revel in the darkness of my declaration of rebellion. What folly! To entertain the fantasy that the finite can control the infinite. But my pride keeps me steadfast: I cannot be conquered. Nor can I be victorious. I am Prodigal.

Yet lurking in the quiet recesses of the night, the claim upon my life is not yet revoked. There will come a reckoning, to lay my folly bare, to set the course of a future now clouded from view. There will be but one option: Surrender. But on this night, and for the next two years, I will remain invictus.

"My Father, who has given them to Me, is greater than all; and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father's hand." (John 10:29, NASB)

"You did not choose Me, but I chose you …" (John 15:16a, NASB)


A Portrait of Me: The Key
A Portrait of Me: River Walk
A Portrait of Me: Journey's Dawn
A Portrait of Me: I Am Prodigal
A Portrait of Me: This is My Story (coming soon)

May 07, 2012

Supermoon

What do you do when it has been 10 days since your last post, and the mental faculties aren't functioning well enough to write extemporaneously? Why, post a picture of the moon, silly. I missed the supermoon on Saturday, in part because of some cloud cover. But the photo below by Tavi Greiner, courtesy of Universe Today, captures the moment. Follow this link to see other shots of the oversized satellite.


(h/t): Universe Today
Image Credit: Tavi Greiner

April 27, 2012

One Year Later, Or Last Month

Today marks the one year anniversary of a devasting and widespread outbreak of severe weather across much of the south, resulting in catastrophic devastation and loss of life. At one time, I had begun to prepare a piece for this blog that would look back on that day, from the frantic effort to find a way home across a veritable war zone featuring numerous blocked roads cluttered with downed trees and power lines, to the race to my brother-in-law's house in a failed attempt to patch a roof before the next round of storms, to hiding for the better part of 8 hours in the basement of our home as the darkest of days turned into night. I would have recounted the 7 days without power, the discovery of community among our neighbors, the stories of blessing and heartache and marvel that were born of that experience.

Yet as I sit here, I find that my view of April 27 is clouded - and yet made more clear - by March 2nd. What I could only imagine then, I now know. In the past 8 weeks, I have met several people at the ballfield, at the school, and around town whose lives were changed by April 27. Each conversation, many with complete strangers, was made rich by the understanding and empathy that comes from a shared experience.

As we labor to move on from March 2nd, I am struck by the reality that recovery may take far longer than I expect. To this day, there are still families all around us still struggling to get life back on track after April 27. There are still those who shake in fear at the even the threat of bad weather. Even I have lost my taste for a "good thunderstorm" in recent weeks, and as one who enjoys the science and mystery of weather phenomena, that's saying something. Maybe it'll come back in time, but for now, peaceable weather would be preferred. The point is, I am learning from those who know, that "normal" is a long way off. But I will not lack for hope, and I will remain confident that a restoration is coming. Are we changed? Yes. But we are together, and that means everything.

In closing, I offer the following links below, for those of you who may wish to look back at April 27. God be with you.

My Posts:

  • The post I made just before 1 pm on April 27
  • The day the power came back on
  • When the Lights Came Back On

    Other Look Backs:

  • Huntsville Utilities, TVA overcame long odds
  • A Year Ago Today - al.com
  • Local Meteorologists Look Back
  • Special Report from the National Weather Service
  • April 26, 2012

    Plus ça change ...

    Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose. That simple phrase remains one of the very few I can still recall from my days in high school, sitting in a French class taught by a teacher with an Art major and a powerful southern drawl. Such a grand way of saying what we've all heard before: the more things change, the more things remain the same. To the philosopher, it may be one of the most celebrated abstractions used to define the experience of the human condition through the passage of time. To those of a more pragmatic disposition, the notion is so intrinsically obvious as to warrant that other celebrated saying: "Well, duh!"

