Time and Potatoes

When I was around 12 or 13 years old, I had a potato clock. It was a sturdy little thing, with a stand made of smoky-clear plastic featuring two holders just the right size to hold a pair of soda cans. It had a decent gauge wire firmly joined to zinc and copper electrodes, with a small digital LCD that could be fixed to the stand. I had that clock for quite a few years, and to this day I remain fascinated by natural electrochemical processes. I mean, a clock powered by a spud? How cool is that?

It so happens that a potato clock from Hobby Lobby found its way into the pile of Christmas presents this year. It was meant for the boys as an educational project, but who are we kidding here? It was really just a toy for me. But like so many toys these days, the quality of the product leaves MUCH to be desired.

First, let me show you the holders, these fine receptacles intended to hold our electrolytic spuds:

Nice, huh? And they might even work, if you used baby potatoes. But they are not, shall we say, ideal for your normal sized spud:

And then there's the wire. The product came packaged with the most brittle, flimsiest gauge wire they could find. The instructions tell you to tie the wire to the zinc and copper strips and tape them. Tape? Ugh. The wires then run into a cheap plastic box holding the LCD display and control board. As luck would have it, the solder joints where the wires connect to the control board aren't sound. It took me half an hour to get the display working, and still, if you touch it just so, the clock resets to 12:00. I lost my lab-grade soldering iron in the tornado, otherwise I would have ripped that thing open and rebuilt it with a better grade wire and better joints at all the tap points. I may yet do it (sounds like good justification to replace a tool to me). I've suddenly got the itch to tinker again. Which reminds me, I've got a old, busted up lamp made out of a slice of tree to fix too.

Anyway, quality aside, the clock works (more or less). The moral of the story? Always have red solo cups handy, and never lose the joy of taking things apart - because these days, you may very well have to take things apart to make the blasted stuff work. Most fun I've had in months!

Patented Rick Sutcliffe Pick-Off Move Now a Balk

Man, I wish I could find a video clip of the world famous Rick Sutcliffe trick pick-off move. Alas, I cannot, although if one appears online in the next several days, I'll update this post. In case you haven't yet heard the news, MLB has made a rules change:

NEW YORK (AP) -- One of the oldest trick plays in baseball is now a balk.

Under a rule change imposed by Major League Baseball, pitchers will no longer be allowed to fake a pickoff to third base and throw to first as a way to dupe a runner on first base into breaking for second. Next season, that move would be a balk. Pitchers can still step off the rubber and fake to third.

Back when Rick Sutcliffe pitched for the Cubs, every now and then he'd try to execute this fake to third, throw to first pick-off move. It was the most painful and silly thing to watch, and all Cubdom would collectively groan every time he tried it. I honestly don't think it EVER worked for Sut, but whenever he'd get runners on the corners, you knew it was coming.

It may be a silly rule change, but it is a sillier move. Calling it a balk now once and for all brings an end to such tomfoolery. Just play the game, boys.

Here's a little more on the story.

Benghazi Bluster

It has been a busy week, so I did not follow the Senate hearings on the Benghazi fiasco featuring Secretary of State Hillary Clinton. Probably just as well, as watching it would have undoubtedly brought my blood to a boil once again at the systemic failures up and down the chain that led unnecessarily to the deaths of 4 Americans, including a U.S. Ambassador.

But I did read a little, and one thing that seems to be clear based on some of the reporting and commentary I've seen is that a major whitewash is underway. When the story is more about how a feisty Clinton braved a hearing in front of grandstanding politicians after suffering from serious health issues, than a detailed inquiry into the events and decisions leading up to that fateful night on September 11, 2012, you know we've gone off the rails of any meaningful discovery of the truth. After Clinton testifies before the House committee, I suspect Benghazi may well disappear from the headlines for good.

