A NEW FRIEND

Jonathan has always been interested in technical gadgets and is quite knowledgeable with computers and video games. He’s currently going to school at DeVry University and majoring in Gaming and Simulation Programming--creating video games as well as simulation programs for the military.

A couple of weeks ago, Jonathan came up to pay us a visit for the first time since we moved to Orange County; however, the reason was two-fold and not just to come see his grandparents and mother. Jonathan had to come up to this neck of the woods to pick up an unusual item. Something I never would have guessed. A complete surprise as to the effect this thing would cause especially to an 80-year-old grandmother, who my son has fondly called since he could talk--“Dagey.”

Yes, as you can see from this picture it’s Star Wars revisited and yes, for those who thought it purely a fantasy, R2D2 truly exists, and I’ve seen it with my own eyes.




This little battery-operated creature measuring about a foot tall and made of plastic stood in the living room and walked backwards and forwards, talked, turned around, danced, beeped (a lot of beeping) and followed directions. It produced hours and hours of fascination, laughter, and delight and although she would deny it, Mom had the best time of all. What can I say? It was probably one of the most pleasant visits the four of us had ever had and R2D2 was not the only reason. Even with this new find…which some still would consider a “toy”…Jonathan is growing up and trying to be responsible and it’s being noticed by his family.

Jonathan thought R2D2 would also keep the cat company but from what I’ve heard, Deagan is not that crazy about his new companion.

LOVE IS NOT EASILY ANGERED

Where have you gone on a first date? To a movie? To dinner in a nice restaurant? To a concert? To an entertainment park? To a museum? How about to church? Well, last Saturday that is where I went with a gentleman from Thousand Oaks. Let’s call him Jack. Jack had attended Saddleback for a few years, and I always wanted to go. Fortunately, this was the weekend Rick Warren would actually be speaking. Even after writing several best selling books, some people still have never heard of him, but now I’m sure Rick Warren is a household name since moderating the Obama/McCain forum last month.

Saddleback could be compared to a college campus. It is a huge place with several buildings on tons of acreage. Saddleback was continuing a sermon series titled “40 Days of Love” and this particular weekend (Saddleback has two services on Saturday evening and four services on Sunday) the topic was “Love is not Easily Angered.” (I Corinthians 13:5). The sermon was great. It spoke to me. The one sermon that I needed to hear. The one sermon that would have been so beneficial years ago but still pertinent now….Isn’t it amazing…first date…I wanted to try Saddleback…the sermon struck home (but most sermons do).

There was an outline, and I kept writing notes. The sermon was so thought provoking, it seemed appropriate to share this information with those who may need a little help in this area. So I’ll summarize and plagiarize, borrow, and steel what Rick Warren said on Saturday, October 11, 2008.

How do you tame your temper?

1. RESOLVE TO MANAGE IT
“A fool gives full vent to his anger, but a wise man keeps himself under control.” Prov. 29:11.
Stop making excuses. You choose to be angry. Nothing can make me mad; it’s my choice.

2. REMEMBER THE COST (of controlled anger)
“A hot-tempered man…gets into all kinds of trouble.” Prov. 29:22
“Hot tempers cause arguments.” Prov. 15:18
“…anger causes mistakes.” Prov. 14:29
“People with hot tempers do foolish things.” Prov. 14:17
“The fool who provokes his family to anger and resentment will finally have nothing worthwhile left.” Prov. 11:29
You always lose when you lose your temper.
Anger alienates and creates more anger.

3. REFLECT BEFORE REACTING (don’t respond impulsively)
“A stupid man gives free rein to his anger; a wise man waits and lets it grow cool.” Prov. 29:11
“A man’s wisdom gives him patience.” Prov 19:11
“Lord, help me control my tongue; help me be careful about what I say.” Psalm 141:3
“Drinking too much makes you loud and foolish. It’s stupid to get drunk.” Prov. 20:1
The #1 cause to react before reflecting is drinking.
Anger control is mouth control.
“Chill out” is a biblical tool.
Can’t put your foot in your mouth when it’s closed.

Ask 3 questions:
*Why am I angry?
*What do I really want?
*How can I get it?
Resentment is always sin.
Try to understand your anger and everybody else’s anger.
Try to look beyond anger and look at the hurt.

You get angry because:
*Hurt (physically and emotionally)
*Frustration (when you feel out of control you get angry)
*Fear (when feeling attacked, threatened)
Anger and insecurity go together

4. RELEASE MY ANGER APPROPRIATELY
“If you become angry, don’t let your anger lead you into sin.” Eph. 4:26
“A gentle answer quiets anger, but a harsh one stirs it up.” Prov. 15:1
Anger is learned
Talk slower and lower
Anger is contagious

Best way to deal with anger:
*Don’t suppress it (push it down)
*Don’t repress it (deny)
*Don’t express it
*Confess it (admit to self, God, and other person)

Repressed anger is depression (#1 reason for it)
Two words for marriage counseling: GROW UP (selfishness and immaturity)

5. REPATTERN MY MIND
“Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think.” Rom. 12:2a
“Keep away from angry, short-tempered people, or you will learn to be like them…” Prov. 22:24
To break the habit of anger you need to reprogram mind; change relationships
Battle for anger starts in the mind

6. RELY ON GOD’S HELP
“Patience and encouragement come from God. I pray God will help you all agree with each other the way Christ Jesus wants.” Rom. 15:5
“The fruit of the Spirit is…patience” Gal. 5:22
“Whatever is in your heart determines what you say.” Matt. 12:34
“I’ll give you a new heart, put a new spirit in you. I’ll remove the stone heart from our body and replace it with a heart that’s God-willed, not self-willed.” Ezek. 36:26
Heart of the problem is what’s in your heart.
What’s in your heart is what’s going to come out of your mouth.
God specializes in heart transplants

Rick also said men use 25,000 words a day and women 30,000. One day a man was asked, “Doesn’t it bother you when your wife has the last word? The man replied, “No, I’m grateful when it is her last.”

Hopefully, these little tidbits and some self-reflection have assisted you in getting a better handle on your anger issues. It certainly did for me. Who would have guessed that a week later this man named Jack would dump me because he didn’t find me physically attractive. (Can you imagine that?) Obviously, I was meant to hear this sermon on how to tame my temper.

TO APPEASE M-O-M

I have been called many things in my 52 years of living, but being compared with the liberal, drive-by media who only tell half the story, well…

For those who thought my mother to be a wimp let me set the record straight. My mom thinks she fainted during her first root canal because she had suffered from pain all weekend. Years later, Mom had a second root canal. She was fully awake. No Novocain. No anesthesia. No ill effects. My mom is as tough as they come.

Love you, Mom. (Am I still in the will?)

OPEN WIDE

If we were to play a round of the Family Feud: Of the 100 people surveyed, name a place people dread going to. Answer: The dentist (ding). I would say the dentist would probably have the highest percentage of the responses (unless you consider the electric chair). Wonder why? Choking? Blood? Feeling as if you are drowning in your own saliva? Sound of the drill? Never knowing what will be found? Pain? More pain? EXTREME PAIN?

Although it was uncomfortable and sometimes painful, going to the dentist never really bothered me. Hated getting fillings many years ago but newer procedures are being used that minimize the pain (of course, I haven’t had a root canal or wisdom teeth removed).

Throughout the majority of my employment career I’ve had medical benefits and received the two cleanings per year allotment. Had to pay a portion for a few crowns or some pre periodontal and gingivitis treatments. When you don’t have insurance, you tend not to go as regularly, but I’ve always brushed and flossed, and a few years ago started scraping the tongue…if you’ve never bought a tongue scraper, might I suggest you run out and buy one; it works wonders…this is starting to become a gross piece of writing…Anyway, since moving from San Diego County, I’ve gone to four different dentists and had four different opinions. Yes, it’s now a known fact that my gums are receding which seems a big deal to some and not so much to others. The last dentist charged $75 for deep cleaning and stain removal (had insurance). Inquired about the stains since I don’t smoke, drink coffee, or tea. Asked whether mouthwash or my insatiable craving of chocolate-coated protein bars could be the culprits. He said, “No.” Continued my regular teeth maintenance and the stains reappeared. Received a tidbit through the email regarding hydrogen peroxide—can use it as a mouthwash and decided to try it and sure enough the stains disappeared and also the occasional swelling of the gums no longer occurred.