    I am old enough to have seen the times change, and young enough to not be all that surprised by the fact. For instance, I am old enough to remember the days when TV stations would sign-off at midnight, play the U.S. National Anthem, and shut off their transmitters. I am young enough, however, to recognize - and to a certain extent appreciate - the 24-hr broadcast cycle as a market-driven opportunity. (You know somebody got rich selling all those Ginsu knives that could cut through tin cans and metal pipes and still slice your tomatoes). I would imagine that there are few remaining TV stations that still sign-off that way anymore.

    I'm reminded of the time I lived on base near Grand Forks. Every day at 5pm, the flag would be lowered, accompanied by the playing of the anthem, and Taps, through the system of PA speakers that blanketed the base. Every car, every pedestrian, every kid on his bike would come to a stop where they were until the final note had faded in the wind. Maybe using the word "every" is a bit naïve, but from my vantage point and recollection, I don't recall seeing many violators of that etiquette. Nowadays, I still chafe when I see people talking, cooking, hats-on, and otherwise ignoring the anthem and flag (say, at opening day of little league). I wonder sometimes, if that custom of lowering the colors still continues, in the same way I remember it as a kid.

    I also remember going to the movies on base. Prior to the start of any feature presentation, the screen would fill with the flag, the speakers would pound out a drum roll, and the theater patrons would rise as one as the anthem was played. The memory of silhouettes standing at attention against a movie screen filled with images of national landmarks and flights of Air Force fighters, bombers and tankers is one I'll never forget. I consider myself fortunate to even have such a memory.

    To satisfy my curiosity, I asked the almighty Google if playing and standing for the anthem was still a common practice at theaters on military bases. The results were largely inconclusive, but I saw several references that seemed to indicate that, indeed, this custom remains alive and well. I'm glad.

    Times have changed, and so have people across the generations. This is nothing new. But just as human nature transcends the changing times (in ways both good and bad), so too do certain ideals and virtues. I only wish we could spend more time appealing to that which is virtuous in us, rather than what is base in us.

    The first video below is the video that begat the meandering rabbit trail above, posted by a friend of mine elsewhere. (I say meandering rabbit trail, because as I look at the first and sixth paragraphs, they seem like they should be the bookends of a different kind of essay, rather than the one I've chosen. But this is the path my mind took, so I'll leave well enough alone for now - an opportunity for reuse later). The second video is one I found, that while not exactly the same, is reminiscent of what I remember seeing in the theaters. Enjoy.





    April 18, 2012

    Moyer Wins

    Now here's a man who clearly plays for the love of the game. Jamie Moyer, drafted by the Cubs in 1984 (five years before I graduated high school), notched a win last night for the Colorado Rockies against the San Diego Padres. Moyer broke into the bigs in 1986, and his career now spans 26 years with the Cubs, Rangers, Cardinals, Orioles, Mariners, Red Sox, Phillies and now the Rockies.

    With the victory, Moyer is now the oldest pitcher ever to notch a win in the major leagues, at age 49, 150 days. In a game where the average retirement age is in the mid-30's, Moyer just keeps throwing, finds his way onto rosters, and manages to be effective. He pitches against some players that weren't even born when he first took the mound in the bigs. He currently sits at 268 wins, and while conventional wisdom makes the 300 milestone seem unlikely, I just don't think you want to count this guy out. Why? Because aging body aside, there's this little gem in Pat Graham's article (emphasis mine):

    Moyer ended the threat by getting pinch hitter Jeremy Hermida to ground out to second on a 76-mph cutter.

    That was vintage Moyer.

    With streaks of gray in his hair, Moyer looks like a player who will turn 50 in November.

    But once he steps on the mound that youthful exuberance returns.

    He's transformed into a kid again, sprinting out to the mound after each inning.

    On this night, he looked more like a spry rookie than a veteran nearing retirement - or at least his AARP card.
    Would that we all could approach our jobs, our lives with such exuberance. Or perhaps, maybe we just should. Tip of the cap to you, Mr. Moyer.