What a strange phenomenon this is, to realize that when a figure in the public eye proclaims to the camera "I take responsibility," they are in fact doing just the opposite. Somehow, we have allowed the utterance of culpability to become an absolution of accountability. It takes far less courage to say "I am responsible" than it does to do the hard and painful work that makes it true.

Accountability, insofar as it can be considered a virtue, is in danger of becoming an anachronism in the public consciousness.

As citizens, more and more we are allowing this to go on, and therefore illustrate our own culpability in this erosion of virtue. Whose responsibility is it, really? Who among us genuinely takes ownership?

In Search of A Disciplined Mind

In years past, even on these pages, I have often foolishly proclaimed myself a thinker. Or, if not a thinker, one who tends to think he thinks. Lately, I have come to realize that such a boast was and is likely without merit. I marvel at those who can create deep and authoritative works, essays that while academic, reach beyond logic and philosophy to touch (or if not touch, reach toward) the truth of a thing.

In reality, I am having to come to terms with the undisciplined nature of my mind. Sure, as an engineer, I can focus on the task at hand and work to define, describe and implement a solution. But what joy may have been present in such has since become muted. I have long struggled with the dichotomy of my engineer's training and my need for creative expression through the written word. Others might not see the dichotomy, but as they represent two very different parts of me, I experience the tension nonetheless. Like the pursuit of a gift that can never be truly yours, I long for an excellence that cannot be achieved with second-rate skills. Once, it seems, I was able to compose my thoughts, make an argument, express a revelation in a manner that was fresh and relevant. These days, I can't seem to find that handle.

In part, it may be due to overindulgence in two-dimensional stimuli. By this, I mean the virtual world, rather than the three-dimensional interaction and engagement with real people in real deliberation and discussion. The internet is a bountiful resource of information, and I'm always reading, jumping from site to site, page to page, taking in much but pondering very little. I thirst for knowledge and comprehension, but seeking such sustenance only from what comes through this electronic wonder is a little like taking in salt water.

When I detach from such stimuli, I often find my mind to be a disordered mess. It takes discipline to sit and think, requiring more mental energy than I'm often willing to commit. Sometimes, I just sit without thinking. Only when I've been detached for a while does the equilibrium reset itself, setting the conditions for a more productive reflection. Yet even then, my hand might reach for the TV remote of its own volition.

Is it a thirst for knowledge and comprehension, or a thirst for stimulation? A universe of information may be at our fingertips, but knowing that a possible by-product is the erosion of mental discipline, maybe we would do well to view with caution the method of transference.

Or perhaps, I'm simply making excuses for my own mental laziness. In fact, that is my fear. Because in re-reading the paragraphs above, I have given witness to the undisciplined nature of my thoughts, which bear the fruit of an unproductive reflection.

In the end, I know little, and comprehend even less. That is no fault but my own, a failure to more often exercise the discipline required to sit and create the conditions for productive, reflective and creative thought.

What a mess, eh?

Eclipse

As I sit here in my makeshift "home office" (otherwise known as my kitchen table), my mind is wandering a bit as a typically peculiar North Alabama snow falls outside the window. Peculiar, because with any southern snow, it may dust or dump depending on which side of the street you find yourself. After seven straight days of rain, and now snow, there is a promise of sun tomorrow. It's been a long time since we've seen the sun. We can be forgiven here, for wondering if we'll ever see the sun again.

The sun again. Just like that, three little words call to mind a song that does not seem to fit the moment, and yet it does.


'Serenity’s a long time comin’ to me ….'

I really need to get back to work.

Shutout at the Baseball HOF

A few days ago, that journalistic society known as the Baseball Writers Association of America cast their ballots for the 2013 class of Baseball's Hall of Fame. As you may well know by now, not a single candidate secured the necessary 75% approval to gain entry to that illustrious institution.