After moving to Orange County I had to find another dentist. Luckily one dentist right next door was on my provider list. Made my first appointment for a cleaning. The first appointment of almost every dentist I’ve gone to consisted only of x-rays and examination. Never the main thing you wanted to have done and a succeeding appointment was necessary.

Went to my appointment Friday. By the name I sensed the dentist probably was Asian and sure enough everyone in the office was Asian (maybe they were all related). For the most part I’ve known Asians to be very polite and try to please and can be somewhat frugal but since working in the health center, there are some in that ethnic group, students and staff alike, who are very rude, obnoxious, and demanding.

While sitting in the waiting room filling out my paperwork, a female patient entered the front door and signed in. She was there for extractions and started asking what was being done. They were continuing with the root canal. She was somewhat confused and a little nervous and didn’t know what to expect. I could have chimed in and said my mother fainted when she had her first one, but thought it best to keep my mouth shut.

Dr. C introduced herself and asked if I was having any problems. Then a young kid took my x-rays. He was very polite. Dr. C showed me the results and said things looked good and acknowledged my receding gumline but there was no need for concern. Then she proceeded to do the cleaning and explained the new procedure that would be used that had been received with favorable comments and wanted my opinion at the end. She explained everything thoroughly and showed me the instrument and said, “Excuse me” before inserting it into my mouth. Her female assistant held the suction tube but did notice her head turning away quite frequently…What a gross sight it must be which makes me wonder why on earth anybody would ever choose to go into this profession. At the end I honestly can say that I only felt an occasional twinge. Told the doctor it was great and asked her about the staining problems. She advised that peroxide is a whitener so it would remove the stains but suggested it was unnecessary to use it full strength. The assistant commenced to polish my teeth and before she inserted the instrument she also said, “Excuse me.” Then later, “Open more please. Open more please. Thank you.” Yes, a very polite group of people.

The overall experience—didn’t wait long, didn’t have much pain, and didn’t cost me a cent. A very good experience indeed.

QUITE SURPRISED

Have had my share of aches and pains or those “just don’t feel that great” days but usually ignore the discomfort and just go on with business with an occasional popping of a pill. Seldom do I feel bad enough to stay home or change my daily routine (or more accurately, my exercise routine).

Since moving from Long Beach the commuting switched from weekday roundtrips to work to Sunday roundtrips to church. Woke up Sunday morning and didn’t feel great and slept about two hours later than usual (making it around 6:30) but knew I would feel better if I went for my daily walk, but decided to cut it short. Offered to drive and pick up Mom and Dad at a church they have attended previously but decided I could at least make it through worship at Long Beach. Mom didn’t like the idea of my going so far just in case something happened and she would have to drive home. Rested a little and had every intention to go to Long Beach but at the moment a ½ mile commute and a 45-minute service was more alluring. Knew it would not be my cup of tea but you go to please and worship God, not to be entertained. And have always gotten some inspired tidbit from any sermon.

The building had architectural presence but attendance was sparse, those members being elderly with the majority living in the retirement center next door, including the pastor. The service started with a song from the hymnal…one I never heard before…along with piano accompaniment. The song leader needed to power it down. The pastor offered a prayer and gave the announcements, followed by the offering (communion is only once a month), and then another song--Bringing in the Sheaves (reminded me of an episode of The Waltons). Another gentleman led a prayer where he was sitting and then the Ladies Trio belted out a song (yes, I think that was their real name)—three ladies with similar white coiffures, dressed in identical-patterned attire but different colors each with matching stringed pearls. Not half bad. Sang on pitch but still a reminder of what I’d see on Lawrence Welk. After only 15 minutes into the service, the sermon began. It was titled, The Gospel, Paul Preached with Scrupulous Devotion (I Tim 4:6-16). Pastor Bob was a very good speaker and talked about the lack of sound doctrine being preached in many churches today and considered the five fundamentals of the gospel to be as follows: 1) belief in the Deity, 2) that Jesus is the son of God, 3) salvation only comes through Jesus, 4) belief in the resurrection, and 5) belief in the second coming. Although I’m sure these truisms were discussed, my only recollection while growing up in the C of C were the five steps to becoming a Christian: hear, believe, repent, confess, and be baptized.

The sermon ran 30 minutes long…and, yes, actually did time it because curiosity got the best of me to see if this guy would top some of those long-winded preachers I’ve been fortunate to hear.

We were home by 11:00 and it was surprisingly not as bad as I had expected, but still missed being at Long Beach. Decided to crash on my sleeping bag…You know, feeling sick is the only time I really miss having a bed.

WHEN THINGS DON'T GO AS PLANNED

An athlete who is injured and can no longer play his chosen sport. An individual who has been employed with the same company for numerous years is overlooked for a promotion. An engaged couple break up and call off their wedding. Who hasn't experienced disappointment, frustration, and heartbreak when goals are not achieved, arrangements must be altered, invitations are rescinded, or long held ideals are not to be. I suspect that many parents want the best for their children and try to raise them accordingly. They want them to have a college degree, have successful careers, find love, get married, and have children, usually in that order, but many parents must overcome their disappointment when their children choose to follow a different path.

How do you convey the news of what should be a great event; something that would produce overwhelming excitement and an enormous smile? The best way for me would be to mention it in writing so in my last blog I casually threw in an interesting tidbit--"visiting my grandson for the first time"--to see who would catch it and had expected it to elicit a few comments. But nope. Nothing. Nada. Maybe you were too embarrassed to do so or were at a loss for words. Steve, however, did say something to me Sunday morning, so I felt it necessary to come up with an appropriate introduction to my news.

My grandson's name is Deagan. He is so cute, adorable, cuddly, and you could just squeeze him to death but not as docile as I had hoped. So with consent of the father, here is a picture of my gorgeous grandson.








I thought this would be funny and a couple of my friends agreed. Mom...didn't find it amusing whatsoever. What can I say? When things don't go as planned--this little joke of mine certainly fell flat on its face.

A WEEK IN THE LIFE OF...

Don't recall having many jobs where I didn't look forward to some time off or unhappy that the work day had ended; however, since landing that great job of mine, I can honestly say I do not want time off and do not want to leave when it's time to go home. You won't find an imitation of Fred Flintstone when the whistle blew at the quarry. No "yabba dabba doos" here.

As I've said in previous writings, when school is on a break, the health center is closed and the staff stays home. Until my position becomes full time, these breaks aren't especially grand for me since salary is mostly null and void.

Never considered vacations, weekends, or holidays special basically because I never really did anything since 1) I have trouble doing anything for or spending anything on myself; and 2) if I were to do anything, didn't relish the fact that it probably would have to be done alone.

At school there was a break between summer and fall semesters so this past week I was unable to go to work (yeah, I know, poor me). At work, Pat always told me to do something fun and go exploring either on weekends or during our breaks. A male friend asked if I had difficulty venturing out alone. "No," I replied. So I heeded the advice and kept relatively busy most of the week.

On Monday I walked across the street and went browsing at the mall. Contemplated future purchases and possible Christmas gifts. I rarely go to a movie. The last movie I saw was The Devil Wears Prada and before that--Star Wars Episode I. Yeah, pretty sad. Usually wait until they are premiered on the boob tube; however, the mall has a discount theater. Movies are $1.75 and Tuesday is dollar day. Of course, the movies were out several months ago but I've never seen them so, hey....Tuesday I saw The Incredible Hulk. Not too bad. Wednesday I saw Ironman. Pretty good. I actually could get used to this but it still would be nice to go with someone, but at least I was doing something every day. On Thursday headed south to see Jonathan and had an expensive but good visit with my son and was able to see my grandson for the first time. The rest of the week was spent reading, writing, helping Mom with some errands, cooking a few meals, and visiting with my brother and sister-in-law on their first visit down to our new digs. Also was a little disappointed that I wasn't going to have a date (same guy) three Saturdays in a row and must wait until this Saturday.

