Christmas is over

And what a fine Christmas it was (and still is, if you count lingering leftovers)! Here's my final word on really feeling the spirit of Christmas and experiencing it's joy.

It was Christmas Eve and we were ready. The only reason that we had gone to the Shopping Center was to grab lunch and pick up one more item for Christmas Dinner. The guy parked across the aisle from us was obviously not done, however; he was kneeling down beside his car, struggling to wrap a large package there on the pavement. He had his newly purchased adhesive tape, his newly purchased wrapping paper and his newly purchased gift, but kneeling on a parking lot is not the most suitable wrapping area, and he was struggling. Really struggling.

Just as I asked Mom "Where is the camera when you need it?" he disgustedly picked up the partially-wrapped package, threw it into his car, jumped in and and squealed his tires all the way to the exit!

I hope your Christmas was merrier.

The Visit

The anxiety that had gripped him – all but consumed him – since he had received his instructions held him motionless before the small village. “This can’t be right,” he thought. “This backwater village in this backwater region can’t be the place.” He almost thought, “There must be a mistake,” before he caught himself. No, there was no mistake, but that didn’t ease the sense of despair, the dread that had overwhelmed him since he had been sent on this mission.

He thought back to his summons before the Throne. There, before the Most High and a small group of angels, the Word had told him that He was going to leave heaven and go to Earth as a human, to become the King of the wayward and rebellious people and turn them back to the Father. He thought at that moment the heavens would fracture and they would all fall into the abyss, but that was just the beginning. The Word went on to explain how He was going to become human, and who His earthly mother would be and that he, Gabriel, in his role as messenger was to go and prepare her. He had already carried out a similar mission six months ago by appearing to Zechariah, the priest and foretelling the birth of a son. He chuckled a bit at having left Zechariah speechless. But that was different; Elizabeth was just old and childless. This… this was something altogether different.

Now Gabriel stood in the dark on the road before the little village of Nazareth, a collection of mud houses nestled on a hillside in Galilee, one of many such villages, none notable. Some of the houses seemed piled on top of others against the hill, mud roof of one becoming the courtyard of another. Some were white-washed; most were not. At the end of the street a few awnings stretched across poles marked where the vendors made a market each day. The market was empty now, as were the streets. All of Nazareth was indoors.

Gabriel strode quickly to the house. Pausing before the door, he tried to muster as much angelic aura as he could, but aura – and almost everything else – had been sucked out of him. He pushed the heavy curtain aside and stepped into the room. She was alone, as he knew she would be. She was startled at his abrupt entrance, but not as much as Gabriel was. “A child!” he thought. “She’s just a child.” He knew the way of the humans – the betrothals at a very early age, the arranged weddings – but to actually see her just confirmed all the dread he felt. “What was He thinking? This skinny girl cannot be the mother of the King of Israel!”

Pushing aside his misgivings, Gabriel set to his task and exclaimed in his most angelic voice, “Greetings, you who are highly favored. The Lord is with you.” He was chagrined at the weak and trembling way the proclamation actually came out. He cleared his throat.

Mary stared at Gabriel in shock. She was startled, but there was nothing to be afraid of in Nazareth. Certainly there was nothing threatening about this man, stranger though he was. What troubled her was his greeting. Mary was a non-person in Nazareth; hardly anyone ever spoke to her at all, least of all strangers, and this was certainly not what a stranger said to you – not even a stranger who burst into your house unannounced. This wasn’t even a greeting that the Rabbi would make – not that the Rabbi ever spoke to her – but this… this greeting made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

Gabriel, aware that he had startled Mary, quickly said, “Don’t be afraid, Mary. You have found favor with God.”

Now Mary was afraid. First, this stranger knew her name. The neighbors didn’t even know her name. Then he said he knew something about her that she didn’t know – and what he knew came from God. Deep down, the first tiny spark of knowledge of who this stranger was and what was happening snapped into being. Yes, now Mary was very afraid.

“You will be with child and give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever; his kingdom will never end.”

Mary heard the words but they didn’t make sense. Then she began to process them, first the part about having a son, then the part about her son being given the throne of David. The little spark was burning white-hot now. Then she went back to the beginning – the part about being with child. Yes, she was engaged to Joseph, and they would marry soon, but something told her this was not what was meant. She lowered her eyes for a moment, then raised them to Gabriel and said, “How can this be? I... I’ve never been with a man.”

“The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. That’s why the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God.”

Gabriel saw the flash of terror pass through Mary like a lightning bolt. She turned her head away, but Gabriel had seen her eyes wide with alarm. “It’s too much for this child,” he thought. “She can’t handle this.” He sought some way to comfort her. He said gently, “Your cousin Elizabeth is going to have a child in her old age, and she who was said to be barren is in her sixth month. Nothing is impossible with God.”

Mary looked at the angel, for she knew full well now that this stranger was from God. Her heart pounded as if it would leave her body. Her mind raced from one thought to another. God has chosen me… What will Joseph say…? It’s not possible… Nothing is impossible with God… What will mother say…? The Messiah – at last…! This can’t be happening to me… Me! God has chosen me…! Why me…? What will father say…? There’s an angel standing in my house… What will the neighbors say…? What of the shame…! Mother of the Messiah…! What will Joseph’s family say…? What…?

Gabriel was stunned. He felt the emotional turmoil, sensed the burning questions as they caromed through her consciousness. He was certain she was going to bolt into the street and he positioned himself squarely before the door to stop her flight when it came. The whole future of creation hung on the answer from this child and he was powerless as to its outcome.

Slowly, the Spirit calmed her mind, softened the trip hammer of her heart, and brought stillness to her thoughts. She looked at Gabriel a long time, then bowed her head and said. “May it be to me as you have said.”

Gabriel blinked once or twice, trying to decide what to do next, but there was no next. His work was done. There was nothing more to say, so he just turned and stepped back into the street. He paused in the dark passage, thinking about what had just happened. He had delivered a preposterous message to a totally improbable girl and she had received it in stride – and was prepared to act on it. Smiling to himself, he set off to find Joseph.

That's what I'm talking about!

Today I refer you to WaiterRant - a quirky blog we've followed for a while, written by a waiter in a high-dollar bistro in New York (be aware that it's not on the list of church of Christ blogs). Waiter pulls off what I have only wanted to. Here's how he starts:

"Its 4:30 and I get sat my first customers of the day – a young couple with a screaming, kicking, red faced, snot dripping three year old boy. I take a deep calming breath, flick on my waiter smile, and head over to the table. The parents, embarrassed by their offspring’s behavior, watch my approach with a mixture of apology and fear. The little boy, as all children do, is screaming about getting something he wants when he wants it. As the child’s delivering his full throated spittle laden ultimatum, a little bubble of mucous elongates out of his nose and pops. The resultant effluence drips down his chin.

Arriving at the table I don’t say anything to the parents - I focus all my towering attention on the little boy. As I stare into his big watery eyes he instantly falls silent. The parents are amazed.

“Who is this man?” I ask the little boy, pointing to the bearded caricature painted on my tacky Christmas tie.

“Santa,” the child blurts.

“And what does Santa do?”

“Brings toys.”

“That’s right,” I say, winking at the mother, who at this point, wants to leave her husband and shack up with me. “You know that Santa only brings toys to good children don’t you? Have you been a good boy this year?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been a good boy? No crying and yelling?”