This year's ballot includes some notable (and notorious) names, players who if not for the ill-fated decision to experiment with performance-enhancing drugs (PEDs), or players who fell under suspicion of doing so, would have likely taken their place in that hallowed Hall. Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens highlight this list, of course. Sammy Sosa, unlikely to make the Hall on his first ballot even if clean, barely registered 12%. I used to think Sosa was a sure thing, especially after that magical 1998 battle with Mark McGwire. But after seeing pictures of shrunken Sammy after testing went into full force, I'm convinced that his success was largely artificial. I still remember his years with the Cubs fondly, aside from his acrimonious exit. As a fan, I was never fond of Bonds or Clemens, but it could easily be argued that they were great without PEDs, yet chose to tarnish their reputations and the record books with their discretions.

Next year should be better, of course, with Greg Maddux, Auburn and White Sox great Frank Thomas, and Tom Glavine likely to make it on their first ballot (it might take Thomas two, but he won't have a long wait).

The great debate, of course, is what to do with the PED class of players. The purist position is that cheaters should never get in. The other side of the argument points out the varied and subjective standards being applied to different players across different eras, by voters who write articles for a living. No one can measure a direct, predictable causal relationship between PEDs and stats, yet there appears nevertheless to be some level of correlation. What is clear, for now at least, that those who used, or are strongly suspected of using, are marked with a scarlet letter and are likely to be blackballed indefinitely. The result is that a generation of players (a generation measuring a decade or two in this case), players that energized the sport to so many of us, will forever be left out in the cold. Yes, there are many baseball heroes who do not grace the Hall. But to be kept out because they weren't quite good enough, versus being kept out because of a deliberate attempt to gain an unfair advantage, makes the story more complicated. And it makes me wonder, what is really best for baseball?

My instinct is to take the purist position, in which only those players who excelled in the game (by evidence of stats), played by the rules (no cheating), and otherwise earned a significant consensus of acclaim deserve to be in the Hall.

Yet I cannot help but wonder if this approach is really good for the game, and the Hall. There is something almost McCarthyite about the way some in sports media are acting about this. Is this really about "protecting" the Hall from the scourge of PED users, or it is about applying some moral or character standard to those who would aspire to enshrined greatness?

The Hall ostensibly celebrates the game, and the men who played it well. But baseball is a game that attracts the gentleman and the cad alike, both competitors seeking to master a game like no other. Yes, I think the Hall is rarified air, and should be reserved for only the best of the best. But adding a sort of morality clause to the game's list of unwritten rules to use as a bar for Hall induction takes away an important facet of the game and its history. The game is played by men, men with faults. Their crimes aren't as much against baseball, as against its fans. You can't hurt "baseball." You may tarnish the league and its reputation in the eyes of its fans, but those who love the game will love the game nonetheless. Work stoppages and players strikes do far more damage to "the game" than a few players who colored outside the lines of fairness in an effort to inflate their stats and contracts. (And for the likes of Pete Rose? You cannot tell me that on the basis of his playing career, he's not a Hall of Famer. He is, and he should be. True, if he ever gets in, it will be likely be posthumously. But I digress.) Maybe the Hall should just celebrate the game, and not try to gloss over its warts by selectively omitting a certain, selective group of its sinners. And yet, voters should nevertheless make sure a career - even a tainted one, is worthy of inclusion. How hard it must be to be subjectively objective!

So, what do you do with the PED class? Asterisks? Exclusion? Scarlet Letter? I don't know. Greats are greats, be they cad or gentleman. Maybe the game, and the Hall, should have room for both. Somehow.

New Year, New Course?

I'm getting off to a slow start again this year. Heading into my fourth full year of blogging (Lord willing), I find myself doing more than my usual amount of self-indulgent navel-gazing. It is a new year, and I'm still laboring under the presumption that this chronicle should be unto something.

A question has been haunting me these last few days, an unspoken query that I finally put into words just yesterday:

How can a man write when most of what he sees and knows in life is through what others have written?