For the most part it was not such a bad week after all.

EXODUS FROM HADES

It was December 2005. After a two-month stay, I realized moving back to Albuquerque was not in the cards and returned to the "golden state" where parents, brother, and son still lived. Moved into a small apartment complex, in a Jewish community, behind a popular eating establishment, around the corner from a retirement center where my parents resided, and across the street from church. The apartment was a small studio with very few amenities, no air, no heat, but utilities were paid. Rather pricey so I thought after having lived in a furnished studio with air, heat and all utilities paid for approximately $300 less. However, it was only to be a temporary stay. Luckily Long Beach wasn't freezing all winter or sizzling hot all summer but there were some miserable moments.

When it was cold, it was cold and even with a ceramic heater, turning on the oven, and wearing thermals, socks, slippers and heavy robes or jackets still kept the chills inside the body and the nails a purplish blue. Going somewhere even if just standing outside in the sun brought a warmth of relief.

Now when it was hot...I was in the netherworld. That was pure torture. Drinking ice water, wrapping frigid wet cloths around the neck, sitting in front of a full-blown fan, and walking around with minimal attire didn't do much to relieve the constant stickiness and headaches. At times wondered why I took a cold shower--within minutes I was all hot and sticky again. Sometimes there was a comfortable breeze by opening the front door and the bathroom window; however, when the scent of cigarette smoke hit my nostrils, it was a world-record dash to shut the front door. As long as the temperature outside didn't go pass the 80 degree mark, it was tolerable but those weeks the gauge hit the 90 degree mark and higher, comfort had to be found in air-conditioned facilities, which usually meant the corner library, visiting my parents or across the street at church. It was soon learned that chocolate of any kind could not be kept out for very long--it would start melting within a matter of minutes.

My studio had been part of what used to be the third bedroom next door which explained why the corresponding wall was so paper thin, and I could hear everything from loud music, television, and the neighbor making out with his girlfriend. The complex lacked professional management and rules and regulations were not strictly enforced. Children running around and screaming even in front of my door made it feel like I was smack dab in the middle of recess or a day care facility. But all in all, I guess it was better than being homeless.

When I got my great job last December, there would be a 22-mile commute. It wasn't the ideal situation, but I continued the journey for seven months and actually learned how to become more patient along the way. Unfortunately, the gas prices reached the ridiculous stage and thought it wise to consider relocating. Could have done it long ago, but being across the street from church and close to my parents and friends made it a difficult transition to contemplate.

My mom had become disenchanted with living in a retirement facility environment and wanted to get back to the "real world" once again. Think Dad would rather stay, mainly because of the food; however, they both always wanted me to leave that "hell hole" and thought I deserved better. So after some discussion, it seemed logical to just rent something together, at least temporarily, and I would be there to offer some assistance. So, we rented a nice two-bedroom apartment in Orange County just three miles away from work. The apartment complex is in close proximity to the hospital, medical offices, shopping centers, and the all important (at least in Dad's opinion) eating establishments.

At this stage of the game, it's not easy living with your parents again and Mom and Dad could say the same thing about their daughter. Of course, there is an adjustment for each of us but for now, this is life as I know it.

You know, I somewhat understand how the children of Israel must have felt when they left Egypt and reached the promised land. It has air conditioning. It has heat. It is comfortable and relatively quiet. It has a short commute to work. It has numerous places that can be reached by foot. Yes, this is my land flowing with milk and honey.

GOOD DEEDS

(Side Note: Life has been somewhat helter skelter since I last blogged and contemplated whether or not to write many more; however, there's something deep within that dictates that I must and that I'm better by doing so, even if it can take a significant amount of my time. Writing is not only enjoyable but can be quite therapeutic and if some of your comments have been truthful, you like that I do write, so I'll try to do it on a more regular basis.)

Asking for help does not come easily for me whether trying to find a destination or lifting heavy objects and usually turn down most offers for assistance. Think it's in the genes. No wonder my dad used to call my mother, grandmother, and me "three peas in a pod."

Several times I've taken my keyboard over to the church building for Praise Band practices and Celebration performances. A few have offered their assistance when time to take the equipment back home, which I politely declined. One particular instance comes to mind. Greg was the offerer. I, of course, refused and Steve chimed in that I probably had more strength than the preacher man anyway.

After the band's performance last month, I left my equipment in the church building until after I moved to a new apartment, in another county, and only three miles from work (an upcoming blog). After service this past Sunday, while people were still mingling in the auditorium, I entered the former "Holy Place" and took the keyboard stand out the side door, down the stairs to the car and came back in. Grabbed the keyboard case and lugged it out the door (while others watched and a few stepped aside), down the stairs to the parking lot heading toward the Saturn. A young man in shorts with several tatoos holding hands with his female companion was cutting across the parking lot and asked if I needed any help. I smiled and said "No, thanks" and kept on walking. He stopped and said, "Where are you going?" I pointed to the car and he walked up to me, took the case, and said, "Let me help you." I relinquished control and thanked him. Assisted him in getting the case into the trunk. I told this young man that it was very sweet of him and again expressed my appreciation. I went back into the building for the bench and brought it to the car.

I'm not writing this to knock those who saw me and didn't offer their assistance. I don't know...it just amazes me where you find people who do good deeds for others.

UNBELIEVABLE

It’s good to be back at work after a two-week break. The summer session started Monday and although it was a zoo, still was glad to have my job.

There are rules and regulations for just about everything. The student health center at the community college I work at is no exception. There are set guidelines that must be followed. Students must be enrolled in the current semester and have paid the mandatory health fee in order to see a nurse, a doctor, or a counselor, free of charge; or to receive immunizations or other testing for various dollar amounts. Everyone who enters the health center, students and staff alike, must complete the sign-in sheet. Due to the privacy laws, or in other words, HIPAA, the names of those who sign in must be marked out. New patients must fill out three documents—general information, medical history, and sign a consent form giving permission to be treated. Simple. Easy to follow. Quite elementary. Well, apparently not for some people.

Wednesday afternoon a young gentleman (and I use that term loosely) came in and said he was sent by the trainer to see the nurse. Told him to sign in. After checking our records, advised him that a health fee needed to be paid in the cashier’s office first. He became agitated and told me he would pay it afterwards. I again told him our policy. He asked if he could pay it later and that someone else had told him he didn’t have to pay the fee first. We kept playing this song and dance; actually this individual kept questioning everything I said. I told him if he wanted to see the nurse, he would have to pay the fee now. With reluctance he left; but I kept my composure and it wasn’t easy.

One-half hour later we were graced with the presence of Mr. Attitude once again. Told him to sign back in. Mr. A peered down at the sign-in sheet and questioned why his name had been crossed out. Tried to explain the privacy regulations but it fell on deaf ears, and he continued to argue. I told Mr. A I didn’t need his attitude, and he gave it right back to me. Although he denied being a new patient, there was no history on record so I asked Mr. A to complete the necessary forms. He argued that he had already done so and refused to fill out any more. We went round and round again. I made a chart and attached a note of patient’s refusal to fill out the forms as well as his crappy behavior and put the file in the back.

Without the forms there would be no service and the personal trainer was called to come talk to Mr. A. She tried to explain. He just didn’t want to hear it. She went round and round with him but, of course, he was the victim and had done nothing wrong. In a few minutes there was the trainer, the coordinator/head nurse of the center, the office manager, and myself trying to reason with this guy. Nothing was accomplished. Just a waste of time. Mr. A still wouldn’t fill out the forms and left.