“Yes,” the child lies, wiping his nose with a crusty shirtsleeve.

“So you’re going to be nice and quiet while I talk to your Mommy and Daddy?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like chocolate milk?”

“Yes.”

“If you’re good and Mommy says it’s okay I’ll bring you some. Would you like that?”

“Yes.”

I look at the mother. Hopefully this kid’s not Jewish and lactose intolerant.

“That would be great,” the mother says, hero worship shining in her blue eyes.

“Okay then,” I say. “When I finish talking to Mommy and Daddy I’ll bring you some chocolate milk.”

“Okay,” the boy says.

“Carson,” the mother coos, “What do you say to the nice man?”

“Thank you,” the boy says automatically.

“You’re welcome, sir,” I reply."

Here's the rest of the story.

Promised Picture

Thanks to my sister, here are most of the cousins (that's Taylor in my hat, by the way).

Cousin's Christmas

Today we trekked up to Fort Worth for the annual Cousin's Christmas. That's the current form of my family's Christmas gathering - an evolution from the immediate family gathered at Mom and Pop's in Breckenridge, then in later years as we outgrew that little house, Christmas at the Lake Cabin. Then, when Mom and Pops moved to Fort Worth, it made more sense to gather there, and so we do. My brother had the good idea to invite the cousins of the clan; certainly those that live in the area, so it has become the Cousin's Christmas.

Like most family get-togethers, this one centers on food and fellowship. There's a modest effort at bringing ohhh! and ahhh! dishes; then there's the fun of meeting the new babies and the new fiancés, seeing the nieces and nephews growing up and growing hair, hearing about the new job (or the new retirement) and just being with your own kin. After we stuff ourselves silly, we play a version of the White Elephant gift exchange. There's a theme to the gifts (though some themes don't work as well as others) and we enjoy the creativity of the gift-givers, and often the gift-getters. Remember, there's a box of watch band calenders out there somewhere (Barbara thinks we ought to write them into our will just to be sure).

There's only one problem with the Cousin's Christmas. It costs 7 hours in the car to enjoy. I know, I know, we could break that trip up by staying over. Someday. Today was a real adventure because coming home the wind was gusting to 30 mph and it was pushing the Highlander all over the road. I felt for the truckers and people in little bitty cars!

I'll post some pictures if some of my relatives will e-mail me some (hint hint). We didn't think to take the camera, so I guess I'm still learning the blogging business. Watch this space.

Santa Hat Adventures

It was cold and drizzly today, so I wore my Santa Hat when I went to read. I got the expected comments, "Nice Hat!", "Hello, Santa", "Ho, ho ho", etc. That's nice.

The weather was even more miserable when it was time to go to Chuy's for supper, so I stuck the hat back on and wore it into the restaurant. Saw lots of smiles and got lots of looks, so I achieved the desired effect as we passed through the place to get to our table. Just got seated, and heard,

"Hello, Santa!"

from a wide-eyed little girl who looked to be about four. A believing, wide eyed little girl!

Uh Oh.

I hadn't considered running into small children when I plopped the hat on my head. Believing, wide-eyed small children. I may wear the hat, and project the image, but I'm really not ready to be Santa.

I turned to the little girl and said hello, saying fervently to myself, "Please, please, little girl. Don't hop out of your chair and come over here! I'm not really Santa, little girl. I'm not even a good helper, Okay?"

She didn't get up, but she continued to stare wide-eyed. So I did the only thing I could do. I took off the hat.

Okay. I chickened out. But you are not supposed to wear hats indoors, and the hat was hot, and... I chickened out.

Obviously, I'm going to have to give this looking like Santa some more thought.

Retired in Full

Back in March, I "retired" as a full time employee and became a part-time contractor - which meant I was also a part-time retiree. I mentioned then that I thought that available work in my specialty was going the way of the Dodos, and that by the end of the year it would dry up altogether. Hey, I'm pretty good at this forecasting stuff; here it is December and I'm pretty much done (there's a possibility of some work for a new customer, but I give it only about a 20% chance of actually happening).

So. If I'm no longer getting paid for contracting, I'm going to have to turn to the retirement account and actually start drawing from the funds I have been stashing away all this time. That's scary to me. I've read all the literature and know the prevailing wisdom about taking only 4 or 5 percent of the funds and that theoretically allows it to continue growing and we don't come knocking on our children's doors in 10 years. Did I just sense a sharpened interest in this blog?

But there's just something about actually saying, "Okay, let's start taking money out..." when all your life (well, at least the latter years) you have been diligently trying to put money in.

We had the meeting yesterday. Neile, Keeper of All Things Financial, assured us that it should be at least 12 years before we come knocking at the door, and maybe even longer if we actually enjoy dog food, so I guess it was a good meeting. And now I am retired in full.

My next blog will be about all the new and exciting things my wife has planned for me. Most of them occurring away from the house, interestingly enough.

Ho! Ho! Ho!

It’s becoming pretty obvious. I catch more and more small children looking at me with a great deal of interest these days. I think it’s the beard and the belly. You know, like the waitress at the café in Salado who said, “Hon, with your beard and your belly you can play Santa Claus!” I won’t tell you what I told her about her tip! But she’s right. Every time we are out somewhere, I catch some wide-eyed child really checking me out.

Even Grace. Mom was reading her a Christmas book when were up there and the last page had a picture of the jolly gent himself. Grace looked at the picture, then she looked up at me; she looked back at the picture and then she pointed at me!

I have even begun going “Ho, Ho, Ho” to some of the kids. Sometimes I want to say “I’m keeping a list – and you’re on it!” The other day in Central Market a kid was really acting up – so much so that other store patrons around him were commenting about his behavior. I really wanted to go up to the kid, point at my beard and say, “Do you know who I am? Do you know that I check up on naughty children?” But judging from the mom’s yuppie attire (and lack of restraint of her bratty kid) she probably would have sued me for perpetuating a myth and traumatizing her little dear.

The other day a friend called and asked me if I wanted a gig playing Santa at a bank opening – two six-hour Saturdays dandling kiddos in a hot Santa suit. I was so sorry that we were going to be in Fort Worth one Saturday and anywhere else I could think of the next.

P.S. Mom just came in from shopping with... a Santa Hat for me. Anybody got a red suit?

The new Leslie refrigerator magnets are out.

If you are an Austin resident, present or past, you know who Leslie is. Otherwise you may not know about this individual and how he has become the "Keep Austin Weird" Poster Boy. Or perhaps Poster Girl. Leslie is a person of the streets, a panhandler who hangs out at Congress and 6th Street, wearing outrageous apparel, such as thongs and tu-tus, usually with a padded bra top, a tiara and high heels. When we first encountered Leslie, he had staked out the Albertson's near us and was not quite as colorful, but Austin tends to have an effect on you.

Leslie is often referred to as the Mayor of Austin - in fact, he did actually run for Mayor a few years ago and got a respectable number of votes. Connie Britton (Friday Night Lights) said on Letterman one night that she had heard that Leslie was Mayor so often she scoffed when she met the real Mayor (primarily because the real Mayor was wearing jeans and a tee shirt that said "Keep Austin Weird" at the time).

Actually, this is the second year that decorative fridge stickers featuring Leslie will be on the market.

