Mobility

I enjoy traveling to new places. Forty-five years ago, a military recruiter assured me I could do just that in the U.S. Air Force and he was right. It wasn’t long till I was trained and winging across the endless blue of the Pacific Ocean to places I had difficulty spelling. I learned that folks eat stranger things than our sauerkraut and snitz un knepp, hog maw, and other Pennsylvania fare. Things like big rice bug (a giant-type of water bug) or baluts (a fermented chick embryo); the kind of things that Andrew Zimmer, the Travel Channel star relishes. I bought contact lenses in Japan before most folks in the US knew what they were. I watched roosters with silver spurs fight to the death and discovered smelly sewage laden Binjo ditches leading to the Klongs in Bangkok. I shared the beaches on Guam with giant Gooney Birds. I have many travel memories. Later in my military experience I was attached to an elite response force stationed in Fayetteville, North Carolina. Our team’s mission was to airlift those warriors anywhere in the world with just twenty minutes notice. I maintained two large packed bags in my room. One was for cold climates with a fur-lined parka and snow pants, etc. The other was for tropical climates and included mosquito netting, etc. Interestingly enough, even though I was dispatched with cold weather gear several times, I always ended up in the tropics—most of the time back to Viet Nam. I was activated with cold weather gear for both the 1968 Chicago Democratic Convention riots and the Pueblo crisis in Korea and somehow each time ended up back in the jungles of Viet Nam. Unfortunately back home, I had a prospective bride trying to establish a wedding date. (The “unfortunately” for the date—not the bride or wedding!) I remember quite a few of those hurried calls to say, “We’re leaving and I don’t know where, when, or how long.” Guess that helped contribute to me not being a “career man,” although I happily became a “career husband” within days of discharge. In fact, a few years after getting married, I was mobilized again. This time it was teamed with my bride as a traveling troubleshooting and training team for a family restaurant chain. Although we occasionally flew, we normally fit eight pieces of luggage under the hatch of a Datsun 240Z sports car. (My kids always thought we only had station wagons!) We traversed up and down the east coast from Detroit to Miami and Brookline to Huntsville. Remind me to tell you about Miami in August in a car without air conditioning! Later we operated a family business for almost thirty years that involved traveling to the customers to fulfill their needs. (Hopefully nothing they didn’t think they needed!) That saga was wonderful and I was sad to gradually lose contact with hundreds of wonderful folks that we served. I guess I’ve taken you on this odyssey to explain my bias supporting some of my thoughts. I believe we were designed to be dispatched to reach out to folks and situations. In this era of bailouts and massive organizational efforts, we’ve lost sight of our personal effectiveness especially when we sincerely reach out to other individuals. My heart breaks when I see so many well-meaning folks waiting on the sidelines. Often they’re waiting for others to ask them for help or for specialized organizations to discover and reach all the needs. I am anxious for those individuals to experience the joy of personally reaching out to those who come to their minds. Let’s spend some time reflecting what special person or family we can touch today. You’ll be blessed and I can assure you that your caring will impact folks in ways you never imagined.

Blind Spot

Since I moved back to Pennsylvania I have driven over a million miles throughout the state. Most of those miles have been in various vans to service small stores and bodegas in the state. Thankfully, most of my travel has been uneventful in spite of a lot of situations and unpredictable weather.Noteworthy exceptions are two traffic violations. I remember them both vividly although they were many miles and many years ago. The first involved a speeding ticket—I think for going about fifty some miles an hour in a thirty-five mile an hour zone. I must have been day dreaming. I had no clue what was happening until a local policeman finally had to turn on his siren. He said he’d followed me out of town with flashing lights blazing for about three quarters of a mile. I was extremely rattled and couldn’t remember any thirty-five mile an hour zones and had to accept his word for it. Once I got to my motel, I couldn’t sleep and returned to the area by moonlight. Sure enough, even though I was unfamiliar with the area, I found trees partially hiding an obscure thirty-five mile an hour sign. I “borrowed” a yellow page listing of local attorneys from my motel room and started mentally preparing my defense to clear my record. Even though the site was about two hundred miles from home I sent the ticket back saying that I wanted a court date and would have, in fact, some pictures to prove my innocence. On a subsequent visit to the area I took pictures of the partially hidden sign but didn’t have time to get an attorney. I actually negotiated a very reasonable price with one from the yellow pages once I returned home. We had an understanding that to save money on the day of my hearing I would meet this attorney for the first time and give him my pictures.I knew I was in trouble the day of the hearing when he asked me to pick him up at his home because he didn’t have a driver’s license! I think if I mention his frayed bowtie, rumpled suit and cardboard briefcase you’ll soon get the picture. After I paid him the required advance payment, I made room in my van to take him to “the scene of the crime.” When I confidently took him to the site of my prized pictures and he in turn reviewed the court summons, he just shook his head. I had pictures of the wrong area and our “air tight” potential defense vanished! As I walked into the courtroom I felt like a fool ready to be thoroughly humiliated. Little did I suspect that, for a reason I never understood or questioned, the judge would dismiss the charges without even looking at my pictures of the wrong site or hearing from us.The other violation was rather straight forward. As I re-entered a ramp onto Interstate 80 in a remote area of north central Pennsylvania, I merged immediately into the passing lane of a seemingly empty highway. In my driver’s side mirror I glimpsed a brief flash of white descending into the grassy area between the four lanes. I had no idea what it was until the startled State Trooper in the white police car recovered enough to turn on his lights and siren. I don’t think there is any defense for running a State Policeman off the road, at least in Pennsylvania.What have I learned? My otherwise “good driving record” and plea of ignorance had no relevance to the officers involved. As much as I hate to admit it, I am responsible for what I didn’t see and I have a record to prove it. Turns out I can’t always trust my visual perceptions for the complete picture. I have some real “blind spots” that leave me vulnerable even when I am not driving. Perhaps “walking by sight” isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.