What else was there to do but shake our heads. UNREAL!!! Mr. A was as thick headed as they come and apparently has issues with being told what to do. The trainer said this was the first time in 20 years she was ever called to the health center to assist in problems with one of the athletes.

Our office manager always gets involved if she sees her staff being abused and during this time and his earlier visit, she kept turning around, but she realized I was holding my own. Later our health educator teased me by asking if I had anger issues.

All in all, I still love my job and will continue to do so no matter how many jackasses enter through the door.

AMITYVILLE HORROR REVISITED

Have you ever had a feeling that something was wrong, amiss, not quite right, or a twinge in the gut that something dreadful was about to be discovered?

After eating dinner and finishing that nightly ritual of teeth maintenance, walked back into the bathroom for just a minute and don’t always find it necessary to turn on the light. As I turned to leave, my left barefoot felt something moist and wet. Not near the sink. Not near the shower. Not near the hand towel. As a matter of fact, not anywhere you would expect to find a little stray liquid. The first instinct was that it came from the ceiling and stared up as I turned on the light. Nothing noticeable and looked down to see more than half the floor covered in water and most of it accumulated around the toilet and spreading outward. There also was at least an inch of water inside the shower. For the past few weeks the shower had been draining very slowly and thought about taking a wire hanger and fishing out the gunk from the drain but would forget about it until starting to take the next shower. Although I had not used the shower that day, did hear the neighbors using theirs earlier.

The water level continued to double in volume as the gurgling actions bounced back and forth between the shower and the toilet, reminding me of the classic movie but without the green slime. Informed the manager who gave me a beach towel and mop to wipe up the mess and came to take a peek. The water was coming from the wall behind the toilet. Carol flushed my toilet and the water rose and stopped just before it overflowed. After checking next door, Carol advised that their toilet had indeed run over and the tub was full of water. She had my neighbor plug up the tub so the water in my shower would stop rising.

Unfortunately, I was told the plumber would not be coming until the next morning around 8, 9, or 10. So, where does one go to alleviate? Although Carol thought it would be okay to use the toilet, I wasn’t going to take a chance. Luckily I had two places to go—my parents or the church building. Church was closer and thought about staying and sleeping on a pew but came home, went to sleep and repeated the process at 1:30 am and again at 5:00 before going to walk. Went to play a little tennis and to get milk at Ralph’s and upon my return noticed the water level in the shower would soon be trickling out onto the floor. Spent a little time bailing out water and pouring it into the sink. Now I could somewhat understand the misfortune of those people whose houses flood during natural disasters.

By the time the plumber arrived, I had to bail out water two more times. The plumber snaked out the pipes from the rooftop as well as the showers and was surprised that he had not been called out last night. The owner had obviously thought it could wait, but whom is he kidding—it would have cost more money. What a cheapskate!

A SAD FAREWELL

This morning my dad received a call that his brother, Gilbert, had passed away--the brother we flew down to see last month to celebrate his 90th birthday. His health was failing so it did not come as a shock. Although Dad says he’s doing fine, he tends to hide his feelings, but does realize that Gilbert is in a better place. Dad lost his sister, Lois, a year ago, his 92-year-old sister is not in top-notch shape, and Dad was questioning his own mortality not that long ago.

Dad won’t be going back for the funeral, but I’m sure it must be of some comfort to have been able to see his only brother before it was too late. Actually, I’m glad I was able to do the same.

To give you a little glimpse of this man’s life, the following is the poem I wrote for Uncle Gilbert’s 90th birthday.

THE YEAR WAS 1918,
THE BIRTH OF HOWARD COSELL,
AND THE FIRST FEMALE SHERIFF,
DOUBT THAT WENT OVER TOO WELL.

INVENTION OF THE FORTUNE COOKIE,
THE BIRTH OF PAUL HARVEY,
THE RED SOX BEAT THE CUBS,
WASN’T THAT JUST MARVEY.

MISSOURI TO CALIFORNIA,
FROM FARM BOY TO MARINE,
THEN YOU MET ELEANOR,
THE PRETTIEST GIRL YOU’D EVER SEEN.

RETURNED TO MISSOURI,
NOW FOUR KIDS TO RAISE,
STEVE, MARY, JOHN, AND PAUL,
THEM THER’ WERE THE DAYS.

SO HAPPY 90TH BIRTHDAY,
TO MY DAD’S FAVORITE BROTHER,
WHOSE NOT ONLY NUTS ABOUT CARS,
BUT METICULOUS LIKE NO OTHER.

Please keep the family in your prayers, especially Uncle Gilbert’s four children and his wife, Eleanor. They were married for over 63 years.

A HOPE SHATTERED

As I have mentioned in a previous blog, Jonathan was five years old when he was diagnosed with a lazy eye and eye patch therapy would no longer be beneficial after he turned eight. Every time Jonathan has to renew his driver’s license, he has to take the written test, a driving test, and must turn in a DMV 62, Report of Vision Examination, completed by the examining doctor. One of the doctors at an eye center in the local Wal-Mart had a different perspective of the eye patch therapy and said it would only be beneficial at an early age—as an infant. Although being told that nothing could possibly be done, I always believed that diagnosis would change because of the advancement in modern technology.

Also had wondered whether or not Jonathan’s vision disorder had developed because of the many head-banging incidents over the years--rolled out of my arms as an infant, rolled off the bed in a cabin in Pagosa Springs, hit his head on the corner of the organ, tripped and cracked his head open on the cement stairway of an outdoor mall. However, during another visit to the eye doctor last weekend, Jonathan’s diagnosis was finally understood.

Jonathan has amblyopia in his right eye that cannot be corrected by glasses or contact lenses and is not caused by an eye disease. Also called lazy eye, the vision is limited because the eye and the brain are not working together properly and the brain is favoring the good eye. His right eye is 20/100 and also has hyperopia (farsightedness) and astigmatism. Jonathan is part of the 3% population who has this neurological eye disorder. It will not get worse. It will not get better. It was a very heartbreaking disappointment.

Jonathan took the form to the local DMV and afterwards called me with great news. His name was removed from the temporary list and was given a regular driver’s license. It must have been the notation the doctor wrote on the form that Jonathan’s vision has not changed since 1995. When it’s time for renewal in five years, there should be no more hassles with red tape bureaucracy.

PHENOMENAL

In the past I’ve attended plays, sporting events, and concerts on both amateur and professional levels. Some were free while others a little more pricey, but not many can compare to the five dollars of entertainment witnessed last night on a folding chair in a large multi-purpose room (for lack of a better word) at a Christian junior and senior high school located in Orange County. The event—the annual “Big Night of Jazz” with three school bands performing with a special featured woodwind artist. This year was basically a night of Duke Ellington. School bands. Big deal. Have heard a few and you couldn’t pay me to attend another performance.

The first group was the Junior High Jazz Band. The musical director, Isaac, who looked like a kid himself, had only been at the school for two years. The group was quite impressive for being so young. The next band was the Jazz Workshop. The musical director for the high school band, Len, played trumpet with this group. Again, more great music. The last group to perform was the Eight O’clock Jazz Band including the featured guest artist, Keith Felch, a teacher and performer in Southern California for over 30 years. It was wonderful, exceptional, remarkable, and not just Mr. Felch who happened to play several instruments, but the entire group. The playing abilities of several of these young talents were emphasized throughout many of the songs, but a certain young gent on the ivories stood out, actually the only reason I was attending this concert.

Knew he was good after hearing him play in the church Praise Band. Found out just how good after hearing a solo during my first encounter of the church’s annual Gift for Jesus program. Realized how much this kid knew his stuff after I was asked to join the Praise Band as (what I call) a “background” keyboardist. Not only do I have a new found respect for this young man, but also I’m now even more intimidated. Do you suppose Daniel would teach me everything he knows if I paid him?