“This year is a holiday version, so he comes complete with his Mrs. Claus outfit and his elf outfit, and egg nog,” said Jimmy Haddox, who owns the Wet Salon on South Congress, and is the man who created the magnets. “It is Leslie, so I’m sure the egg nog would be spiked.”

Leslie gets 20 percent of the wholesale price this year (retail $17.95), Haddox said. Last year, while Leslie only got 15 percent, he still made about $10,000; he did so well he bought himself the largest storage shed that Home Depot had, cut a deal with a woman in South Austin to put the shed in her yard, has furnished the shed and has moved into it.

“He’s got a big wide screen TV in there,” Haddox said. “He’s got a little refrigerator, microwave, stereo system, reclining sofa. He’s living the life.”

Who says the American Dream is no longer obtainable?

And if you really have to know, here's a link to a site that shows last year's magnets. This is a family-oriented blog, so I'm not going to put the picture here. I have some dignity.

A New Hymnal?

Keith Brenton posted an article last week in which he suggested that some of our great old hymns just don't connect with the children of this century, especially those with insistent themes of dedication, self-sacrifice, and so forth. He suggested that some of those grand classic hymns should be updated - if not with more contemporary language - at least with a more realistic outlook. And he went on to list a few:

• Living By Fate
  
• Take My Life and Let it Alone
  
• I Need Thee Every Week
• Joyful, Joyful We Ignore Thee
• O Master, Let Me Balk With Thee
• We'll Wait 'Til Jesus Comes

and

• Come Let Us Worship and Sit Down

It's an incomplete list, however, and I and others added these new old favorites:

• I Sit, I Sit, in Awe of You
• Two-and-a-half Percent to Jesus, I Surrender
• Have My Own Way
• I Am Mine, Oh Lord
• Master the Market is Raging

Maybe you have a favorite new old hymn.

Sand and Sea

Just made another trip to Port Aransas. I don't know how many that makes - a dozen perhaps? I'm pretty sure I've been there that many times and Barbara has made the trip several times without me. It used to be an end-of-school ritual for her. School was out for the summer and she headed to the coast to decompress.

And that's still our routine - decompression - though honestly it's getting harder to achieve decompression when there's no pressure to begin with. Still, we love the weekends at the coast.

Not that we do much. It's mostly about walking on the beach, sitting on the balcony overlooking the Gulf - watching the big ships come and go and the waves come and go and the other beach walkers come and go. It's about staying up late reading and getting up late and drinking coffee on the balcony, walking on the beach some more, and then doing it all over again.

Oh, and did I mention seafood? Castaways the first night we are there, and then Virginia's on the Bay once or twice and Trout Street Grill. We ran into Bonna and Ken at Trout Street one trip! Go figure! Great seafood.

For the last several years we have been staying at a high-rise condo right on the beach. Take the elevator down (hard life) and walk across the street to the beach. Usually we stay in the efficiency apartments, but this trip we went for a 1-bed room apartment, since Barbara and I tend to have different going to bed times (and getting up times). It worked out probably too well; I can't see us wanting to go back to the 1-room efficiency. But if we really wanted to economize, we could just camp on the beach. Hmmm. No, I don't think so. No place to plug in the coffee pot.

Make a Sailor Blush

From time to time I read a blog in which the author will sometimes write, "Okay, Mom and Dad. Here's where you need to stop reading" and then will go on to say something that is usually pretty hair-curling.

Yesterday I was reading for the Blind, and the particular book was a Social Studies text which included a chapter on a therapy program being conducted in a prison. The participants were inmates incarcerated for violent crimes and the program's intent was to get these bad actors to start "thinking right" about themselves and their actions. All was going well, reading wise, until we got to a lengthy section of the actual dialogs between the prisoners and the facilitators of the therapy sessions. Talk about curling your hair! The sessions were usually very heated, with a lot of confrontation and the language used would, in the vernacular, make a sailor blush!

I found myself very uncomfortable when confronted with these words. Not only was I expected to record them for posterity (uttered with the proper emphasis), I had two directors - both young women - diligently listening to every word I said at that moment. I am not prone to blushing, but it certainly felt a lot warmer in that recording booth. If I did blush, no one saw it. My directors kept their eyes glued to the text.

It's not that I haven't seen or heard these words before (and here's where I say, "Okay, kids, you need to stop reading now.") and I even admit that I have even uttered some of these words at times that I'm not proud of. But my, oh my! This was something else altogether!

I got through it. My directors and I avoided eye contact after the session was over, but I couldn't help but wonder what they were thinking. I hope they were as uncomfortable as I was.

I think I'm going to start asking for Math books, or Geography texts from now on. Nursery Rhymes, anyone?

Serve Out

Yes, it has been a while hasn't it? Some weeks are like that. So here are some odds and ends that have accumulated and I have no other place for them.

The wastewater project is complete! No longer are we wakened by the BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! of backwards moving construction equipment. No more dump trucks are rumbling up and down the street. No more creative ways needed to get in and out of the subdivision because they have the streets blocked off. They even replaced my grass and came and watered it daily for weeks! Now all we have to do is wait for that letter from the City that says it's time to dig up your yard and your flower beds, and oh by the way - you get to pay for this part.

Made a trip to Lubbock. It didn't get any closer since the last time we made the trip, but it has its redeeming features. Things of note on the way - great cotton crop this year and there are hundreds of new wind turbines between Roscoe and Snyder. Things of note while there - Barbara was reading a book to Grace and there was a picture of Santa Claus. Grace looked at the book, then looked at me; looked back at the book and then pointed at me. Ho, Ho, Ho!

Note to self: when one's wife calls the day before she is to teach a Bible class that she has been working on for days and says that her computer won't boot, show a lot of concern. Especially, do not use phrases like, "How do I know what's wrong?" or "What do you want me to do about it?"

Another note to self: Be sure there is a back-up plan in place for your wife's new computer.

And finally, is it supposed to be 90 degrees in mid November?

Was it a slip?

During a recent recording session for RFTB&D, while reading a Government text...

ME: "... a characteristic most noted since President George W. Bush has occupied the Evil Office. In the later part..."

DIRECTOR: "Uh, Bob. That should be Oval office."

ME: "What did I say?"

DIRECTOR: "You said 'Evil Office." It should be Oval office. We are not allowed to editorialize. I'll back up."

ME. "Please."

Dennis Jernigan, Part II

My children know the first part of this story, but for the one or two others who have nothing better to do with their time than read this blog, here’s why I said in Part I that Dennis Jernigan is one of my heroes.

When Julie and Jason were first married and still in Abilene in the early ‘90’s, they became part of Abilene Mission Church. They described this church to us – I think rather cautiously, at first – as a “different way of doing church,” meeting during the week in homes as a Cell Church, then coming together in the rented Civic Center on Sunday mornings for Praise and Worship. Inevitably, we visited them in Abilene and attended AMC for the first time.

First time is a key phrase here; for the first time Barbara and I – raised in rather traditional Church of Christ settings – experienced worship with a praise team. For the first time we attended a church service where people would stand throughout the Praise time (or sit – no one cared which). Some people raised their hands, others didn’t. Some clapped. Some even danced! Well, to my traditional eyes it looked liked dancing; maybe it was just pronounced rhythmic movement while singing rapturously. For the first time we heard men and women participating together in the service. And there was so much joy evident in praising our God and our Savior! No one wanted to stop; the singing often lasted longer than our entire service does at Westover – even on the three baptism days!