Too many of my posts are born of someone else's idea, something else's effort. I read something online, feel compelled to comment, and there it is. What I contribute in those instances is nothing new and arguably meaningless - a chasing after the wind. What fruit will it bear to write about the same things you can read for yourself or watch on the news? It becomes a crutch, and stiffles what creativity there may be. For while it is not in me to write the songs that make the whole world sing (or the songs of love and special things), I still want my writing to amount to something.

In any case, I'll continue to write, because I must. But allow me to apologize in advance for whatever may come of it. I may have to engage in somewhat more lateral thinking in order to break free of this non-creative rut that has marked my writing of late.

A mentor of mine once suggested that it is possible to act yourself into a new way of thinking, and to think yourself into a new way of acting. Perhaps. I wonder if it might work with writing.

We'll find out, or we won't.

It's Still a Wonderful Life

I confess, there's a part of me that would prefer not to indulge in a review of 2012. It certainly would be easy to pass over, wish everyone a happy new year, and move on into 2013. But to do so would cost me an opportunity to once again reflect on the remarkable blessings and experiences brought forth by the events of this year.

When 2012 began, I had assumed that the most traumatic thing I would experience was a 4-day, 3-night adventure to Dauphin Island with 69 7th graders. It turned out to be a great trip, although exhausting. My kids, one 13 and the other 9, consume a significant part of my life, and they bring me great joy. Much of that interaction has come through Scouts, baseball and school activities. I have no idea if I'm doing well as a dad, but I couldn't be prouder of the way they have handled the crisis that befell us in March.

March 2nd has seared itself deeply upon our souls, as our house succumbed to the destructive winds of a high-end EF-2 tornado. Emotional and material recovery has colored every moment of every day this year, and will continue to mark us into 2013 as we continue rebuilding. The burden is at times overwhelming, even now, but you press on because you must. Yet even that horrible day, and the difficult days that followed, are accompanied by a tremendous outpouring of grace and blessing. A few days after the storm I wrote:

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.

I read those words now, and through the tears I can testify that they still hold true. We have been embraced by grace all year, reflected through people we know and people we're getting to know. As I wrote in my anniversary piece on the April 27, 2011 outbreak, "Are we changed? Yes. But we are together, and that means everything." And it does. Perhaps in a few months, Lord willing, we'll move back into that place we're calling (tongue-in-cheek) Chase Manor 2.0. Already, our once and future home has taken shape, familiar yet different. This, I'm sure, will bring on a whole new set of feelings to work through. But we anticipate a new beginning, and the day cannot come soon enough. What a celebration that will be!

The other night, a few days after Christmas, we sat down as a family to watch It's A Wonderful Life. The older I get, the more emotionally sensitive I become, and I allowed the tears to flow in the final scenes of this timeless classic. I've written about this movie in the past, and while I don't need to rehash it here, the truth it shares is apropos: When we give of ourselves to others, we are blessed. When we allow others to give of themselves to us, we are blessed.

So yes, 2012, while fraught with peril and difficulty, was a year of tremendous blessing. We enjoyed family breaks at Hilton Head and Disney World, and time together wherever we could make it. Yes, it is still a wonderful life. Thanks be to God!

Nuggets

Just a couple of nuggets today, while I ruminate over a year end post of some kind:

- I know it is a little thing in the grand scheme of things, but I was greatly relieved this week to finally find 5 stray DVDs of James Cagney movies. This means that every Cagney film I have captured to DVD is safely in my collection. I own 52 of 67 Cagney films, plus a few documentary pieces and one TV appearance (A Link in the Chain). I had about 9 more than were only on VHS - these did not survive. I've been collecting his movies for almost 20 years. He's got a number of TV appearances that I keep hoping will show up on some internet archive someday.

- I ordered a first edition hardback copy of Cagney's autobiography as a Christmas present to myself. It'll be here next week. (No, I decided not to spring for the $500 signed copy, although for a moment, it was tempting). Have I mentioned that I'm a Cagney fan?