To me, Daniel is, well…phenomenal and in a class all his own. He is graduating this year and will be attending a popular California university majoring in Pre-Med. Definitely think Daniel would have a shot at receiving the title on America’s Got Talent and winning the million-dollar jackpot, which leads me to the million-dollar question. Why am I playing in the same group as Sir Daniel?

OH, GOOD GRIEF!

Yes, Glenda, I agree and hope Charles doesn’t read yesterday's blog (would hate to see him beat me up; doubt I could hold my own). :) Guess I pulled a Geron. That was just too funny yesterday and apparently it stuck in my mind. Could say it’s Geron’s fault; could say I’ve watched too many episodes of JAG; could say my uncle who just celebrated his 90th birthday was a Marine or… but it was my goof. Guess it shouldn’t surprise me. When our student worker comes in and is going to microfilm, I see the cord sprawled across the floor but within five minutes, I’m tripping over it.

My apologies to Sir Charles. He is definitely an Army man.

A NEW BIRTH

Believe it was around the ripe age of 11 when I walked down the aisle during the invitation song to confess that Jesus was my Lord and Savior and was ready to be baptized. That song might have been “Just as I Am” as it seemed to be the going song for invitational response. A good friend, Lora, had already gone forward to do the same. My parents were surprised. Never had I mentioned the desire to be baptized let alone the intention of doing it that evening (yes, for those in shock, church met three times a week). It was an important day and it would also be the last day my best friend’s father would be Candelaria Church of Christ’s pulpit minister. Not only would Laura be gone, but also a man I considered a significant part of my life (actually the entire family) and the only one I could ever imagine being involved in such a life-changing event.

Over the years have questioned my real motivation of that night and whether or not I became baptized for the right reason and not just because Bob was leaving. Have witnessed a handful of self-proclaimed Christians becoming baptized again for one reason or another and to be honest, wondered if I should be doing the same. However, I knew I loved the Lord and 40 years later still believe in the same basic principles, so I’d say I’m fine in God’s eyes.

This morning a pretty, young lady was baptized and unlike me, she let her desires be known but waited a week until her father would be home. Charles is a Marine and stationed in Northern California and periodically returns home to be with his family. Shelby not only wanted her dad home to observe this special time, but also to participate by baptizing her. Charles also baptized his son, Marcus, last year.

For some unknown reason, I grew up believing that only a “man of the cloth” could perform this ritual; otherwise, the baptism would be null and void. Actually having your own father dunking your body into that freezing, cold water in the baptistery. What a concept and a great concept at that. Who better than an earthly father turning over his child to the Heavenly Father. Charles is not the first father I have seen do this but did like what he said, “One of the best things you can do--baptize your child.” I was raised in a Bible-believing, God-fearing home and now wish that Dad could have had the privilege that night so many years ago.

Now subject to debate: What if a mother wanted to do the same? Yes, what if Glenda would have liked to baptize Shelby today? Personally, I don’t think God would mind at all.

FAMILY REUNIONS

How many have you attended over the years? None that I can recall until this past week and it was a double whammy. Dad’s brother was celebrating his 90th birthday and the entire gang was coming from Georgia, Oregon, Texas, Iowa, Michigan, and California to the “Show-Me State.” There would be a family dinner at Steak and Ale on Friday night and a come and go birthday party for friends and family on Saturday afternoon. At the same time there was to be a cousin reunion in the same area on my mother’s side. Mom and Dad said although it would be nice if I would go, it was not necessary; however, it had been a long time since I had seen many of my relatives, probably 40 years to be exact, and their spouses, kids, and grandkids whom I had never met. It would be helpful to my parents and it would be a chance to do something different, so Debbie decided to go and would play chauffeur. Hey, who could turn down an opportunity to take an all-expense-paid vacation?

Mom found a great deal with Southwest Airlines--three round trip, nonstop tickets to Kansas City. Had to rent a car and drive three hours to Springfield, but who could beat the price of $507, not per ticket, but total cost.

It had been at least ten years since I had flown into the wild blue yonder. Never experienced the restrictive airline check-in tedium immediately following 9/11; however, it still was a pain in the butt and decided I’d rather drive anytime, anywhere. Actually packing your liquids in no more than three-ounce containers and putting them into a quart plastic, zip lock bag; removing jackets and shoes; and allowing only one carryon and one smaller personal item.

Woke up at 2:00 am, picked up at 4:15 am, and arrived at LAX long before take off at 6:40 am. To be honest, everything went quite smoothly. Dad was assisted through the security checkpoint in a wheelchair all the way to preboarding. The wait lasted forever and, of course, Dad decided to go to the bathroom right before they started to preboard, and I sat with the luggage. The other lady in the wheelchair boarded as well as an elderly couple and a few parents with their young children. The assistant pilot came out and inquired about Dad. He was still in the bathroom, but I could go ahead and board with the luggage. As I went down the ramp, here came my parents and the assistant pilot took Dad to the plane. Seemed like a long time in the air but finally arrived in Kansas City a few minutes early. Took the shuttle to Hertz and drove out the gate in a KIA Spectra (might be the next car I’ll purchase) down to Springfield. Apparently took the longer route by approximately 40 minutes; however, found the motel, checked in, grabbed some hamburgers at the next door McDonald’s, and crashed. It was a long day and we all were beat. I don’t know…the nerves and anxiety were pumping and somewhat wished I had stayed home and gone to work.






On Friday drove Mom and Dad to Ozark and visited a few of their old stomping grounds.

The first two pictures are where Dad grew up on the farm. No longer the same and now quite exquisite—called Equestrian Estates and beautifully landscaped and filled with one million dollar mansions.

The third picture is where Mom and Dad went to school--Mom from third grade through high school and Dad from sixth grade through high school.

The fourth pic is Garrison Springs where Mom ditched school for her first and only time. It was a shock to all as she was considered the goody, goody girl, at least in comparison to her twin sister, Mary.





We went to the cemetery (it was not Forest Lawn) to pay our respects and for me the first time to visit where both sets of grandparents were laid to rest as well as my mother’s brother, Jim, and several other relatives.

That evening 34 of the Gaither clan met at Steak and Ale to celebrate Uncle Gilbert’s 90th birthday. Strange seeing relatives I’ve never met, some I hadn’t seen since age nine, and the majority not since high school. Unfortunately my uncle is not doing well, heavily medicated and often doesn’t remember who people are--didn’t recognize his big sister when she entered the restaurant.

Saturday was the big day—Mom’s cousin reunion and the come and go birthday party for Uncle G. We met Mom’s side of the family at a small café in Ozark next door to a beautiful gift shop that is owned and operated by two of Mom’s cousins. One of their spouses made some of the jewelry out of old silverware patterns and insisted Mom and I pick out something to take home. Mom chose a necklace with a turquoise stone embedded, pattern dated 1948—the year my parents got married; and I picked a small, simple pattern pair of pierced earrings, but they insisted I select the rare Cupid pattern dated 1880 instead. Beautiful handiwork and a generous offer indeed. Didn’t remember ever meeting anyone before and the majority I had never met. The lunch buffet was nice. Pictures were taken and a PowerPoint presentation was shown of old and recent photos of all the family members. Didn’t realize how many had lived in New Mexico. Very interesting even though at the end I still was confused who was who. It was impossible to be in two places at once and missed part of my uncle’s party but caught the end and stayed several hours past to visit with family and then said our goodbyes. A very hectic day but it didn’t matter how long it had been—we were and always will be family who love each other.

On Sunday went to church and heard my third cousin preach, but he was not the regular preacher. Took Dad to visit his best friend since the sixth grade. Gene was tall and stood erect—no cane, no limp—with all his faculties intact and a great sense of humor. On Monday drove back up to Kansas City, turned in the rental car, and stayed overnight at a hotel near the airport. On Tuesday morning arrived at the airport to discover our nonstop flight had been cancelled and would have to change planes in Phoenix (should have known—everything on this trip had gone too smoothly). Had to play my patience card and alter our pickup arrangements; however, the flight attendant was a jokester, an impressionist and quite entertaining…possibly worth the change in routes. We made it to Phoenix. Caught the next plane and arrived at LAX only 1-1/2 hours later than originally planned

Although wish Dad was more mobile, it does make the flying experience much easier when traveling with someone considered “disabled”—always given priority over other passengers; however, Mom had to keep tipping the hired help. Still, from now on I’ll avoid flying if at all possible. And apparently, we got out of there just in time before the tornadoes came roaring in.