And the songs they sang… oh, the songs they sang! Never before had we heard songs about such a personal God – songs about real relationships and real longings; songs that spoke about a real father, not a distant deity. Songs about the Great Jehovah God singing over us, rejoicing over us! We asked about these songs and learned that many of them were by Dennis Jernigan. So we bought CDs and exulted in these new songs. We didn’t know the whole story then, we just knew the music, and it blew us away. One of our friends who also had just been introduced to Jernigan told it this way. “We bought a CD and put it in the car and spent a year playing just the first song!”

After Julie and Jason left for Prague, Barbara and I would – about every six weeks – drive to Abilene on Saturday, spend the night in the motel across the street from the Civic Center and go to AMC on Sunday morning. Then we would put the Jernigan CDs in the player and make the long drive back home that afternoon. Later we would get the chance to hear Dennis in concert on a couple of different occasions. Except they are not just concerts, are they? They are worship experiences.

Now for the 2^nd part of this story. I was excited to hear that Dennis was coming to Westover; it meant that I would have a chance to meet him and tell him what an important part he played in the awakening Barbara and I experienced and continue to seek. And I did meet him. I worked with him during the sound check. We joked about his wanting the piano moved – for one number only. We talked about his barn behind his home in Oklahoma, where his studio is. But when it came time for me to tell him about being a hero to us, the Anderson Family Curse robbed me of that ability.

I could not tell the man what he meant to us. I never said a word.

It didn’t end that badly. I told Rick how disappointed I was that I couldn’t tell Dennis what his ministry meant to us, and Rick said, “I’ll be with him later. I’ll tell him for you.” And he did.

And I thank him.

Dennis Jernigan, Part I

Friday afternoon I got good news and bad news: the good news was that I was going to mix Dennis Jernigan in concert at Westover on Saturday night; the bad news was that I was going to mix Dennis Jernigan in concert at Westover on Saturday night.

It was good news in that Dennis is one of my heroes – more about that in Dennis Jernigan – Part II. The bad news is that late Friday I received the contract rider that specified what was required of the sound system – in very specific terms. I’ll make a long story short and just say that there were a lot of technical requirements that we didn’t meet, and in that short time frame could NOT meet. My immediate response was to call one of the other guys involved and ask him what his response was when he saw the rider, and we both were alarmed at the situation we found ourselves in.

My next response was blistering anger toward Rick, our Spiritual Formation Minister who set all this up. Since the rider was part of the contract, he had known about these requirements for months and was just now sharing them. Then my response was that of sheer terror. How on earth was I (note the implied sense of ownership and responsibility in that little one-letter word) going to pull this off, since there seemingly was no other choice but to proceed. My expectation had been that Rick was going to rent a sound rig and technician like we had done for the other two concerts in this series, that of Chris Rice and Nichole Nordeman. Now I find out that I (there it is again) was going to have to pull this together, without the needed techno-stuff and no time to get it.

I made an emergency trip to the building to check on a couple of microphones and look for some boom-type stands. In the meantime, Brian, the other guy involved had been in touch with Rick with our concerns, and Rick’s response seemed to be “I know a guy who has done this before and it’s no big deal that we don’t have all that stuff, and he said he would loan us some boom mic stands.” Snarl! Fume!

Saturday afternoon, I arrived at the building (hours before I needed to be there) and found a guy waiting to deliver the boom stands, and he also had a couple of high-dollar microphones of exactly the type needed to mic the piano. I helped him carry the stuff in, and he asked to look at the sound system. He asked me where a couple of the needed techno-stuff items were, and when I confessed that we didn’t have them, he takes out his phone and makes a couple of calls and asks people to bring these needed items. Then, after a few more questions and seeing the abject terror in my eyes as the time for the sound check grew nearer, he asked me if I wanted him to stay and help work this program.

To make this a blog of near-normal size, it turns out that this guy, Mike, is a professional sound technician who works for the biggest sound event outfit in town and is also the sound guy for High Point Fellowship, where Dennis has appeared on two other occasions and he knew just exactly what was needed. What's more, he obtained it with his magic phone, set it up and stayed and mixed the concert, which was wonderful!

The concert was over – the sound was awesome, thanks to my private angel Mike, and I was rehearsing in my mind what I wanted to cover in my Come-To-Jesus meeting with Rick, when I got to thinking. What just happened here? Who was right? Rick, with his attitude that “God is going to provide – show a little trust” or me with my “How could you do this to ME!” attitude. I’m not through thinking through it, but I am sure that there is a lesson to be learned in this exercise. The only question is it a lesson that Rick needs to learn, or is it a lesson that I need to learn?

Overheard in Home Depot...

...as the self-serve checkout station again refused the college student's credit card - "I don't know what the problem is. This is my dad's card and he pays his bill!"

The pecan crop is in!

We knew that we were going to have a lot of pecans this year because limbs kept breaking off from the weight of the pecans as they got bigger. Big limbs. And sure enough, this has been a bumper crop - certainly the biggest crop since we planted the tree. Julie, I don't know if you remember but I used you as the measuring stick for how deep the hole needed to be to plant the tree. I would stand you in the hole, and if you could see out, it wasn't deep enough. Before anyone objects, it was not that deep a hole, and you thought it was great fun!

The way the tree is situated, a third or more of the nuts fall directly on the driveway. When we back out or drive in, it sounds like fireworks with all the pecans going pop! pop! pop! when they are overrun. The birds love it, because they feast on pecan hash with no effort on their part; we'll drive up and a great flock of birds of all descriptions will flap off into the sky. For the past few weeks, I've gone out and swept the driveway clean from time to time just to keep from hearing all the pop! pop! pops! from under the wheels (not to mention avoiding the mess).

Last night Fall came to Austin. A big cold front came blowing through and mighty was the wind thereof. I was up during the night and it sounded like hail from all the pecans being blown on the roof of the house. When we got up this morning, the driveway was covered - literally covered in pecans. I regret not getting a picture of that, but Mom counted and said there were at least a thousand pecans. Well, she said she counted.

It was still raining when she left this morning, so no one had been out to sweep the driveway, and it sounded like the 4th of July when she left. Especially since she had to pull forward again to negotiate her way around another fallen limb in the driveway. I swept the lower part later, but the wind was (still is) blowing and they were falling faster than I could sweep them away. Plus, I kept getting bonked on the noggin by falling pecans!

The lawn guys came this afternoon and they were so excited when we told them they could pick up pecans; they took the majority of what was swept up by the driveway, but you can't walk across the lawn without the danger of twisting your ankle, so there are plenty more out there. And within just a few minutes after they blew the driveway clean, the new crop began to accumulate again. We just came back from Chuy's and it was pop! pop! pop! all the way into the garage.

Now, who wants pecan pie? Just a minute - I'll go drive over some freshly fallen pecans.

Good stuff out there

Today's entry is entirely purloined. I stole the title from Sarah and other folks sent me the pictures. That happens on the Internet.

How to Tell When You're Not Mom's Favorite

Anger Management

Really Reading for the Blind

I mentioned a few posts back that I was volunteering some at RFB&D. Except I wasn't reading, I was "directing." That's when you follow along with the people that are reading and make sure they are doing it right. Like I would know on some of the stuff - like Math Books.