    April 16, 2012

    Moon View

    I really love images like this. From the International Space Station:


    (h/t): Universe Today

    April 15, 2012

    Writing Advice from C.S. Lewis

    A couple of weeks ago, I bookmarked another delightful piece of correspondence from Letters of Note, a wonderful diversionary site I find myself returning to on a weekly basis. In this installment, writer C.S. Lewis pens a letter to a young fan that includes some interesting advice on the craft of writing. Lewis offers five suggestions for writers:

    1. Always try to use the language so as to make quite clear what you mean and make sure your sentence couldn't mean anything else.

    2. Always prefer the plain direct word to the long, vague one. Don't implement promises, but keep them.

    3. Never use abstract nouns when concrete ones will do. If you mean "More people died" don't say "Mortality rose."

    4. In writing. Don't use adjectives which merely tell us how you want us to feel about the thing you are describing. I mean, instead of telling us a thing was "terrible," describe it so that we'll be terrified. Don't say it was "delightful"; make us say "delightful" when we've read the description. You see, all those words (horrifying, wonderful, hideous, exquisite) are only like saying to your readers, "Please will you do my job for me."

    5. Don't use words too big for the subject. Don't say "infinitely" when you mean "very"; otherwise you'll have no word left when you want to talk about something really infinite.
    I have yet to decide whether I should figuratively pin this advice to my writing corkboard, even though I recognize that I'm guilty of some of what he suggests are errors. As for the first item, I have no issue. In fact, I could argue that I'm too obsessed with being understood. It is one thing to put together language and words in order to be clear. It is another thing to go on and on, restating the same argument, making a broad and detailed case for the sole purpose of not being misunderstood. Of course, you must then balance this against the requirement for brevity, the so-called economy of words. Not my strong suit.

    His second recommendation simply pains me. While his example is quite clear and apt (who "implements" promises, anyway?), I admit to the joy of an extended vocabulary. There are so many wonderful words that would fail to see the light of day if we limited ourselves to the lowest common denominator in our word choice. I suppose it depends in part upon the style and audience of the written material.

    Number three, I'm in full agreement. I remember school days in which I would attempt to use such constructions of abstraction, mostly in a silly attempt to impress my instructors with the use of "bigger words." However, I believe there is a natural tension here, as teachers often encourage such constructions to encourage the use of a broader vocabulary. You know, the whole "use this word in a sentence" meme.

    The fourth is a matter of art as much a matter of construction. Some writers simply have that gift to make the reader emotionally connect to their material. In visual arts, including video, the artist can make creative use of color and music to create the desired mood or response in the audience. With the written word, I'm not so certain there is such a clear-cut, manipulative formula. It is all in how you tell the story, or whether it is a good story told well.

    Finally, a lesson in the proper use of hyperbole. If you use language at the extreme, then all that is left is absurdity. Our political class could take some lessons from this. Still, the avoidance of unnecessary exaggeration is good advice, except when used as a tool to further the story in a desirable way. But it is a tool that should be used sparingly - if you are telling a tale, or using it to illustrate a point. Exaggeration or hyperbole presented as fact lowers the value of the writing, and maybe even of the writer.

    In the end, the goal is to inform or to entertain, and sometimes both. But to do it well, both the message and the mechanics matter. I have much to learn about each.

    April 13, 2012

    The Future Remains Unwritten

    It is Friday, April 13, 2012, and I do not yet know what tomorrow holds. Funny that such a statement can be made, given how self-evident that is for any of us. Indeed, the title of this post feels a little over the top for its topic, but it works for me, so I'm going with it.

    'Twas Burns that said of mice and men,
    Two hundred years ago
    The best-laid schemes gang aft agley, a
    Truth so wretch'd, bless'd be
    To twist the tack of life we plow!
    I've never been overly keen on long-term planning, in the sense of the "where do you want to be in 5 years, 10 years" variety. It is not that I believe setting goals and having a vision is unimportant - quite the contrary. It is just that over time (and reinforced the last two years in a rather painful manner), I've learned that life has a way of upsetting "the best laid plans o' mice and men." The more detailed you plan, the more likely events will invalidate your efforts. The key lesson (one I often face) is learning to adapt, keep moving and avoiding the trap that leads to paralysis when life takes a hard unexpected turn. I slip into that trap sometimes, especially because I'm typically not a big fan of "change."