I’VE GOT BAD NEWS

How did you feel when you read those words? How do you feel when someone says those words to you? I cringe and the heart goes up to my throat, especially when coming from one particular person. Jonathan is notorious for letting those four words be the first to greet me and they have never been at all welcoming.

It’s been nice not having heard them for a while until the cell phone rang and there was Jonathan once again using those dreaded words, “I’ve got bad news” but this time with an added twist—“sort of.” Everything inside ached as I prepared for the worst. It couldn’t be the car—he no longer had one. It couldn’t be a ticket—he had no car to drive. God only knew but whatever it was, it undoubtedly had to do with the all mighty dollar.

“Mom,” Jonathan said, “I got an 88 on my mid-term.” Jonathan had an A+ average, was proud of it and wanted that grade to remain in tact. This from a kid who never gave grades a second thought. This from a kid who would just be satisfied with a passing grade, even if it was a D. Assured my son that he should still be proud, the semester was not over yet, and that his mom was beaming.

Keep this bad news coming.

THE MOODY BLUES

Not the British rock band, but that sad, melancholy sensation we all experience at different times, at different levels, and for a variety of reasons. Although the roller coaster ride of depression is less prevalent, I’ve felt down in the dumps as of late, but being at work seems to lessen those blahs, which is why I’m not particularly looking forward to being off for Spring break this coming week.

Before leaving for work one morning, read the daily devotional from Power for Today that reminded me of some simple truths that had slipped my mind. In Psalm 143: 8 we read: “Lord, show me your true love this morning. I trust you. Show me the things I should do. I put my life in your hands!” (English Version for the Deaf) Kerry Williams from Florence, Alabama, penned: “He assures us that He knows what is best in our lives and that we can trust Him to carry us. The only question is whether or not we will let go of the wheel, trust Him, and allow Him to take us there.”

Although still feeling somewhat blue, those words have kept my emotions from becoming too overwhelming. Maybe they can help you as well.

FEEDING THE HUNGRY

You see them roaming the streets, some pushing shopping carts and some in wheelchairs, even the motorized variety. Some are digging through garbage bins. Some are lying on park benches or under overpasses bundled in dirty, unkempt bedding. Some stand on street corners while others sit at the end of major interstate off-ramps. Some walk up in parking lots, fast food drive-thrus or gas stations and ask if you can spare a dime or buy a burger. These are the male and female members of society, young and old alike, who have no place to call their own; God’s unforgotten misfits commonly known as homeless.

Never found it comfortable to render aid especially when requested. My cynical side felt they should spend their time looking for a job instead of sponging off those good-natured souls who would readily oblige. There was no doubt the money would be used for sustenance—in 100 proof liquid form to drink or in a form to inject, snort, or smoke. Why help them feed their habit. Not exactly the best Christian attitude to have but it’s a hard thing to overcome and even the times I helped out those few, that wonderful feeling a person should receive didn’t happen.

I admire those who choose to become involved in homeless ministries, working in shelters, teaching the Word, and volunteering in soup kitchens, especially during holiday times. Difficult breed to be around—filthy appearance, a possible drug addict, alcoholic, schizophrenic, or mentally unbalanced with no ability to pay for necessary medications.

Long Beach started a sack lunch ministry. The bags are filled with nonperishable items such as packaged cookies, crackers, and juices for members to take and have available when approached by someone in need. It relieves the anxiety of giving money. Have a problem with the can of Vienna sausages also inside the sacks because the lid is a viable weapon; however, Steve opined that anything could be grabbed and used, a broken plastic fork for example. Can’t argue with that logic. The church also invested in Bibles to hand out.

I took a sack lunch and Bible and left it in the car for almost two weeks. Thursday afternoon a man with a cardboard sign reading, “Need Help” was sitting on the I-405 off-ramp at the Long Beach Boulevard exit. I rolled down the window and handed him the lunch and Bible. Surprisingly, quite a young, good looking man. He seemed somewhat shocked, said “Thank you” and wished me a good day. I echoed the sentiment; however, words were unnecessary as the eyes and exchanged smiles said it all. What a great feeling as I drove away!

If I were to stop and really analyze these types of situations, this man could easily have been Jonathan many times over if my son didn’t have family members who were willing to assist with his necessities of life. Should stop being so hard nosed and reconsider each situation that crosses my path.

THE WALLS ARE TOO THIN WHEN…

I’ve seen the scenario numerous times on television sitcoms. Big jokes that produce big laughs.

I’ve lived in my not so humble abode for over two years and recently decided to remain for another three years, or in other words, until I turn 55 and can move into an apartment complex exclusively rented to those 55 and over. Don’t really mind the commute and even with the higher gas prices will still save a considerable amount living in a cheaper apartment that includes all utilities and cable.

Knew the walls were thin when I had to put up with the noisy neighbors who at times were ten in number. It was a red-letter day when they were evicted last summer and a soon-to-be divorced older man (oops, he’s my age) moved in. It’s been relatively quiet except when his almost 20-year younger girlfriend is there who now seems to be a constant fixture. Although not often, I’ve been kept awake or awakened from a peaceful slumber by their domestic disputes. She’s like a screaming banshee. But, hey, is it all that surprising considering the age difference? Sorry…

Last night while watching a taped episode of Lost, heard some strange noises coming from next door; a female voice oohing and aahing, and an “Oh, Mark” in the mix. Must have been a wham, bam, and thank you ma’am moment because it didn’t last too long. Know the layout of that apartment so I definitely could say, “Please take it to the bedroom.” Yep, you know the walls are too thin when you hear your neighbors in the throws of passion.

Think I prefer the screaming.

DREGS OF SOCIETY

“The wrong things our sinful self does are clear: being sexually unfaithful, not being pure, doing sexual sins…I warn you now like I warned you before: The people who do these things will not be in God’s kingdom.” (Galatians 5:19-21, English Version for the Deaf)

In one of my criminology classes my professor and former FBI agent, Dr. Wirth, discussed the ramifications of committing crimes in certain overseas countries. For example, in Turkey if you were convicted of stealing, a hand was severed. The punishment would seem to fit the crime but not here in the states; it would step on our civil liberties. Imagine the punishment for sexual predators, to me a punishment so befitting the crime (maybe not even strong enough).

A coworker told me about a website developed by John Walsh of America’s Most Wanted. Plug in your address and a registered offender map pops up of the surrounding area with a color-coded legend to follow. Click on one of the squares to see offender information including name, address, photo, description, and conviction(s). You can zoom in to see a more detailed map.

I plugged in my address…WOW…There are two rapists down the street, one child molester across the street, and a 73-year-old man convicted of “288(a) lewd or lascivious acts with child under 14 years” who lives one floor above my parents in the retirement facility next door to the church. Mom’s ears perked up when I told her the news, but now…have a feeling she would rather not know this tidbit of info about her neighbor.

Check it out. Not only will you be fascinated, you might just get the surprise of your life.


wwwFamilyWatchDogus

NOW I’VE SEEN IT ALL

Driving south down the 405 interstate. Typical heavy morning traffic with much of the congestion attributed to the ever increasing presence of moving vans, semis, tractor trailers, and those pokey commuters in their passenger vehicles who never seem to find their way into the slow moving lanes.

Over the past 3-1/2 months I’ve used commuting as one of many learning tools for improving my patience. For the most part it has been successful but at times, especially in a traffic jam, there is a need to remind myself to remain calm.