After you direct long enough, you get to take the reading test, and if you pass that, then they will let you read. Well, I did and I did. Took it and passed, that is. So today I read. You will recall that I've been a little nervous about revealing my history with these folks. They did, after all, reject me once upon a time. But I figured if they rejected me again, I could attack them on my blog, and boy that would show them! But I passed with flying colors so there's no hard feelings about the past.

The test is interesting. It consists of 7 or 8 pages, each representing a typical page that you might actually read. For instance, the first page was a vocabulary list, and it contained words like ACETANILIDE, BOATSWAIN, BOGATA (NJ) and OTIOSE. You are supposed to (correctly) pronounce each word, spell it, then pronounce it again. You do get to look the words up ahead of time. While actually reading, if you encounter a word you don't know how to pronounce, you are supposed to stop and look it up.

The 2nd page is an exercise on analyzing a product map. The text describes the steps to follow and then shows a map that the reader is to analyze. In this case, it is a map of the State of Texas, showing cotton production in 1895. You are supposed to describe the map, point out that the state is divided into 4 different geographic regions, paint a word picture of what area each region covers, then count the cotton bolls in each region and indicate to the listener where cotton was grown and to what extent.

Another page was a flow chart, with decision branching and alternate paths to follow. Or how about the page on Oral Hygiene which included the illustration of a cross-section of a tooth, with labels for the Crown, Dentin, Pulp and Root. But the best page may have been this.


Yes, just the cartoon - and the task is to describe it so a non-sighted person "gets it." Go ahead. Try it.

I guess I "got it" because today they paired me with a director and I spent 2 hours reading a Business text which featured eleventy-zillion different ways for a company or organization to conduct sessions to improve/benefit/restructure/turn around/rethink/revitalize itself. When I got through, I'm not sure that I knew how to conduct any of the sessions described, but I did know that 2 hours of continuous reading is very hard on the throat!

Have you ever said/heard this?

After bad mouthing YouTube a couple of posts ago, I got this from Bonna and thought it deserved to be shared. So, turn up the volume and hang on.

In the book selling business

When Mom retired she disposed of her rather large library in several ways; Julie got the Children’s books, a number of books were sold to her co-workers, Goodwill got boxes of remnants, and I asked for and got the left-over Teacher’s books. Two big tubs of Teacher’s books, which have been sitting in our bedroom/office/computer room all this time, waiting for me to do something with them.

I finally got motivated (okay, there were some rather pointed hints involved) and I have gone into business as a seller of books. Amazon makes this fairly easy – you sign up as a merchant, promise to abide by all the rules, give them a bank account to deposit the sales proceeds into (they already have a credit card number if there needs to be a charge-back), list your books (“Never read, only opened once by a little old lady schoolteacher”) and sit back and wait for the orders to come flooding in.

In fact, the orders have come in – okay, not a flood – but the 1^st day I listed 23 books and had 3 orders before I finished entering all the books! I have since listed a total of 67 books and sold and shipped 13 as of today.

So what am I going to do with all this money I’m making? Well, let’s talk about the used book business. The first thing you do when you list a book is look it up in Amazon and see what’s for sale, and at what price. Usually you see a link that says something like “9 used and new available from $14.67.” This is a good thing, because you don’t have too many competitors, and the price is in a range that will make this a profitable transaction if sold.

However, it is not uncommon to see “87 used and new from $.01.” Yes, 1 cent! This basically means that a merchant who is really in the book selling business is unloading a dog that he hasn’t been able to otherwise sell. If your volume is high enough, there is no minimum fee to Amazon (normally $.99) and 6% of the selling price can’t be calculated, so if the merchant can get his postage and handling below the minimum $3.99 shipping charge, he makes a few cents, adds to his volume, and irritates the little guys. So, if I see “87 from $.01,” it’s “Hello Goodwill” regardless if it is a 360 page 4-color text.

Which is the other interesting thing about pricing books; you simply have no way of knowing what the book will bring in the marketplace. Some of the highest listings I have are small, 40 page booklets. Some of the lowest are 360 page 4-color texts. Mom looks at the pricing and says, “Wait! That’s a great book! It’s worth ever so much more than that!” or she says, “You are asking how much for that old thing?”

So what does it really add up to? If I sell a book for $9.99, Amazon will deposit $10.14 in my account ($9.99 + $3.99 shipping allowance minus $3.84 for their cut). I will spend $1.02 for a bubble-wrap mailer and $2.47 for postage. Not counting a few cents for labels and gas for a trip to the Post Office (I’m required to personally hand any package weighing more than 13 oz. to a Postal clerk – thank you HomeLand Security), $6.65 is mine, all mine. You might say, “Wait! Doesn’t Mom get a share of that? They were her books.” Think about that for a minute. What is it worth to Mom for me to stay occupied and out from underfoot for hours at a time? She’s getting her money’s worth!

Amusing yourself on the Internet

Without question the World Wide Web has delivered untold hours of mindless entertainment right to our fingertips, and that’s not even counting YouTube. Even retired I don’t have enough time to browse through the millions of videos. Okay, I confess that I do go there when someone sends me a link of something they think is _____ (you fill in the blank). But if you are otherwise looking for a way to waste some time, you might try www.custommotelsign.com and see what you can come up with.

Or how about www.customroadsign.com? How I’ve longed to see this sign.

Or have you always wanted your own Hollywood star? www.getyourownstar.com is for you.

Award yourself a medal! www.getamedal.com

Getting married? www.customweddingsign.com . Okay, you get the picture(s).

But the winner for spending endless hours staring at the computer has to go to Google’s very own Blogger Play. http://play.blogger.com/ This is an endless stream (really, they are being uploaded faster than you can view them) of the pictures being placed on your and my blog pages, along with those going on the blogs of a few million of our closest friends.

Now, I’ve only watched countless hours of these pictures, but I have come to the conclusion that our non-English speaking friends are more prodigious bloggers than we are – there seem to be a great many pictures that contain words I am not familiar with. And Futball is a very popular topic – second only to babies. You can go fast or slow, click on “show info” to see information about the blog or even click on the picture to go to the blog. That’s what I need – to find more blogs that I am interested in! And sometimes it seems to go in a loop, just in case you missed something the first time.

A caveat. Google says they try very hard to screen the pictures, but they make no promises about what you might see. So keep looking.

Ole, Ole, Ole

We've been watching the Women's Soccer World Cup. The DVR is such a wonderful invention. You just tell it to record all 1st run occurrances of an event or program on a given channel and when you check of an evening you have two to four games recorded (which originally broadcast as early as 4:55AM) so you just pick and choose the games you want to watch!

The games are being played in various venues in China and as a result the crowds are often sparse, but there always seems to be a band. Now we often see drums and sometimes horns at soccer games - especially if the Brazilians are playing - but a band? It's not like the home team brings the band and cheer leaders, so we can only assume these are "Rent-A-Bands" that the host country has provided to add a festive air to the proceedings.

The only problem is that there is not too much music written specifically for the sport of soccer - or football, if you will. In fact, the only song I know is the "Ole, Ole, Ole. Brazil, Brazil," which you sometimes hear with other country names inserted. And it's not a very long song. I mean, the band would just be getting started and the song is over. Hardly worth it.