    It has been six weeks since we lost our home to the storm. The most frequent question I am asked, and one we ourselves are still asking, "are we going to rebuild"? So much of our focus these past few weeks has centered on the re-establishment of routine, all the legal and insurance matters, and the effort to methodically put our lives back in order. We are back at work. We are living in a rental house. Our old property is cleared of all major debris. We have managed to reduce our salvaged items from 2 10x25 storage units down to 1 (sadly, at least half of what was salvaged so far has not proved savable), but we still have a long way to go. And as much as we have tried to return to routine, life remains anything but. When I am at the office, I find myself preoccupied with matters associated with recovery. When I'm out and about looking at houses, or going through storage, or attending to little things like overdue car tag registrations and the tax assessors office - I find myself fretting about the projects at work that are at risk of falling behind schedule. James 1:8 notes that a double-minded man is unstable in all his ways. While intended for a different context, that verse to some extent does capture the distracted nature of my days. Not much to do but to pray and press through as best I can.

    We have met with one builder, and plan to meet with one or two more. The one we interviewed believes that the existing foundation, aside from some repair and reinforcement, should be safe to reuse if we choose to rebuild. Once we get some cost estimates, we'll have a better feel for what the options truly are. On the one hand, this is a buyer's market for housing. I could even make the argument that it would be far more pragmatic in this economy to buy a house, rather than rebuild, since it is likely that the cost of rebuilding will exceed the cost of buying. And yet, I fully own that land. To not rebuild, I would still incur a cost of restoring it to a condition to sell. The original house plans are sitting here on the kitchen table, and each time we or the boys look at those plans, we talk as if rebuilding is the natural answer to what happens next. And certainly there is more excitement surrounding that path than the one that leads to buying something else. But of course, we miss our home, and this is all indicative of the process in which we find ourselves.

    Soon I hope, we'll be able to choose a direction and start down the path laid before us. We continue to pray, we continue to gather facts, we continue to heal. It'll become clear in good time.

    April 08, 2012

    Bonus: Mr. Blue

    Peter Robinson of Ricochet has a beautiful post today, an excerpt from a book called Mr. Blue, published in 1928 by Myles Connolly. I won't copy the post (it's short, and I encourage you to read the whole thing at Ricochet.com). But I will excerpt just the smallest of portions, if I can:

    He threw his hands up toward the stars: “My hands, my feet, my poor little brain, my eyes, my ears, all matter more than the whole sweep of these constellations!” he burst out. “God Himself, the God to Whom this whole universe-specked display is as nothing, God Himself had hands like mine and feet like mine, and eyes, and brain, and ears!....” He looked at me intently. “Without Christ we would be little more than bacteria breeding on a pebble in space, or glints of ideas in a whirling void of abstractions. Because of Him, I can stand here out under this cold immensity and know that my infinitesimal pulse-beats and acts and thoughts are of more importance than this whole show of a universe."
    Thanks, Peter. Simply wonderful.

    Happy Easter!

    Today is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it! For Christ the Lord died, but He has also risen! And Christ will indeed come again!

    May the joy of Easter fill your heart and your day!



    "Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; He has risen!" (Luke 24:5-6, NIV)

    April 06, 2012

    The Death of Jesus

    Adapted from a devotion published in 1996.