What?

The mortal drive for self sufficiency starts early and is utterly fascinating. Several weeks ago I watched my newborn granddaughter (like her brother before her) raise her head and give me that kind of sheepishly proud “Grandpa, look at me” look. (It’s a grandchild-grandpa thing that you may not be privileged to understand.) One of my life’s treats is to see folks discover and practice new capabilities and giftings so I get special thrills from things like that. Actually, it goes beyond humans and extends to fledgling birds, kittens and puppies, and a wide range of other creatures. The curve ascends rapidly and can cause a bit of concern when it gets to the “plugging in electrical appliances and climbing ladders by themselves” stages. I love to watch kids (and those with kid-like confidence and daring). It seems that we are wired with an “I can do it all by myself” or “You do it for me” (with no in between) from an early age. Our “life’s achievements all by ourselves” seem to rise with rapid, almost meteor shower-like bursts. I am sure we’ve all shared the pride in first shoe tying, first ABC’s, first bus ride to school, first “Twinkle, Twinkle” instrumental song, and many other firsts. (Many recorded in a secret keepsake book for posterity.) As I mentioned, this all seems like a curve to me, I think you call it a bell curve. Unfortunately it doesn’t seem to have equal sides. It seems more like some of those new roller coasters at Dorney Park or Six Flags. They go almost straight up and then peak and then begin what can be a long endlessly terrifying drop down the other side. I guess things that I couldn’t do for myself started appearing early in life. Most were learned with a degree of embarrassment or humiliation although some were a short-lived source of pride. I remember “failing” an eye test in fourth grade and being one of the first to be able to have glasses. That pride quickly evaporated when I first heard the term “four eyes” and realized it wasn’t a compliment. I’ve been learning what I can’t do for myself ever since and the pace seems to be increasing. It’s easy to see this in others. I have a friend who is adapting reluctantly to crutches but has still figured out a way to drive. I see other stretch their arms to maximum length and beyond to focus on the newspaper. It’s almost humorous when it’s someone else. Unfortunately, as I get older my own limitations are many and seemingly growing exponentially. I now rely on “equipment” or medication to do a wide range of common things I did so well as a young child—things like sleeping, reading, carrying—those kinds of things. The latest came today with two tiny devices valued at a gold like price per ounce. You see, I could no longer shake my head the right way when people spoke to me. I was shaking my head up and down when the appropriate response to an inquiry should have been a back and forth “no.” If I wasn’t looking directly at someone, I was lost in my own garbled world. My verbal vocabulary had dwindled to the four letter word, “What?” I am learning that the secret to what folks call “success and happiness” is not what I can do. It has more to do with what I can’t do and am willing to swallow my pride and accept proper aid, assistance, and direction. There is so much that can be accomplished and enjoyed when I learn to embrace my limitations and recognize and relish the resources and folks that God has provided for a full and meaningful life.