So instead, we've been hearing songs like "Jingle Bells." Yes, Jingle Bells, complete with the verse. And "Edelweiss" from Sound of Music. How about the "William Tell Overture?" And a number of military marches that we are not familiar with, as played by a German OomPah band. Or a couple of songs that must have originally been funeral dirges. And I'm not positive, but I think we heard "Yellow Rose of Texas." But there is no mistaking the finale; it's "Auld Lange Syne" in honor of these good friends whose acquaintance will never be forgot - especially if they are the losing team.

And the answer is...

The other morning Julie and the boys called. They were waiting on Jason while he attended to some errand and were working mind puzzles while they waited. They were discussing the old Farmer, Fox, Goose and Corn conundrum - how the farmer could get all his possessions safely across the river carrying only one at a time, etc. They couldn't remember exactly how the puzzle went so called for assistance; unfortunately we couldn't remember clearly, either. So after Googling the puzzle I offer this belated solution, in case they haven't already worked it out.

- The farmer takes the goose across and comes back empty handed.
- The farmer takes the corn across and comes back, bringing the goose.
- The farmer takes the fox across and comes back empty handed.
- Finally the farmer takes the goose across and they all continue on their journey.

Which made me think of puzzles that I learned as a boy and have remembered all my life - such as "A bottle and a cork cost a dollar and a dime. The bottle cost one dollar more than the cork. How much did the cork cost?"

And the "Brothers and Sisters have I none, but this man is my father's son."

And then one I really love:

Three men checked into a run-down hotel and paid $10 each to share a room. When the manager came in, he said the room was not worth $30 - the clerk should refund a total of $5.00 to the men. The clerk, thinking that he could not make an even refund of $5, gave each man back $1 and kept the remaining $2 for himself. Therefore the 3 men each paid $9 - a total of $27 and the clerk kept $2 for a grand total of $29.

What happened to the other dollar?

RFTB&D

That’s Reading for the Blind and Dyslexic. Used to be just RFTB, but they realized that there are more reading difficulties than lack of vision and now almost anyone with difficulty reading printed text can qualify for the program. In fact they have more dyslexic clients than visually-impaired clients. Maybe it should be RFTD&B.

Anyway, I’m volunteering as a reader for this organization. It stems from the “Westover plus One Percent” initiative that our Spiritual Formation minister, Rick McCall has called for. One percent of your income – apart from your church contribution – slated for a cause that exists outside the church “box” and then getting involved in the program itself (someone who shall remain nameless asked Rick if she could give 2% and skip the personal involvement part. He didn’t buy it). Mom is working with Meals on Wheels, and I chose Reading for the Blind. Sounds like a no-brainer, for my part.

Actually, I volunteered for this organization once before, a number of years ago, and they rejected me. I don’t remember the exact reason, but somehow I didn’t meet their standards as a reader. I personally think I was too good for them. Maybe that was part of the problem. But I’m back and thus far they have accepted my efforts. Maybe that’s because I have yet to read. I have been “in training” as a director. The way this works is that there are two copies of each book to be recorded and the reader sits in the recording booth and reads while the director sits outside, listening on earphones, following along in the text and controlling the recording.

It’s a computer-based recording system – digitally recording the voice as well as formatting the recording into pages and chapters. When the reader makes a mistake, you use mouse clicks to stop the recording, back up a sentence or two, play forward until you reach a good starting place and then start recording again. When you reach the end of a page, you electronically “mark” that point and the software starts on the next page unit.

The first couple of sessions I sat with another director, watching the process for the most part with just a little hands-on. Then I graduated to directing alone. After 11 – 15 hours of directing, I can take a reading test and if I pass, I can sit in the booth and make my own mistakes. I’m content to direct at the moment, because I need more experience in how various printed conventions are handled verbally. It’s not like reading fiction or even the Bible; most of the books are school texts, and you have to deal with things like graphs, charts and pictures. Or footnotes. Last week I worked with a text that had more space devoted to the notes than it did the text. Really. And in addition to the ibids and op cits, there were the eds. and vls. and pps – not to mention the ffs and pdqs. Okay, I made that last one up, but you get the picture.

Today I worked with a Math Reader. If you are a Math Reader they start bowing when you walk in the door and they throw flower petals on you and go out and wash and polish your car while you read. Good math readers are rare and hard to come by. We read from a 7^th grade text, and you’re probably aware that the current books are full of charts and diagrams and pictures and illustrations – not to mention the formulas themselves. There’s very little actual text. It goes something like this: “A. Find the approximate area of the shape in illustration B.” Then the Math Reader spends most of the time saying things like, “Illustration B is a grid, made up of 12 squares across by 9 squares down with each square representing 2 square feet. In this grid is an indiscriminate blue shape that completely covers 21 squares, covers half of 7 squares and covers less than half of 3 squares.” And if you’re good, you work this description out on the fly!

You work in 2 hour shifts – that’s about all a reader can do before they get tongue-tied – and it takes many readers to complete a book. You don’t read an entire text, because most volunteers come in only once a week and it would take two years to do a single text. Speed is of the essence; they are reading texts that have been specifically requested by someone – usually next semester’s text. That makes for a lot of variety. Thus far I have “directed” an Economics text in a section dealing with Karl Marx; a Social Studies book dealing with treatment of slaves in the South before the War, the book that was all notes (so boring I don’t even remember the topic) and the Math book. When you get good, you “self-direct.” You go in a booth, control the recording yourself and edit your own mistakes.

Of course, if you don’t make any misteakes…

I think I’ll skip the ACL Music Festival this year.

As I have done since it started in 2002. Although this is the one Zilker Park concert I could actually get a pass to (if I wanted to work). For the past three years our sister company has provided all the electrical generators and air conditioners for the event, and my ex office mate, who was a professional sound man before coming to work for John, manages one of the big stages each year.

The primary reason I’m not going is evident in the header above. That’s a photo taken during last year’s Festival. I didn’t take it. Somehow, being packed together with 65,000 of your closest friends on a sweltering summer day in Austin is not my idea of a good time. Two years ago it reached 108 degrees during the show and there was so much dust they started changing the lyrics to some Woody Guthrie Dust Bowl songs. The promoters installed an irrigation system and sprinklers after that.

In fact, the promoters, Austin-based C3 Presents, have a remarkable track record of being Austin-friendly and environmentally green. The crowds are capped at a mere 65,000 a day – they could sell 5 times that many tickets (they did sell more than 200,000 tickets in 2004). If you live near Zilker you get a pass for your vehicle, but absolutely no one else can drive in the park. It was interesting to hear my ex office mate explaining to some big names in the business that they would have to leave their tour bus at the hotel and take the trolley like everyone else.

The generators use bio-diesel, the vendors can only sell “finger foods” wrapped in biodegradable paper or corn-based plastic sacks – no plastic plates or utensils – and this year they will hand you a free souvenir sack of 25 used plastic cups on the way out. The idea is that college kids will stock their apartment kitchens with anything. C3 also puts on the Lollapalooza shows, and among other ventures, owns the Discovery Cycling Team.

Another reason I’m not going is I’m not a fan. After looking over the list of acts for the Fest, Mom said, “What does it say about my ‘with-it-ness’ that of 142 acts booked for ACL, I only recognize one name – Bob Dylan, and you would have to be dead not to have heard of Bob Dylan.” I recognize a few more names than that, but still – Bjork? Ghostland Observatory?