- Changing the subject, here is a brief but clear illustration of how silly this end-of-year fiscal cliff, tax argument really is in the grand scheme of things. Taxes will go up for all or for some, but it won't do squat to address the true fiscal crisis this nation faces.

- I almost dedicated a full blog post yesterday to this article on teaching table manners to your kids. You have to read the whole thing to understand just how flabbergasted I was to the idea of outsourcing the teaching of basic manners (and the cost!). Etiquette "schools" have been around forever, but still. One person quoted in this article states: "When it comes to children, she said, long gone are the days when you could tell them that they have to behave a certain way 'just because.'” Wow. "Just because" may be an incomplete answer, but parents are delegated an authority for a time, and by golly they shouldn't be afraid to exercise it.

- House 2.0 update. We are bricked, drywalled, and primed. We're heading into the homestretch, with painting, trim, flooring, cabinets, appliances, fixtures, deck and landscaping. Will we be in by March? We'll see!

- Updated 4:18pm: From the great family Scrabble competition: You will NEVER convince me that "jo" and "oe" and "ai" and "qi" are valid Scrabble words. I don't care what the "official" Scrabble dictionary says. Use them in a sentence. Bah. Humbug!!

Merry Christmas!

From my family to yours, may you find peace and joy and comfort on this blessed Christmas Day! Make it one to remember!

For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the greatness of his government and peace
there will be no end.
-- Isaiah 9:6-7a

Mood Music - Bocelli

As is so often the case, music makes the season, cutting through the noise of life to bring me to that place where my soul can rest and contemplate, reminding me that there is a light that shines, a truth that saves, and a beauty in the simple exaltation of praise. I invite you to fill your ears and your heart with the sounds of this classic performed by Italian tenor Andrea Bocelli.


Shamelessly borrowed, with a tip of the hat, from Dave Carter at Ricochet.

Christmas Canon

Well, the world apparently didn't end today as adherents to the Mayan calendar allegedly predicted, but by and large, the work year for me will end today. (I always leave myself some leeway on these things). This week has been nuts, filled with last minute, end-of-contract deliverables. But now that is all done and it is time to think about Christmas. I also have to start my gift shopping. (Hey, for me, this is early).

I was looking through my notes that I keep for this blog, looking for something to write about today. I have a number of topics in the queue, but all of them are depressing: fiscal cliff, Russia, the weakening North American church, healthcare. Interesting stuff, but not exactly cheerful fodder with Christmas so close.

So I today I'll keep it light, turning instead to one of my standbys to get me in the mood for Christmas.

The video below is a children's performance of Trans-Siberian Orchestra's (TSO) Christmas Canon. Under normal circumstances, I'm not generally a fan of taking many liberties with Pachelbel's classic, but I make an exception for Christmas Canon. The lyrics and the counter-melodies move me, although that is not hard to do when it is right.


The above is a nice arrangement isn't it? Of course, I still have a soft spot for the original Christmas Canon Rock by TSO. It is edgier, but the vocals get me every time.

Key lyrics:

This night
We pray
Our lives
Will show
This dream
He had
Each child
Still knows

We are waiting
We have not forgotten

I pray that we never forget the power, the hope, and the joy of Christmas. This is the season of waiting for the Christ child to come. Lord help me not forget to wait.

An Act of Evil

By now, anyone who finds this post in this highly obscure corner of the web will have heard of the horrific events in Newtown, Connecticut. I see no value in linking to any article on the subject, so instead I will offer up a simple response.

Every time something like this happens, I wrestle with tears of anger and grief, coming almost always to a place of deep brokenness, marveling darkly and sorrowfully at the human heart's capacity for evil.

Because no matter what mental, medical, emotional, or relational breakdowns precipitated this event, the truth is the perpetrator succumbed to the darkness within and committed an act of unconscionable evil. Many will water this down and call it a tragedy, and indeed, the results are tragic. But we also need to recognize that this tragedy didn't just happen, it was premeditated. It was an evil act with devastating consequences, leaving a trail of victims in its wake.

