Regret

In the smallest of hours a thought pulled me out
Of perfect, numbing, ordinary dreams
It pulled me from the deep
Restless, a pressure and tension had grown
A question of purpose shook my heart of stone:
What if after all of this, my life should come up short in the final scales?
Should I wait for time to tell?

For the longing and sorrow I know to be true –
What have I offered but the portion of fools?
Detached; indifferent; and safe behind this jaded heart of mine.
Dear Lord, what happened to the time?

-- Stavesacre in the song Fear And Love

Life has afforded me the opportunity for plenty of regret. And I have the personality type that tends to roll around in them too, if I'm not too careful.

All of these things, over time, end up on a scale in my mind.

At the bottom of the scale are "things that I wish I had done differently, but hey, no big deal". I just see that it might have been better to choose a different route, but nothing to get upset about.

But at the top of the scale? Man. Those are the things that haunt me.

And there is no way I'm going to go into a bunch of them here. But one has been on my mind almost my whole life.


It's not really something I've done wrong, and although that category pretty much covers most of the things that wake me up or keep me awake, this other one is also way up there on my list of regrets.

I have a Younger Brother that I feel I barely even know.

I was seven years old when he was born, and this put us just far enough apart to never have been on the same wavelength while we both were growing up.


The Younger Brother that I know best, is a 14 year old boy from 1984.

Which, at one level is cool, but that was 22 years ago. My problem is that he's now a 36 year old man that I don't know very well.

Somehow, over the years, I was able to develop good, adult relationships with both parents and my Big Sis and Big Brother, but like I said, the only Younger Brother I know well no longer exists. I am totally at peace with loved ones who have passed away, I had the great blessings of knowing them all as an adult. They are not distant fuzzy memories from having lost them while I was a child.

And please don't misunderstand me; I have a good relationship with him. I just haven't been able to have the quality time with him that I did with other members of my family.

Younger Brother was still at home when I married and moved away to Florida for the first time. And over the years, while we have kept up and visited when we could, I've never lived in the same place as him while adults, and gotten to know him better. That is easily one of my greatest regrets of my life.

I know this will sound totally weird and you might not belive me, but I have felt responsible for Younger Brother since the day they brought him home from the hospital. And I was 7 at the time. I had the exact same feeling of heaviness and responsibility when I was 7 and he was an infant, that I do right now when I think of things like doing right by my wife and daughters, or when I think of trying to get ahead on our bills and other pressures life throws at all of us.

So, somehow, somewhere, ever since I was young, I have felt a burden of responsibility for him that I cannot explain. It's just there. Pretty much always has been.

I've told stories here about Big Sis and some about Big Brother, but very little about Younger Brother.

He's easily one of the funniest people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, friend or family, in my life. His sense of humor is super sharp, and he thinks of the funniest things in any situation. I'm pretty quick, if I do say so myself, with comebacks and smart aleck remarks when joking around, but compared to him, I'm single-A, a semi-pro, while he is a big-league slugger at it.

Our family was always one to make fun of one another, and we always knew the poking and kidding was in fun. I don't remember ever being offended by anyone in my family and because of that, even now, it is all but impossible to offend me.

You can say whatever you want, but I don't have to take offense at it. Once the words leave your mouth, it's up to me as to how I will deal with it.

But Younger Brother is by far the quickest and sharpest wit in the family. His wry comments and sidelong way of looking at the world and the people in it, and the way we act, is priceless. He was this way, even as a child.

I remember being in awe of his imagination when he was still pretty little.

He had characters that he would 'go into' and you would address him as that character.

One character was Mr. Sam. Mr. Sam was a cowboy, a gunslinger of some note. We could all be sitting in the den watching TV and you would hear something and look over, and all you would see was a little hand and a toy cap gun pointing in your general direction from just around the corner in the next room. My Dad would cry out, "Oh No! It's Mr. Sam!" and we would all join in, trying to deal with Mr. Sam. After all, he was the one with the gun. Sometimes we survived the encounter, sometimes not. It all depended on whether or not Mr. Sam thought we needed killin' that day. Younger Brother had a little straw cowboy hat and everything.