But ACL is one of the things that makes Austin the “Live Music Capital of the World” and it pumps a bazillion dollars into the economy, and that’s a good thing. I just need to remember not to get anywhere near Zilker park this weekend.

Progress - of sorts

After digging the big trench in the middle of the road, the construction crew left us alone for a while - until it was time to dig the lateral trenches from the big pipe to the yard, where the actual tap will be located. Here's our friendly neighborhood backhoe operator cutting through our sprinkler system and digging up our yard. What you can't see is that there is a trench between the treads that is deep enough to require 20-foot ladders to get down to the bottom.


Digging the lateral trenches left the street in rather a mess; not only was it rough to drive over the trenches, every car (or dump truck) that passed stirred up a cloud of dust! Finally, this past week they came back and paved all the trenches and now the street is nice to drive on once again. Here's the "After" picture, with everything filled in and covered over. They even repaired the sprinkler!


Now all that's left is for them to repair the curb. And then they come back and scrape ALL the asphalt off the street and repave the entire street. Can't wait for that!

You want fries with that?

While dining in elegance the other evening at our neighborhood Whataburger, or “Burgers and Fries” as Luke named it, we overheard a conversation between a drive-thru customer and one of the order-takers. The customer apparently had $1.80 to their name and was asking what they could purchase for fine dining for that amount. The clerk was reading off the items on the board that cost less than that – including the Whataburger Junior and Justaburger, fried apple pies and all the fries and drinks.

Had it been me, I would have gone to the convenience store up on the corner and purchased a buck-eighty’s worth of Slim-Jims. It wouldn’t be particularly nourishing, but you could gnaw on them for a long, long time, perhaps forgetting how broke you were.

Mom reminded me of the days when we would look for loose change in the couch cushions to come up with $2.50. If we had that much we could feed the entire family at McDonald's; 2 burgers each for Mom and Dad, one each for the kids and share some French fries and Cokes. When we first discovered McDonald's (here in Austin, on the drive from Abilene to the coast) hamburgers were 15 cents each and cokes and fries were only 10 cents each and there was no dining in. They were still changing the sign out front to tell you how many million they had sold. By the time we moved to Austin the burgers were up to 19 cents. By the late ‘70s prices had soared to 38 cents per burger!

That brought to mind the Jamaica Inn – a seafood restaurant in Abilene that we really loved. Sunday lunch cost $5 (you kids ate off our plates). We finally decided that $5 a week was an outrageous amount for us to be spending on our Sunday lunch and we quit going regularly. What were we thinking?

Interestingly, if you apply the Consumer Price Index to that $2.50, that is the equivalent of $13.42 today; $5 is equivalent to $26.84. Hmm. That’s about what we pay for burgers or a Sunday lunch today. I guess the only difference is that we don’t dig in the couch for change now – we just whip out the credit card. I miss the good old days.

You gotta love it!

A ceiling mural in a smoker's lounge.

A Chuy's Retrospective

We don't know for sure how long we have been eating at Chuy's. More than 20 years we estimate. Nobody at the restaurant itself knows how long this particular location has been open - they've only been there a few months. Or sometimes only a few weeks. One indicator of the passing years is the annual Hatch Green Chili Festival; three weeks of chilies roasted in an open pit in the parking lot and added to old and new recipes alike. Everything is just a little hotter during Green Chili Festival - my kind of food.

Somewhere along the way I started picking up the theme buttons and sticking them on the bulletin board. I probably began the practice as a means to dog Rob after he went away to school. We were eating at Chuy's and he was not. That was hardly fair, I admit - he was the one who drug us in there the very first time and told us to order a ChuyChanga with Queso sauce. Still a family favorite.

I didn't put much effort into the buttons at first, so there are gaps in the collection and they don't start until 1996 - 11 years ago.

The 8th Chili Festival, and the oldest button in my collection

1997

1999

2000

2001

2002

2003

2004 - a weird year; no buttons, just match boxes.

2005

2006

And tonight's reminder of another great culinary adventure. Sorry you weren't here, Rob.

Advice to those new to the Austin area.

I’ll start with some advice for those new to the Austin area; there are several places you want to avoid if at possible. Three of those that come to mind are:

• The Outlet Malls during Tax-Free Weekend
• The UT Campus area when the Freshmen arrive for the start of school
• The Memorial Stadium area any time there is a home game

Now on to current happenings: Last week we were going to meet Barbara’s sister and brother and their spouses for lunch at the Cracker Barrel in San Marcos. It probably would have been an enjoyable time, but unfortunately we never found a place to park so had to return to Austin without meeting them.

Yesterday Barbara needed to pick up a class syllabus from the Kwik Copy in Dobie Mall. We agreed it would be easier if I drove her down and dropped her off. I hope she gets home okay. I finally abandoned the car on the Drag and walked over to Lamar and caught the bus home. I’m hoping the gridlock will ease up after classes actually start so I can retrieve the car.

And I saw a really cute T-shirt that I wanted to get Barbara. It’s only available at the UT store. Can’t go next week end, since we’ve got other plans. Maybe the Saturday after that.

"In the end, it's not the Lions and Tigers that get you..."

It’s the gnats!

Don’t know where they came from (SLAP!) but we seem to have inherited a flock of gnats (WHAP!). Or should that be a bevy of gnats? A gniggle of gnats? (SMACK!). Really there only seem to be a few (SLAP!). Certainly nothing anywhere near the size of the colony of flying ants that caused the Pension owner in Prague to exclaim “Mein Gott!”

One never sees them until the evening hours when one (SPLAT!) sits down to read. Then, one or two obnoxious little gnats come around and stay in your face (WHAP!) while you try to read.

So our quiet evenings are punctuated (SMACK!) by the sound of slapping hands (SLAP!) or rapidly closing books (WHAP!). Or (BLAP!) in the case of a paperback book. It seldom does any good (SLAP!), they are exceedingly fast little critters, but every now and then there is the occasional (SPLAT!) followed by GOTCHA! and you know that there is one more good gnat.

Where was this when I was on the search team?

"Virtual Pastors please picky church-goers"

Serve Out

It took only two more trips to the Toyota Dealer to finally get the car repaired; once to let them listen to it and agree that it should not sound like a twelve-cylinder sports car, and again to get it actually repaired. Now it sounds normal and does not leak oil. Those are good qualities in an automobile and all I wanted when we first started this adventure.

They are still digging up the street in front of our house (and elsewhere in the neighborhood), but as yet we do not have a wastewater tap. Those guys must really like digging holes. They will dig one, stand around and look into it for a while, fill it and then go dig another one elsewhere. And no, you do not get used to the incessant “beep, beep, beep” when the machinery backs up.

One should not regularly read too many blogs. If you go away for a while and ignore them while you are gone, it takes a long time to get caught up when you return!

It is possible to go to Central Market for just one item. We wanted scones, so we vowed to go to CM, buy scones and nothing else. Wait! There are those wonderful heirloom cantaloupes – get one of those. Look, there are those little individually wrapped cheeses. No, we don’t need a basket. What did we come here for? Oh, yes, scones. I said it was possible to go for just one item - I didn't say you could only get one item.

And it appears that we were in West Virginia during the one week of summer weather here in Texas. Tropical storm Erin has returned the rain and cooler weather. Okay, that’s relative, I know.