    Intense, anguished prayer...."Not my will, Father, but yours".... "Are you the Messiah?".... Shouts, accusations from every direction, taunts..."Let's see a miracle, Son of God!".... "This man is innocent, I will release him".... "No! No! Crucify! Crucify! We have no king but Caesar!"...."I wash my hands of his blood, let it be on your heads".... The robe, the thorns piercing his flesh, the terrible agony of metal grinding through bone, being driven through flesh.... A stranger carrying his cross.... "Don't weep for me".... "Father, forgive them".... "Save yourself, if you are the Christ! Come on, you worthless piece of scum, call for your angels! Come, Oh high and mighty King -- save yourself!! He's quite clever at 'saving' others, but he can't save himself! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!".... "Hey, let's cast lots for these clothes, they'll bring a good price down in the temple market".... "Hey there, Messiah! Come down from that cross and we'll believe you!".... "Jesus, remember me when you come into your Kingdom".... "Today, you will be with me in paradise!".... A darkness deeper than any night fell upon that site. The air became oppressive, stagnant. And as it fell, the people became quiet, the taunting died away, even as evil rejoiced. For 3 hours, the darkness smothered the land. The only sounds were the agonized breathing of the dying. Suddenly, there was a loud cry from the mouth of God, shattering the eerie silence and shattering the hearts of those who heard it. "It is finished." The
    veil was torn in two. A spear thrust into His side brings forth a flow of blood and water.

    The Son is dead.
    It had to be done. It was the only way. Jesus died. He died so that we might live. We can never understand the joy of the Resurrection if we fail to understand the Death. In three days, the Victory was made known. But you cannot appreciate the Victory if you don't experience defeat.

    "Now I have given up everything else -- I have found it to be the only way to really know Christ and to experience the mighty power that brought him back to life again, and to find out what it means to suffer and die with him. So whatever it takes, I will be one who lives in the fresh newness of life of those who are alive from the dead." (Philippians 3:10-11, LB)

    "In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins ..." (Ephesians 1:7, NIV)

    "... and the blood of Jesus, his Son, cleanses us from all sin." (1 John 1:7, NIV)

    "Those who belong to Christ have nailed their natural evil desires to his cross and crucified them there." (Galatians 5:24, LB).

    "I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me;" (Galatians 2:20, RSV)
    Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

    Originally published 05 April 1996. Encounters! Ministry, Copyright © James A. Chase

    April 04, 2012

    1988 Literature Homework

    It was indeed, the year 1988, my junior year in high school. My Literature teacher, whose name for the moment escapes me, had assigned us a peculiar piece of creative writing homework. Our mission (which we were forced to accept), was to perform an act of blatant mimicry using as template the opening free-verse styling of Walt Whitman's 1855 "Song of Myself." It begins, of course, with the notable line "I celebrate myself, and sing myself …." I admit, I do cringe a little at the apparent sound of it, as if it were some sort of braggart's delight. But it is I suppose indicative of Whitman's style, this celebration and wonder of the created individual, and the depth of what and who we are as beings of thought, emotion and essence. Nevertheless, I used the opportunity to speak of what I knew about what I believed to be true about myself at the time. I got an A, of course.

    I never thought I would use something quite like this as a blog post, but given that I hold before me my journal of poems recovered from the wreckage, plus the fact that it has been 8 days since my last post, I figure it would be as good as anything. So for your temporary enjoyment or not, I present "Personal Thoughts":

    I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
    And you too shall know
    That which stirs within my being.

    I sing and I play,
    Losing myself in the beauty of the tune,
    The melodies of the heart,
    The harmonies of the soul.

    I dream,
    Dreams of peace and happiness,
    Bravery and adventure, love and hate.
    Dreams, which are
    The only things which keep me sane, and
    Provide me the escape I need
    From time to time.

    ***

    A child said "What is a dream?"
    Climbing onto my knee.
    What could I say?
    For I have pondered that question all my life,
    And have received no answers.

    Maybe it is the playground of the soul,
    A place where you can relax
    And enjoy yourself without worrying
    About reality and responsibility.

    Or maybe it is an outlet, a bottomless hole
    Into which you can release all your problems
    And stress, perhaps forever, perhaps for good.
    And yet, maybe it is both and more.
    A deep, fathomless question,
    The answer for which is not meant to be understood.