Thursday morning one particular vehicle was tying up a seemingly free flowing commute. A Mustang-type vehicle generally seen zipping down any roadway, silver in color with a forest green roof, was crawling down the middle lane.

A touch of annoyance emerged. Figured she (yes, I said “she”) must be talking on her cell phone or doing her makeup; have seen that done many a time. I changed lanes, passed this vehicle and looked to the right. The driver was a female (sorry ladies) with long blonde hair, looking downward and actually reading. Should I give her the benefit of the doubt? Maybe she was studying for a test...

No wonder there is so many accidents.

QUOTE THE RAVEN, “NEVERMORE”

If I had written this last week, it might have been titled, “Men Are Jerks,” but would not want to offend those I care about who don’t deserve to be labeled the “J” word.

After my first date in 25 years, thought I would at least hear from Ken before his return to Vegas. Nope, and nothing for an entire week. Assumed the worst, felt as if I was left hanging, and I was not about to go away quietly. Sent an e-mail expressing my confusion and my feelings (and by now you know how blunt and candid I can be). Mr. V replied with the same candor. Doubt many men would have responded with such class and openness, at least not the ones I know. Without going into specifics, we have an understanding and there is still a possibility; but no matter what develops, we’ll always be friends.

Sunday morning Geron talked about distractions. After much reflection, I decided that my participation in this concept of internet dating has become more than a consuming affair and have disregarded other areas of importance. E-Harmony automatically renews your subscription (that shouldn’t have come as a surprise), so after I play out the commercial realtor from Newport Beach and the pharmacist from Lakewood, plan to call it quits with this cyberspace pursuit of the heart and just let come what may.

It’s been a frustrating and emotional roller coaster ride, and for a sensitive person who tends to wear her heart on her sleeve and gets overwhelmed when it gets flicked off like a piece of lint, well… Not that I necessarily want to remarry, but maybe Paul had it right: “To the unmarried and the widows I say it is well for them to remain unmarried as I am.” (I Corinthians 7:8, NRSV) Maybe he should have mentioned something about the dating scene.

Internet dating has been successful, and a great guy did enter my life, and as of this morning, date numero dos has been scheduled with Mr. V for this coming week, but no more blogs about matters of the heart. However, if something of earth shattering proportion develops, you, my loyal subjects, will be one of the first to know.

A PROMISE KEPT

Well, I'm keeping a promise to "My Little Buddy" and writing this with rapid speed, but don't think I'll be shouting it from the rafters. As a matter of fact, not quite sure what to think after the date ended in Costa Mesa at 6:00, and I walked through my apartment door in Long Beach by 6:41.

Have been on pins and needles for several days with great anticipation, anxiety, and downright terror. Cindy even spent Saturday afternoon teaching me the basics of hair styling. It looked great on Sunday, not quite as good on Monday, and after I got through with it last night, not at all the same but it would have to do. Actually forewarned Mr. Vegas not to judge me by the hair (such a pain trying to grow it out all the same length after 30 years of wearing short, layered coiffures).

Don't get me wrong, it was great finally meeting him and had a great time; and you know, the protocol for first-time internet dates, according to e-Harmony, aren't long, drawn out affairs, actually should only be 15 minutes. Of course, not many have waited for three months to meet for the first time and doubt the majority are long distance match ups.

Mr. Vegas was here on business, was tired, and is getting over his battle of that lingering creeping crud that has been going around. To end it early was the right call and should not label it anything more. Such a relaxing time. Such an enjoyable time. We got along. Not sure what he thought afterwards; however, he did say we would talk, and he hugged me up more than once. I gave him a couple of neck massages to relax, and he returned the favor. Had enough voyeurism?

But seriously, it is such a relief to have the first-time meeting behind us and actually don't feel quite as disheartened as I did two hours ago.

HOW THINGS CHANGE

What a difference a year makes. It doesn’t seem all that long ago when I was bashing the lovers’ holiday known as Valentine’s Day or the annual “Bake Your Sweetheart Out” church celebration that made no sense to attend (or in all honesty who would want to attend) if you didn’t have a sweetheart.

Last Thursday Mr. Vegas e-mailed me and wished me a “Happy VD” (get the joke) and then clarified it. I called him when I got home from work and asked him if he would be my valentine. There was a short hesitation before he said, “Yes” (he was on a bus heading to the airport on his way home from a business trip).

This past Sunday was another in a long line of “Bake Your Sweetheart Out” galas. I really didn’t plan on attending, but Peggy said we would be each other’s valentines (don’t worry, no need for the tongues to wag). You’ve heard about the pie in the face, but the best part of the evening was Geron getting smacked with a small cake from the grand prizewinners for the second year in a row. It was quite an attractive tiered cake. I think retaliation is in the cards.

I wasn’t sure how the emotions would hold up this February in the year 2008. Februarys have been quite difficult since Carl’s death in 2002 and this is the first time the dates have corresponded to the actual days of six years ago. The memories will always be there and have kept my emotions in tact for the most part and have tried not to dwell on it.

Today on the commute home from work a few teardrops fell as I realized that on Wednesday, the 20th, I had to inform the powers that be to have all life support removed, and I stayed the night in Carl’s hospital room for what would be our last night together. Of course, I didn’t get a wink of sleep. Oops, the moisture has found its way down my cheeks once again.

I think Carl would be pleased that I’ve found a way to go on and find someone to fall in love with again. It seems somewhat uncouth (for lack of a better word) that I would be preparing to go on my first date during this time of year; however, I’m not consumed with guilt and feel good about myself and about life in general. Think that alone would put a smile on Carl’s face.

THE DUKE

I always liked John Wayne. Maybe it stemmed from his appearance on a two-part episode of I Love Lucy. You remember, when Lucy and Ethel stole the cement block containing The Duke's footprints that was in front of Grauman's Chinese Theater. Maybe it was the movies he made with Maureen O'Hara, or the movie McClintock, or possibly the movie True Grit and his nomination as best actor. I was thrilled when his name was called during the 1969 Academy Award ceremony. In my opinion, the older Mr. Wayne got, the handsomer he became.

When I go to bed, I leave the TV on at a low volume to help drown out any noise from the neighbors. I surfed through the channels and there was one of my favorite John Wayne movies--The Shootist (with Lauren Bacall and Ron Howard) about an aging, infamous gunslinger who tries to come to terms with his impending death from cancer. What made this movie most extraordinary for me--John Wayne was also battling cancer and this would be his last movie. Touching. Poignant. Tearjerking. It couldn't have been scripted any better.

(PS - Mr. E, if the date goes great I'll want to shout it from the rafters; however, I promise no matter what happens to write a blog posthaste.)

WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?

Wasn’t sure what to title this piece. There were so many choices—Irony, Just a Coincidence, Somebody is Trying to Tell You Something; Kind of Creepy. Many people believe certain circumstances are callings from God. Many people wonder if their circumstances in life are meant to be. Prayers are offered up for all kinds of reasons. How does one really know when it’s the real deal?

Soon my three-month subscription to e-Harmony will expire. The majority of my matches were closed due to proximity or failure to communicate. Forgot how frustrating relationships can be and the fluctuation of emotions—feeling up in the beginning of the week and down and depressed toward the end. The last time I reported on the challenges of internet dating, my hope about Mr. Vegas had dwindled. Well, we are still communicating and started talking on the phone two months ago; however, until recently, it was a roller coaster ride of emotions for me and it was necessary to accept that I was not a priority and unsure what rank I was on his list of importance; but things have seemed different this past week. The man is extremely busy and although he has an optimistic outlook on life, he’s much more cautious than me; however, from the outset Ken did say the worse case scenario--we would become friends; to me the start of any great relationship.

We still have not met but next week that will change when Ken comes to Orange County on business. We get along fabulously communicating in writing and on the phone, but he keeps reminding me that eyeball to eyeball will be the test and there may not be any vibes. No, no pressure here, folks. Just makes you want to get a complete makeover--facelift, nose job, hair transplant, boob job, and have the teeth capped. For me there’s no doubt that my feelings will become stronger, but my pessimistic side thinks he’ll just walk away…To say I’m very scared and nervous would be an understatement. Guess it’s do or die time.