And did you know that one’s spouse will not necessarily share your enthusiasm for the nifty new program you installed on her computer to handle all the passwords and login screens? Women are from Venus. Men are from Geek Squad.

Finally, I shamelessly stole this from a response to Keith Brenton’s blog:

“My preferences are God-ordained and yours are traditions of men.

Or, maybe this will do it - I am holding fast to the truth and you just want change for change sake.

Or, if neither of those will work, my preferences are a matter of conscience and you are commanded to give in to me.”

Isn't that how it goes?

Any questions about what I did in WV?

Overheard, muttering under her breath...

"Hmmm. That sign says they are hiring school crossing guards. Maybe that's something he can do on his days off."

Saga of an Oil Leak

In late June I took the Highlander to the Toyota Dealer for a scheduled oil change. No big deal. A week or so later, I noticed oil spots on the garage floor. “Aha!” I think to myself, “They did not tighten the drain plug securely.” So at the next opportunity I drove in to the dealer and asked them to check it. It turned out not to be the drain plug and three hours later I left with vague assurances that they had taken care of the leak. Not.

I made an appointment to have the leak truly found and fixed, stressing that they should keep the car for as long as it took. Little did I know. That was on Friday July 20. On July 31 I got my car back. Here are the gory details:

Friday afternoon, July 20 – “Okay, Mr. A. We found the leak. It is in the head gasket. I had to order a gasket kit, so come on by and pick up a free rental to drive until we get it fixed.”

The free rental turned out to be a nice 2007 Camry, so except for getting in and out of it (one of the primary reasons for getting the Highlander in the 1^st place) it was a sweet ride. It did have one distinguishing feature: every time you turned it on a message scrolled past on the large radio display screen proclaiming “Welcome to Camry.” We were pretty sure the car wasn’t going to become something else overnight, so after the 20^th or so time this got a little old.

Tuesday afternoon, July 24 – “Well, Mr. A, the plot thickens. When we replaced the head gasket we discovered that we couldn’t torque down a couple of bolts; they were stripped in the block, so Toyota is buying you a new engine. You just keep on driving that nice Camry and we’ll let you know.”

Wednesday, July 25 through Monday, July 30 – “Welcome to Camry.”

Tuesday Morning, July 31 – “Okay, Mr. A. Come get your car.”

So I did, and it’s nice to have it back. There’s just one problem (you are expecting me to say that there’s oil on the garage floor, right? Frankly, I’m too scared to look). No, now the car sounds like some 12-cylinder sports car. When you press on the gas you hear a deep, throaty roar, not a quiet 4-cylinder purr. I don’t know if this is good or bad. I just know that’s not what it sounded like before I changed the oil and started all this. I guess we’ll find out.

Guitar Town

There have been stories in the paper and on TV about the 10-foot fiberglass guitars strewn about the city, so we not surprised to encounter one at the City Hall (when we were shopping for the Owl Shack) but I had not realized how impressive they were until I got close to one. The concept is not original – I think it started with fiberglass cows in Chicago – decorated whimsically and then auctioned off for charity. That’s been repeated in Kansas City, Houston, and New York City, but fittingly for the “Live Music Capitol of the World” Austin has guitars, not cows.

The Gibson Guitar Company provided 35 oversized guitars and three dozen artists from around the country were chosen to decorate them, illuminate them, or somehow transmogrify (can you believe the spell checker okayed that word?) them into objets d’art (and flunked that one?). At some future date, they will be auctioned off, along with the 35 real Les Paul Gibson models that have also been decorated and signed – though less outrageously, I understand. And of course, they will have a big concert and party down at Zilker Park when they do. This is Austin, remember? We don’t actually need an excuse for a party but why pass up such a marvelous opportunity? Proceeds will benefit, appropriately, Health Alliance for Austin Musicians and several museums around town.

Here’s the guitar at the City Hall.

That’s the way cool New City Hall building in the background, by the way. The sidewalk coffee shop and the City Store where we went shopping are on the other side, so you’ll have to wait until I blog about City Hall to hear about them.

And if you want to see the rest of the guitars, here is the link to a photo gallery.

Photo gallery: 'GuitarTown Austin'

Now, I’m thinking: how cool would it be to have your very own 10-foot guitar signed by the Dixie Chicks? I could put it next to… no, maybe in the… well, maybe not.

I have no further comment

A question posed to the "Ask Jane" advice column in the Austin Statesman:

"A friend's fiancee attended a wedding in which the bride played "Wagner's Bridal Chorus" on her accordian as she marched up the aisle. My friend's fiancee has decided she wants to do the same thing. Is this considered taboo at a wedding, or at least inappropriate? If not, should the accordian and the bride's gown be color coordinated? Where should she have the bridal bouquet? If her father accompanies her down the aisle, what should he do because both of the bride's hands and arms will be busy moving as she plays her squeezebox?"

Mom says: "Breakfast/Grocery Choices"

We discovered this morning that when your street is all torn up with working machines, somebody has to feed the workers. We looked out and the taco truck was in front of the house. Dad said we didn’t need to go anywhere for breakfast – that we could just go out to the street. Of course, he said, I’d have to go because he didn’t speak Spanish.

We decided to go to Fran’s instead. And then since I needed English muffins, and we were out and about, we decided that we’d go to Central Market. I did get my English muffins – and $65 of other stuff that I didn’t even know I needed till we got there.

After we got home, and were unpacking our heirloom cantaloupe, scones and clotted cream, hummus and flat bread, extra large artichokes, etc., I said to Dad, “If we went to Central Market every week,” and he finished my sentence, “We’d double our food costs.” And I told him, “Yeah, but we’d feel obligated to eat at home after we’d spent all that money, and it would be much healthier for us.” I’ll let you know how the week goes.

Mom says: "Wish you were here."

There are so many “mighty machines” going up and down and back and forth on our street that I can’t help wishing the boys were here. As Dad said in his last blog entry, it’s a good time to see working machines up close and personal. In fact, I can often find him at the window watching everything!

Progress? Report

They're here!


They finally began digging up our street Wednesday. Not with the big trenching machine that throws dust 40 feet in the air, but with "smaller" backhoes. The result is the same, however; there would be no driving on our street. We had to leave the cars parked out overnight wherever we could find a place. I listened all night long for the sound of a car alarm, knowing I could not do anything about it if I heard it. The car was too far away, and while I might get up and run around the house in my unawares if there was an intrusion alarm, I draw the line at running up the street! And all the neighbors said, "Amen."

They promised us we would have access to our driveway Thursday night, but if it rained heavily - as was predicted - they wouldn't make any progress up the street and it might stay blocked. Well, the rain didn't come Thursday - but ( you knew there was going to be a but, didn't you?) when Mom got home after meeting me for lunch there were fire trucks and Gas Company trucks and red warning tape all over the place! They hit a gas main!

They turned off the gas for the house and dug another big hole directly in front of the house and parked their trucks in our drive and otherwise impeded our return until finally, about 9pm the Gas Company turned our gas back on, lit the pilot light on the water heater and went away. I drove around the barricades and put our cars in the garage. Yes! Today the rains came and they are not working (and might not tomorrow) so our neighbors up from us are blocked out probably for the weekend, but we are not.

Here are more pix of the ditch-digging. I wished several times that the boys could see all the machinery up close. Really up close, like in the driveway!