I have no other words that are suitable to this situation. I continue to wrestle with my emotions and my thoughts. As a believer, better that I wrestle and pray, than to walk away indifferent. I'm so aware of my need for a Savior, for grace, for a light in the darkness.

I pray that the Light breaks through the darkness that has unfolded in Connecticut and indeed, everywhere. May our Father in Heaven bring comfort, mercy and grace for the afflicted, and may we all respond not with more darkness, but in the spirit of He whose life is the Light of men (John 1). It may not be easy, but it is essential.

Vilsack Says Rural America is "Less Relevant," is He Right?

Over the weekend, I read some comments from current Agriculture Secretary Tom Vilsack (the former governor of Iowa) about the state of rural America that gave me pause. Sure, there is an inflammatory quality to the "less relevant" soundbite, and reactionary arguments abound that could refute such an indictment. Yet on the surface, the electoral map seems to support his point, where even a vast sea of red states cannot surpass the starbursts of blue urban population.

Having spent some formative growing-up years in the farming communities in eastern North Dakota, I remember well hearing my friends and their dads (farmers) bemoaning the state of farming, of being told not to grow wheat in the mid '80s. These were proud folks, running family farms, and the thought of having to take subsidies to not grow crops was anathema to them. Historically, we've had farm bills and subsidies since the Great Depression. Nowadays, there are tremendous economic pressures to end or at least drastically reduce those subsidies.

Mind you, I'm not a farmer, nor am I a fan of subsidies. But Vilsack may very well be right when he points out that despite the vital importance of rural America (the food supply, energy development, etc.), the fact is that the population of such areas continues to shrink. And with that shrinkage comes the loss of political influence. I'm not sure how they gain it back.

What happens when the subsidies give way to fiscal pressures? Can the family farms survive, or will they give over to the corporatism and conglomerates of the growing agribusiness sector? Would this further suppress rural population growth, or might it have the opposite effect of revitalizing the agricultural sector?

It strikes me that squeezing out the voices of those so vital to maintaining our food supply is a very bad idea. Is it possible to reverse the trend?

Christmas Waiting

I have not yet collected my thoughts for a series of Christmas posts, and to be honest, there may only be one or two. But in the meantime, check out this delightful commercial:


Very nice.

(h/t: Lance at Ricochet)

Update on House 2.0

The pages of the calendar have turned to December, and as expected, progress on the house seems to have slowed despite the fact that work hasn't stopped. In September, we watched as the house was framed at what seemed like lightning speeds, to be followed by the roof and the rough-ins for plumbing, electrical and HVAC in October.

Since then, much of the focus has been on insulation and waterproofing. We've also had crews working low voltage rough-ins for network and media (structured wiring). Waterproofing is of critical importance because of our daylight basement. The primary retaining wall was deemed structurally sound, but with evidence of water seepage. As a result, it was then necessary to go back and redo and improve the external waterproofing.

After excavation, crews thoroughly cleaned the exterior wall and footer. For the primary below-ground section, they then used a spray-on waterproofing membrane (the black stuff) and covered the lower portion with protection board up to the brick ledge. After that set, they came back and installed additional membrane up to the top of the cinder wall. Finally, they installed a drain, routing it to the back of the house along the perimeter and backfilled the dirt and gravel.

The other major effort has been the installation of open-cell spray foam insulation. As I may have mentioned previously, we lost nearly 20 trees off our lot, including four towering pin oaks that provided shade for the house in the spring and summer. Now that the house will be fully exposed to the eastern sun, we determined that making the house as energy efficient as possible was imperative. So instead of traditional blown fiber insulation and standard batting, we've opted for the spray foam solution. Open cell spray foam is applied to all exterior surfaces, from the attic roof to the exterior walls (and ceiling over the garage). It is similar to Great Stuff, if you've ever used that wonder in a can. While permeable to moisture (good so that we know if the roof leaks), it is impermeable to air, creating a controlled atmospheric environment in the attic space as well as the main floor. In theory, we should lose a lot less heat, but the result is that we have to have a somewhat more sophicated HVAC solution to move the air around.