Palm

I wake up with a simple common four letter word on my mind—at least I think it is simple. The word is PALM. Now all I have to do is figure out the significance. I am “off and running.” Must be those trees that I’ve seen everywhere in tropical climates (along with Las Vegas). In fact, there is even a hotel and casino by that name in Las Vegas. That’s not to be confused with the cities in California or the island off the coast of Dubai, or the restaurant chain in New York City, or the Hawaii recording company, or the Belgian brewery. Or the art house film distribution company. Or PhotoActivated Localization Microscopy known by PALM, or the unit of length. Or the small computer-like personal digital assistant with an operating system by the same name as well. Or the magic thing the Harlem Globetrotters routinely do with a basketball, and it goes on and on. None of those seem to “ring a bell” so I guess I should move on to the body part. That does resonate somewhat. I remember recently being told by a dietician to adjust my meat portion size to a sliver the size of my palm. As a vegetarian that’s now do-able although it would have been “impossible” most of my lifetime. I think of all the palms I’ve touched with our American custom of shaking hands. One ex-Marine friend with a still powerful handshake comes to mind but there have been countless thousands of others over time. I think of my Indian friends who have never felt inclined to anything beyond a seemingly timid limp handshake by American standards. That’s because we insist on molding them to our culture instead of their more dignified “prayer-like” posture of a clasped hand greeting of “Namaskar” or “Namaste.” As I sit reflecting, I gaze at my palms. There are way more “character lines” than I remember. In fact, as my “eagle eyed” grandson might observe, my palms have gotten kind of wrinkly to say the least. They certainly didn’t look that way when I used to cup them to drink as a Boy Scout. Of course, they’re bigger now than when they used to imprison treasures such as lightning bugs (fireflies) or toads and frogs. It reminds me of the trembling injured sparrows or baby bunnies that I’ve discovered that these palms have lovingly encased. None of those many things come close to the thrill my palms experienced just a few short weeks ago. Mere words can’t do justice to the feeling of holding a precious new granddaughter cupped in the palms of my hands. Somehow something magical or may I say spiritual transmitted to the depth of my being from that tiny innocent bundle in the palms of my hands. It brought back a flood of wonderful memories of other family births. I am reminded once again that without a doubt I am a very blessed man.

Rote

I did a stupid thing yesterday. Maybe more than one, but at least one very significant one comes to mind. I live with a rather large and perpetually unfinished to-do list. I desperately try (unsuccessfully) to whittle it down each and every day. Yesterday’s list had more items than normal since I’ve had “lot on my plate” the past few days. I started with quite a few phone calls as I worked my way down the list. The first calls were personal in nature including one to my “bride.” Others were more businesslike in nature. I guess that’s when my problem began because in my hurry I didn’t mentally “shift gears.”
I had to place a telephone order with some folks that I’ve known and done business with for many years. It is a family business and I normally deal with the lady of the household. For some reason, there was no answer when I called. I got an answering machine message with “wait for the series of beeps.” Impatiently, right after the last one, I said, “Hi (the ladies name)” and placed my order. Unfortunately I didn’t stop there. For whatever reason I absentmindedly finished with the phrase I use with my wife and family members—“I love yah.” There was another “beep” and I belatedly realized that I had a very embarrassing problem with no way to undo it. And I thought email was the only irreversible communications trap!
My wife, thankfully, understood. (This wasn’t the first stupid thing I’ve said in our many years since meeting in grade school.) Eventually I got up the nerve and went to talk to the lady’s husband and he said, “I’ll handle it.” Now all that is left is to live it down and to make sure I don’t say something else “while on autopilot” in the future.
Even though I mean well, I now realize how often I can potentially say things out of habit or formality rather than personal expression. Many years ago when I was in a special meeting with other men in my church, I was seated next to an older (more mature) gent. We were both called on to pray with me leading. I “covered all the bases” to the best of my ability with the best most all inclusive prayer I could muster. When the “seasoned” gentleman started to pray all I remember him saying was, “Oh God… ” and then he just started sobbing uncontrollably. That made a profound and lasting impression on me that started me on a course that I obviously still haven’t mastered. I want to personally connect and not just say words.
I am increasingly aware of “rote” words, both good and bad. Normally, at the worst, “good” words can only be a source of embarrassment like I just experienced. More and more I see and hear “bad” words that are expressed verbally or written in public forums like Facebook. I suspect many are routinely delivered for temporary shock value. I hope they aren’t reflections of the heart but acknowledge that possibility. I see and hear those words in cutting, vulgar, and defamatory usage by a broader range of folks in increasingly diverse situations. I sadly suspect their usage has grown into a rote habit for many folks to be used more and more frequently.
I need to remember words, both good and bad, have such a potentially powerful lasting force. They shouldn’t be endlessly squandered as a rote trite commodity. As I learned, they can’t be taken back. In addition, in our communication with each other, they need to reflect the uplifting goodness that our hearts so crave. I must take the time to focus and positively target what I’m saying. Let’s speak positive and personal life into our world one person at a time.