    ***

    I believe a tune is no less than the sound
    Of the Universe,
    The music by which the stars themselves dance
    With their intergalactic grace.
    The melody sings out in the heavens
    Harmony mingles in and out of the Glorious Song.
    A tune of joy, life, happiness,
    And eternal bliss.
    A song that is inaudible to some human ears,
    Yet can be felt within the stirrings of the heart,
    A song from Heaven itself.

    ***

    I understand the need for a dream,
    And the need for a song,
    To cleanse the soul of its worries and strife
    And to relieve the pain of the heart.
    Without these, life would be worthless and hard,
    With no respite.
    If dreams were non-existent, evil would abound,
    Crimes would be committed without
    Regard for others,
    We would have no conscience,
    No consideration,
    No compassion.

    But we do have these things,
    And some of us
    Realize their importance,
    For they, in their own way, make us truly human.
    Yes, I was a rather strange specimen as a 17-yr old. Well. I guess some things don't really change with time, do they.

    March 27, 2012

    Disposable Words

    I like words. I've written or typed quite a few of them in my time. I relish the exercise of formulating a thought and laboring to fashion it in a manner that makes a concept accessible to others. I wrote poetry when I was young, Bible studies in my 20's, and a wide variety of technical and policy documentation throughout my career. I started blogging out of an innate need to write, for myself and anyone willing to suffer as my audience.

    Creative writing was never really a focus during my student years. While I believe I am suitably proficient in the use of language and vocabulary, I find that the distinction between words as commodity and words as art to be a difficult chasm to span. It is for this reason and more that I find articles on the topic of the modern use of the English language so interesting. The digital age has greatly commoditized the written word, making it more and more difficult to identify true art in the preponderance of prose. In a fascinating article called "The Pros and Cons of Cyber-English," David Gelernter takes a look at some of the effects the digital age has had on the vernacular. A few excerpts:

    Social networking, texting, email and digital messages have borrowed the keys to the English language and are joy-riding all over the landscape, smashing body panels and junking up the fancy interior. Many thoughtful people are worried. But it's good for English to get shaken up occasionally—by people who are using it in new ways, not by academics ordaining from on high.

    In the 1980s and '90s, email saved the personal letter from extinction by moving it online. Email-writers have leaned heavily for decades on abbreviations, which suit this quick-and-casual medium. Thus the celebrated "lol," "laughing out loud," and many others.



    When you are forced to compress your message into fewer words, each word works harder, carries more meaning on its shoulders and, accordingly, becomes more important and interesting. Digital English is no good for poetry or novels, but on balance it's refreshing.

    Smiley-faces are another story. Painfully cute hieroglyphics (happy-face, sad-face) have littered email for years; they are the empty beer bottles in the literary flower garden. Anything that can't be pronounced stops the verbal music, makes the reader stumble and marks the writer as a nitwit. These pictograms are for sloppy and lazy writers: E.B. White never felt the need to draw little faces in the margin to make his meaning clear.
    I confess that I have, at times, fallen into the habit of using emoticons (smiley-faces, etc.) as shorthand to convey everything from genuine emotion to simple acknowledgement in response to a message I've received. But in my regular writing, never. On to weightier matters (emphasis mine):

    Digital words are disposable words. Partly the problem is technological; mostly it is psychological. Ink and paper (or parchment or papyrus) have functioned brilliantly as a presentation and storage medium for a couple of thousand years. It's easy to read a 300-year-old book or a 2,000-year-old scroll. Can you imagine booting a 2,000-year-old computer? For a technologist, "permanent" means the next 20 minutes.

    Digital words are easy to write, change, send, forget. They lack the dignity of the printed word. It's hard to throw out a book, even if you don't need or want it; it's easy to delete a million bits without thinking twice. Young writers know that blogs are cutting-edge but want to see their pieces, nonetheless, in real ink on real paper in real books, newspapers or magazines.