We have gone with a more standard batting for the interior walls and the basement ceiling however, for use as a sound barrier. For if there is one thing we have learned in this rental house, it is the value of having interior walls insulated with a sound barrier. It is a unique state of affairs when you can stand in the kitchen and hear the toilet paper being pulled from the roll in the master bath on the other side of the house. It is an extra expense, but in my view it is worth it.

What else? Well, I have a new garage floor, which is nice.

But the bigger news is the arrival of brick and drywall on site. Rumor has it that bricking started yesterday, although I myself have not had a chance to see it. The weather is iffy today, so I'm not certain how much will be done. We have hopes that we will be bricked and drywalled before Christmas. If and when that happens, you'll be able to see and read about it here. Best guess right now on closing? End of February. It cannot come soon enough.

So I Was Watching "Hee-Haw" the Other Night ...

Consider that your warning: this post may meander just a bit.

But yes, we did indeed sit down and watch an old episode of Hee-Haw, hosted by Roy Clark and the late Buck Owens. Loretta Lynn was a guest star, and the episode contained all of the classic sketches and segments I somehow remember even after all of these years. At first, I could only shake my head at the simple, silly, and at times lame comedy. Before long, though, I was laughing.

Later, I got to thinking, somehow, about an old vinyl album we recovered from the storm:

This venerable Tom T. Hall album was given to me by my great-uncle Lew on a trip I took as a young child to the northwest. My memories of that trip are very sketchy: I have only fleeting images within my recall. Yet somehow I remember that "Faster Horses" for a time was my favorite song.

Over the years, I listened to this record over and over again, before it got put away somewhere. Today, I don't even have a turntable to play it on, so I had to resort to YouTube. After listening to a few songs off the playlist, I'm convinced I still know all the words to every song on the album. Tom T. Hall is a noted singer, songwriter and storyteller, and it is the stories he tells through his songs that seem to matter the most to him. From here, I got to thinking some more.

Stories. On the back of the "Faster Horses" album, there is a letter of sorts from the singer about a sabbatical he took in the winter of 1975. It isn't a letter so much as a collection of entries, observations and here and there a nugget of wisdom. I couldn't help but to think of my favorite future fantasy of owning a simple house on a lake, with a dock, boat and canoe. That really has nothing to do with the point I'm slowly working towards here, but it does serve as a backdrop for the gentle melancholy I feel at times in our present reality. The stories of previous generations seem different as each one passes through this age of "progress." This present era seems ever more confining, in the sense that more and more we relate to one another only through electronic mediums. We live in a cocoon defined by our favorite webpages, social media, and email lists. Living in such a bubble, what stories can we tell? What narratives and legacy can we pass on that can go beyond the confines of our technology? The age of progress has resulted in a tangible retreat into a false reality of being. The internet is not the real world, and too often it serves not as a bridge, but as a barrier between us and other very real people. What stories can we tell, that will enliven the imagination of our children? Technology may "connect" you to the world, but it also isolates you to the point that intimate, substantive relationships become hard to develop. It is the relationships that enrich us most, that provide us the fertile material for the story of our lives.

My advice? Don't let this virtual world suck all the life out of you. It can do that. Seek out experiences, passive and active, that add flavor to your existence. Your kids want to know who you are, what you did. Or if they don't now, they will someday. I think it matters.

Well now, isn't that just cheery? Hee-Haw to deep, guilt-ridden thoughts about life in the virtual age. How typical of me! So to cleanse your palette, or to drive you away from this blog at the speed of light, here's just a little Pickin' and Grinnin' !


Hi, I'm Jim from Huntsville, Alabama. Population: 182,956. "SAA-LUTE!!"

Happy Thanksgiving!