Sniping

Many years ago as a Boy Scout, a favorite challenge for newcomers to Camp Karoondinha near Glen Iron, Pa was nighttime “snipe hunting.” There are supposedly 20 varieties of snipes worldwide but none that were ever found at our remote camp. That didn’t stop hundreds of “old-timer” scouts from exposing the “newbie” to the challenges of scary nighttime forest searches for them over the years. I was amazed to recently find that there are actually critters called snipes all related to woodcocks. They are amazingly swift wading birds and skilled in spearing unsuspecting invertebrates in the mud with sewing machine-like precision. The difficulty in hunting snipes actually gave us the term “sniper” used to describe military anti-personnel sharpshooters starting with the American colonial wars. According to Wikipedia this was largely facilitated by the multitalented patriot and inventor Ben Franklin. Colonial American snipe hunting was made possible by his invention of a firearm accessory consisting of a round pig hide tube containing two crude glass lenses etched with acid to make a telescopic crosshair sight. There is a new application of the term “snipe” or “sniping” that I’ve so far not found captured in any dictionary. It is frequently used to describe on-line computer buffs who stalk E-bay-type computer auction sites looking for bargains. Bids for items are placed online by hundreds of computer operators worldwide over the internet. The bidding often takes place leisurely over the course of a week or even ten days. It’s very common for the bids to hover initially at a few dollars for items worth hundreds. It is possible to bid remotely to raise your bid automatically up to your maximum predetermined limit when others bid against you. During the final seconds of bidding there are folks who wait until other bidders are lulled into complacency, certain of winning. Then they swoop in with a carefully calculated final bid that doesn’t give other unsuspecting folks time to react. This is called “sniping.” I guess it’s time to admit I’ve used this technique to capture a few items that I “had to have.” I’ve also lost quite a few “sure things” to other “snipers,” many using new automatically programmed last second computer bids. As you can imagine tension and blood pressures rise during these final seconds of bidding. One personal episode of terror especially comes to mind. I was enraptured by an E-bay listing of a new model digital camera that I “just couldn’t live without”. I was so sure of my strategy that I had my teenage daughter observe my deft last minute shrewdness. At the last seconds I was going to bid $4000.00…oops $400.00! You guessed it; I accidentally put an extra zero in my bid and froze in horror. Fortunately my daughter saved me with a few swift blurred key strokes and my winning bid was recorded as $400.00 not $4000.00. I couldn’t stand up for a few minutes and fortunately my daughter didn’t broadcast my embarrassment. I have had two other more important times in my life where I was sure I would be able to make last minute lifesaving sniping-type moves or actions to make things right. In both situations I was not able to carry out my last minute strategy for survival and was saved by other “unseen hands” to live another day. These two experiences along with, to a lesser extent, my E-bay experiences make me determined to not trust my last minute sniping skills. I want to be ready in advance for whatever may come my way and not have to trust my own feeble initiatives and timing at the last minute. It’s just too risky and I’m just too fallible.

Rooster

You would think I live on a farm. I can count twenty six roosters (and one duck!?) from where I sit. No, not real crowing type roosters; just rooster carpets, a rooster clock, rooster placemats, rooster picture frames…… and I could go on and on. After many years I am still not sure of their redeeming value other than they make my wife very happy. That’s enough for me. I am just grateful that very expensive merchants have not come out with “limited rooster editions” in their marketing strategies for their high end products. (that I know of) I am not sure when I started to notice my wife’s fascination with roosters (which I once mistakenly called her “chickens”, but never again). I know that in 1992 (before they were “in”) she inherited two that have special significance. She has very good tastes and all are artfully integrated into our everyday lives. As she says, “they’re just for pretty”. In addition, none of these items cost more than the low the double digits (I think) and don’t break the bank. (unlike my technological gadgetry fascination) These roosters are so much a part of my life that they seldom register anymore until visitors comment. I am amazed to see sections of catalogs that now seemed geared exclusively for my wife. How did they find out? I am not sure why a cock or a chanticleer (male chicken) is called a rooster, but then only in the United States and Australia. They do indeed like to roost three or four feet above the ground but so do the female hens. I do know that my wife would never be able to keep twenty six real roosters within my eyesight. I have witnessed real roosters fight to the death (not in the United States). Even without the silver fighting spurs that those sported, the birds were vicious. Chickens are polygamous and a rooster never rests trying to guard his territory and harem. They are constantly trying to expand their territory even though they seemingly go crazy trying to desperately preserve what they have. They seldom can guard the individual hens and eggs so they just stake out a territory with no individual bonding. They make all kinds of strutting actions and sounds (including the famous crowing) to bring more hens into their fold and will attack anything other than a hen. Interestingly, in the wild, this can be their downfall just like gobbler turkeys that hunter call with turkey calls. In contrast my thoughts go back to the famous movie “March of the Penguins”. Penguins are monogamous (documented at least for a breeding season). The male penguin’s focus is on sharing the duties of incubating and raising a chick in a harsh environment. Penguins are social and band together for the good of the colony especially when the frigid winds are unmerciful. I think of the stark contrast of the male roosters and the male penguins. I realize that both are “hard wired” to act the way that they do. I think of the years I have spent in “male environments” in a species where we have choices of how we are going to act. My heart breaks when I see a male population on the streets and in the pods of our jails that remind me of roosters. You see, sadly they have never had the joy and fulfillment of experiencing penguin like nurturing. Won’t you join me in being a “father model” to someone today? We have the ability to see, experience, and change.