In a past blog I alluded to the fact that Carl did a great impersonation of Donald Duck, in my opinion, one of the best. Actually, Donald was Carl’s alter ego and it was as if I had lost two great loves when Carl died.

Last week Mr. Vegas and I were talking about his coming down, and he said there was someone who wanted to talk to me. There was a hesitation and the voice on the other end became Donald Duck. There was silence. Can’t describe it, but I was at a loss for words. It seemed as if Donald had become resurrected. Don’t like keeping secrets, but this might be the one truth that will stay buried. Told a friend who admitted she would have hung up. Jonathan, who for a 22-year-old has kept me grounded and given me great relationship advice, called it “creepy.”

Well, is it irony, coincidence, or is somebody trying to tell me something?

INFIDELITY

Blatantly portrayed on the silver screen and boob tube. Sensationalized in media print. But it's what sells tickets, newspapers, and best-selling novels. It makes hit TV shows and soap operas are one of the worst, but we still sit and watch. There can be no happy couples or monogamous relationships. Why? Because it is considered boring. Never could understand why spouses cheat and have only known a few people who have experienced such a betrayal of trust.

Mary was a student worker in the office last semester and now is volunteering a couple of hours every day to get some medical office experience to help in her pursuit of a medical assistant career. She is married with two young children.

Mary came to work Thursday and quickly disappeared, but her backpack was still on the floor. I was too busy to have observed anything out of the ordinary. Kept working and Pat told me what was wrong and that Mary was talking to one of the psych interns and would probably be a while. Mary found out her husband slept with her sister. I was taken aback as well as disgusted. Talk about a double whammy.

Now, how could that possibly be a forgivable offense? Like I said before, I just don't understand.

Please keep Mary in your prayers.

OPEN MOUTH, INSERT FOOT

I'm sure, like me, you've done it many times--after certain words, phrases, and comments come trickling out of your mouth, you want to go crawl into a hole. Luckily, I can't remember most of my faux pas, but unfortunately I committed another boo boo.

Doing laundry on an early Saturday morning to beat the crowd; necessary when there are just two washers and dryers and only one washer working on this particular day. My neighbor had the same idea but would have to wait.

Although never had talked to Mark in depth, I knew he was divorced, and he could have been instrumental in landing me an administrative position with the Jewish association around the corner if I wasn't already working at the college.

Mark related that he had a 13-year-old son and a 19-year-old daughter who attends college. Admitted I had seen his son on occasion as well as his daughter. "No," Mark said, "that probably was my girlfriend." He kept talking quite casually about it--a 19-year age difference--he is 51 and she is 32. I just wanted to disappear and was glad when Mark left.

The more I thought about it, the more incensed I became and somewhat got a bee in my bonnet, enough to consider writing a blog on those relationships known as "May-December" romances, but probably would have stepped on some people's toes.

No wonder seasoned women have trouble finding a man.

FEEDING THE FLOCK

For many people this phrase always connotes a shepherd who takes care of his sheep. This association is used in the Old Testament to describe God:
"He will feed his flock like a shepherd..." (Isaiah 40:11) and
"As shepherds seek out their flocks when they are among their scattered sheep, so I will seek out my sheep." (Ezekiel 34:12); and in the New Testament to describe Christ:
"I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep." (John 10:11) and "My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me." (John 10:27).
This phrase also refers to those individuals (also known as bishops, overseers, or elders) who tend to members of the church:
"Keep watch over us and over all the flock, of which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers, to shepherd the church..." (Acts 20:28) and
"...exhort the elders among you to tend the flock of God that is in your charge..." (I Peter 5:1-2).
Also, many sermons have been preached about the qualifications of the elders, listed in I Timothy 3:1-7, especially when a church is preparing to install additional men to this designation.

When growing up, I considered an elder of the church an old geezer who lacked a funny bone. In later years I came to realize that many of these men indeed had a great sense of humor but were quite stoic in a public assemblage. The two main churches of Christ I attended (one in NM and one in TX) would be considered enormous compared to California standards. Elders were expected to know each and every member--not an easy task. It was also felt that these leaders were responsible for everything and although I don't remember the accoulades, they sure were attacked for everything that went wrong; making a person muse, "Why would anybody want to hold such a position?"

Since attending church at Long Beach, my opinion has somewhat changed. The majority of the eldership is near my age (I can't be that old), so I can no longer in good conscience deem a church overseer as an old fuddy-duddy. Long Beach is blessed to have four very hard working, personable elders who are not intimidated to show their humorous side in front of the congregation. Will not try to show too much partiality, but here is my characterization of the four:

1) Chuck--a very caring man who has endured a rough life and overcame personal addictions to become a very knowledgeable, serious student of the Word.

2) Jim--the most reserved of the group (at least in front) who is a very dedicated, dependable man with a great tenor voice who doesn't give himself enough credit, but whose daughter I absolutely adore and would be proud to call my own.

3) Bruce--a sensible, loving man with tremendous devotion for the youth; a comedic genius with great one liners who should take his act on the road. Last, but certainly not least,

4) Steve--a great teacher with incredible musical talent, including voice, who always has something to say and is not afraid to say it. In my unbiased opinion, an absolute nut who with bushier hair and beard is probably not the ideal picture one would have of a church elder.

There are also four lovely, spiritual women who should be applauded just for putting up with these clowns. But seriously, Judy, Marilyn, Wanda, and Laura not only support their husbands but work laboriously behind the scenes.

The position of elder is unglamorous, time consuming, takes away from family life, and has no monetary compensation. It attracts blame, criticism, and insults. Instead of finding fault, we should admire and respect those who willingly accept this challenge and strive to do what they think is best for their flock.

[NOTE: I mistakenly gave Beth Moore a new name in my last blog. That’s what I get for relying on my memory.]

HAPPY NEW YEAR

Another year has come and gone. Time for making new year's resolutions and a time for remembering those resolutions blown from the year just past. We should always strive for improvement, but in the year 2008, I don't particularly feel the need to profess any resolutions or eat the traditional black-eyed peas to guarantee a great coming year.

Although I didn't accomplish those goals set a year ago, 2007 turned out quite well. Cleaned out a lot of my baggage and after studying Beth Moreland's "Believing God" series, realized there were three issues facing me that I had trouble believing would ever transpire--1) finding a job I could be content in; 2) Jonathan making it through life and finally being at peace; and 3) finding love that will be right for me.

As you already know, I found that job. Actually can say I love the job and, yes, even though neither my passion nor related to my degree, I am content. And working only two weeks and getting off three with pay, well, hey.....

Have struggled with Jonathan for awhile. He's literally wasted four years of his life, and to admit that I was fearful of his fate would be an understatement. However, 2008 will be the beginning of a new phase in Jonathan's life. Jonathan has agreed to get an associate degree from a local community college in San Diego County. Can't say enough what a blessing my parents have been in my life. They have stood by me, tried to encourage me and gave me excellent advice (which many times my stupidity hindered me from taking), and financially supported me and Jonathan on numerous occasions. Mom and Dad have agreed to pay for Jonathan's schooling, room, and board as long as he finishes with passing grades. Everyone wants Jonathan to succeed. Don and Nat even showed their support by giving Jonathan a Mac laptop for Christmas. School will be the main focus; a job secondary. Jonathan is now renting a studio adjacent to a nice family residence in close proximity to the campus. This is Jonathan's last chance, and he knows it, and finally has the desire and determination to do what is expected and complete something started.

To find love in cyberspace may not be the best option, but it seems to be successful for many couples. Although that hopefulness about Mr. Vegas has dwindled, there are still many positive aspects to internet dating. Mmm, and they say women are hard to figure out and understand.

Well, two out of three ain't bad.