Every day brings incontrovertible evidence that what we have is not so much the product of our own making, or the privileges deserved from our misguided sense of entitlement. But rather it is the grace of God, and God alone, that extends to us blessings that we have not earned, but are given nonetheless. Knowing that our treasure is not found in the things of earth, but rather in communion with our Father, His Son and His Spirit, we give thanks today and every day.

What shall I render to the Lord
For all His benefits toward me?
I shall lift up the cup of salvation
And call upon the name of the Lord.

- Psalm 116:12-13

Give thanks today, with a grateful heart!

O come, let us sing for joy to the Lord,
Let us shout joyfully to the rock of our salvation.
Let us come before His presence with thanksgiving,
Let us shout joyfully to Him with psalms.
For the Lord is a great God
And a great King above all gods,
In whose hand are the depths of the earth,
The peaks of the mountains are His also.
The sea is His, for it was He who made it,
And His hands formed the dry land.

Come, let us worship and bow down,
Let us kneel before the Lord our Maker.
For He is our God,
And we are the people of His pasture and the sheep of His hand.

- Psalm 95:1-7

Honor is Not an Anachronism

I took a break this weekend from world events and social media / internet discourse to accompany a den of Webelos on camping trip in extreme northeast Alabama. Although the nights were quite cold (low 30's), it was a beautiful couple of days in the outdoors. I couldn't escape thinking about the state of our culture, however, as I watched these young scouts interact with their older Boy Scout brethren. When the older scouts began to instruct their younger counterparts on the Scout Oath and Scout Law, I could not help but to consider the vital importance of the values they convey.

The Scout Oath

On my honor, I will do my best
To do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout Law;
To help other people at all times;
To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.

I could expound on the whole of the above, but allow me to highlight that last line. Keeping physically strong means what it means - take care of your body. Keeping mentally awake (I love this one), means to learn all you can, be curious and ask questions. In other words, observe, learn and think. Finally, keeping morally straight means to live honestly, be clean in your speech and actions, and to be a person of strong character. In this day and age, how hard that is to do! But it can be done. Fulfilling the principles that undergird this oath requires a self-discipline that we often fail to exercise. But again, it can be done!

The Scout Law

A Scout is:
- Trustworthy,
- Loyal,
- Helpful,
- Friendly,
- Courteous,
- Kind,
- Obedient,
- Cheerful,
- Thrifty,
- Brave,
- Clean,
- and Reverent.

That's a tall order to ask of anyone, much less a modern teenager. But if we (and they) are able to model even a portion of the values and attitudes embodied above, how much brighter would our future be! For a life lived this way cannot help but to shape and mold us into people of integrity, honesty and honor.

Honor is not an anachronism. It continues to be imbued and imparted to a new generation of young men. Their numbers may be small as a sample of the population, and many may fall short at times (don't we all), but the principles and values remain essential and timely.

Our world and our nation needs honorable men and women. They are out there, not making headlines, but doing what they can, where they are, to the best of their ability. We just need more of them.

The great wonder of learning to live honorably is this: We can start at any age. Each of us. May we choose to do so, and set the example for the next generation.

Veterans Day 2012

On this Veterans Day, we honor those who have stood in the gap on the front lines of history to protect and defend this thing we call America. For its Constitution, for its lands, for its interests, for its people, our Veterans have stood on the ramparts and are due our honor and our gratitude. Accordingly, we further owe them our commitment to preserving that for which they stand. Not just for them, but for ourselves.

Who we are, in other words, still depends crucially on what we are prepared to stand up for - and on our willingness to stand up for it. Who we are today ... is unquestionably the product of what previous generations were prepared to stand up for even at the cost of their lives. Therefore, when we cease to honor such sacrifices, ... we cut ourselves off from our past and, in some essential sense, from our selves."

-- James Bowman

May we remember our heritage, our ideals, and our liberty. May we remember and honor those who have stood and continue to stand for this republic. May we have the courage to stand with them.