    Digital words seem cheap because they are, and they grow cheaper by the day. Consider the withering hailstorm of mail, text, social net and blog posts that assaults you the moment you go online. It's become impossible for many a normal, solid citizen to answer his email promptly. But young people seem increasingly apt to ignore uninteresting messages on purpose. If the message is important it will be resent, and if it isn't, who cares anyway? So the value of digital words sinks even lower.

    Gelernter's piece is worth a read, so I'll resist citing even more of the article. The above section strikes me particularly keen. So much of our lives are wrapped up in digital mediums, more so than many of us might care to admit. After the tornado, we fretted about retrieving printed documents and papers, out of concern for identity theft and security. Books upon books were pulled out of the rubble, because they were tangible assets that could be retrieved, and perhaps more than a few no longer available in print. Yet we were also concerned about computers, tablets, PDAs and random hard drives, because of the immeasurable volume of information stored on such devices. Three weeks later, we are still not sure whether that data is recoverable, although in due time we will find out.

    I consider myself fortunate that I have so much of my writing stored off in different places, including online. But in the blink of an eye, every word, every thought I have committed to digital media could disappear forever. It is almost enough to make me consider committing all of my writing to some sort of printed medium, if only as a safeguard. Yet as events have shown, there is no guarantee on even the printed word.

    The truth be told, words have always been disposable. The printed word is no more permanent than the digital word - the only difference is the shelf-life and the nature of the vulnerability. A writer wishes to be read; no more, no less. Words are abundant, and therefore are commodities that have value only in the sense that when put together, they convey something of the author. Some words permeate the culture and give the appearance of immortality. But in the end, all words are temporary, no matter how masterful the formulation, no matter how wide the distribution. So perhaps the chasm between commodity and art is a wasted endeavor as a pursuit of its own aim. I will never become "known" for the things I write, but those who read what I write, they will come to know me.

    March 21, 2012

    More Videos - And An Empty Feeling

    It is amazing what can be accomplished in a day and a half with the right equipment. I went by the property late this afternoon to find all the major debris completely gone, with only a few small piles and scattered remains littering the lot. Out there on this windy, gray afternoon, I just felt empty.

    Below are a few more videos I took with my phone. I apologize if they are a bit shaky at times. I looked along the lines of the footers. I'll have to get an engineer out there to inspect the site. Right now, I'd say there's a fair chance that the slabs will have to be dug up and re-poured. I'm no expert in such matters, though.







    March 20, 2012

    Heavy Equipment

    Today, the heavy equipment arrived on the property, working the trees on the back line. After a brief consultation, they began pulling down the remaining structure of the house, to include what was left of the kitchen and laundry room and the bonus room. Below is a 3 minute video I captured with my phone showing some of the work in action.

    It was good to see the progress, but beyond that, I'm not sure how I felt. The sooner the debris is gone, the better. But after that, the harder decision awaits. All in good time, I suppose.



    March 17, 2012

    Space Digest

    I needed a little diversion this morning, as we prepare to dive knee deep into the remains of our belongings currently held in storage. Not too long ago, I came across a site called Universe Today. UT aggregates space and astronomy news, among other features. A couple of neat items caught my attention this morning:

    First, there are compiled videos of the Aurora Borealis captured from the view of the International Space Station. Here's a sample:


    As have many others, I've caught myself gazing at the western sky in the evenings, watching the conjunction of Jupiter and Venus as they dance in the heavens. Their presence and their bright, steady reflection of the sun's light is mesmerizing, and stands out against the normal view of the night sky. Amateurs have captured the conjunction on camera, and the UT post has several to view. I like many of them, but below I think is my favorite (image credit Tavi Greiner):


    Back to the real world, I suppose. But I admit, it's nice to blog about something else for a change.

    March 13, 2012

    Tuesday's Blurb

    It is Tuesday, and spring is fully underway. There is a hint of pollen in the air as the leaves are beginning to unfurl on the trees. The temperature is warm, and the gnats are everywhere.

    And no matter how many times I look, or how often I try to shake the image, my house remains a forlorn pile of rubble. I'm in the midst of negotiations with a debris removal company, which I hope to conclude today. Hopefully soon, we'll be able to get the property cleared enough to stop being quite the safety hazard it is now.

    We have secured a new residence, and furnished it with rental furniture. My parents left this morning, and perhaps tonight we will stay at the new place for the first time. It'll take several more days to "set up house", but we are moving forward.

    Insurance did come through, and although it was far from how I envisioned it, we have paid off the mortgage. In the coming months, we will have to decide whether to rebuild on the lot. Right now, it is just a little too soon to see clearly. Whatever we do, it won't come without first spending much time as a family in prayer. We have been surrounded by such grace these past 11 days, there is no way we're taking a step without prayer.

    I have an idea for a longer blog post in the days ahead, but it probably won't be ready until the weekend. Other priorities must come first. In the meantime, suffice it to say, we are okay. And we will be okay.

    The days are hard, but we are not alone. Thanks be to God.

    March 07, 2012

    Storm Aftermath - Quick Update

    I thought I would take a quick moment to update on where we stand, and how we are doing. While blogging is certainly at the low end of the priorities right now, I am aware that several folks have been following the events and our circumstances.

    First, allow me again to express my thanks to all for the prayers and support. We finally finished our salvage efforts yesterday. While I cannot rule out doing a little more picking around as the debris removal crews come through, for all intents and purposes, we're done looking for stuff. Our focus will now turn towards some key actions: 1) Sorting through what we have recovered, to determine what is really salvagable, and what needs to be given up; 2) finding a new residence; and 3) lots of phone calls to, well, everyone, in particular to service providers providing us services we are no longer able to use.

    Today is March 7, which means this is the fifth day. It is all very surreal, and I would imagine that as the pace of activity changes, the adrenaline surge that has kept us going will fade. We are understandably exhausted, but I cannot help but to notice how tightly we are being held in the embrace of grace. As the old hymn says, "It is Well, With My Soul."

    And another comes to mind: "On the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand, all other ground is sinking sand."

    We are well, our family is here, and God is with us all.

    Peace to you and yours, with all my heart.

    March 04, 2012

    When the Lights Can't Come Back On

    Last year, I wrote a post here reflecting on the experience of the aftermath of a massive tornado outbreak across the south. In that storm, we narrowly avoided tornadoes to our north and to our south as close as a half mile, and as far as two miles. I shared with you about the experience of community, and my reflection of what happened When the Lights Came Back On.

    On March 2, 2012, we experienced another set of devastating storms through our part of the world. This time, for me, the lights will not come back on. On Friday, our home was completely destroyed.

    Nobody was home when the EF-2 twister tore through my neighborhood, leaving my home in a pile of rubble. To say that we are still in shock is an understatement. Our immediate needs have been addressed, and we are working to salvage what we can. We have already retrieved more than I thought imaginable.


    In April 2011, we did what we could to reach out to neighbors, family and strangers to support relief efforts. In March 2012, I was the recipient of the generosity of my many families: immediate, church, and work. Yesterday, 60-some people descended on our property and helped us with the first phase of salvage. Boy Scouts, members of a high school football team, two church groups, FEMA, Red Cross, and numerous volunteers from a local college tackled the mess. We have been flooded with all kinds of support, kindness and care. Last year, I considered it a tremendous blessing to serve. This weekend, I consider it a tremendous blessing to allow others to share their gifts of service for me. I am overwhelmed.

    With respect to my house, the lights cannot come back on. But in the eyes and hearts of those around us these past couple of days, the light is shining. We are in good spirits, all things considered. The Lord is our rock, and our refuge, in this most certain time of trouble. I will praise Him in good times, and bad, and despite our loss, we have been given much.

    As I hold my family close, I cannot help but think: I have been, and remain, very, very blessed.

    For those of you interested, here is a link to the interview I gave for a local TV station.