But sometimes, he would show up with a little football and have on a play football helmet (he called it a HED-e-ment) that was about 5 sizes too big. We knew at these times we were dealing with gridiron star Teeny Robertson. And he would act like a star and everything. Teeny tended to show up while we were watching football, and while our game played out on TV, Teeny would start running from one corner of the den to the other and throw the football up in the air in a forward pass to none other than himself. We got used to watching football this way but it drove visitors trying to watch a game with us crazy.

And Younger Brother made up all of these names himself, too.

He would make faces for everyone, on cue.

All kinds of funny kid stuff.

One good thing about him being so young, was that he was our very first remote control. I can't remember when we finally got a TV with an electronic remote control but up until then, Younger Brother was our analog remote control.

Thing is, he still has this wonderful sense of humor. Can't talk to him, even by phone without his skewed outlook on the world causing him to say something that will crack me up. I guess if he still has it at 36, it's safe to say he won't lose it.

And that's ok with me.

But I sure would like to live close enough one day, for us to spend some time together.

Life is too short for me to not know my own brother as well as I would like.

---

And although he knows I have this blog, I have no idea whether or not he reads it. So Mark, if you're still out there, I love you Dude. Give Chester a pat on the head and an extra Pupperoni for me, ok?

And forgive me for that last picture, the one with the sombrero and all.

August 18, 2006

Today is my Father's birthday. He would have been 72 years old.

Happy birthday Daddy. I'm a lucky man to have had you as my father. I still miss you and want to tell you things. I look forward to seeing you again.

Don Christi Masters
August 18, 1934 - October 27, 1994

Hezbollah 1; Israel 0

Well, it's official. Israel lost it's first war.

How did the world's best fighters get handed their butts?

Simple. They took a couple of pages out of America's battle plan.

How To Lose A War In Two Easy Steps

First, tie one hand behind your back. Don't let your army and air force just go in and kill the enemy until they are dead and can't fight anymore. Go in a bit at a time, and don't use everything you have. Be mediocre. Of course, this frame of mind and way of fighting comes from the top.

Second, keep one eye on the TV set while you are fighting a war. Let opinion polls and public perception, as put forth by the world's media, be the guide of how you operate the war. This is how Bill Clinton operated both terms of office as POTUS, and is a guarantee that you'll be mediocre at best on the battlefield. And when fighting a determined enemy that isn't afraid to die, nor are they afraid to hide behind civilians so that more civilians are sure to be killed, you are almost guaranteeing that you will lose.

See how easy that was?

And now come the UN peacekeepers. My fingers almost choked on the words.

So now that Hezbollah, Syria, and Iran have time to regroup and get more missiles into Hezbollah's hands, AND the UN peacekeepers will be in the way the next time the fighting starts, AND...

THEN FRENCH SOLDIERS WILL DIE TOO!

Can you imagine the hue and cry that will be going on in the world's media when Frenchmen die at the hands of Israeli soldiers?

What a mess.

Of course this gives Iran more time to get the ol' nukular program up to speed.

Way to go Israel! You've learned how to bow at the altar of the world's media and the opinions they generate with the rest of us.

I thought you, of all nations, would not be afraid to finish the job. Guess I was wrong.

Bummer.

Thursday Thirteen #2

Thirteen Biggest Boogers I Ever Picked No. Not really. But I bet you're awake now aren't you? Last week was my first Thursday Thirteen, but I realize it was a negative one. Therefore I decided that this week's would be positive. Thirteen Of My Essential CDs 1. Seeds Of Love - Tears For Fears (1989) I have played this CD more times than any other, ever. 2. By God - Disciple (2000) The ultimate Christian rock album. 3. Strong Tower - Kutless (2005) Praise and Worship with more of an edge. 4. Songs From The Big Chair - Tears For Fears (1985) These songs are the backdrop to a lot of great times in my life. 5. Adoration: The Worship Album - Newsboys (2003) This and the next one are two of my three favorite worship albums. Ever. (with number 3 above) 6. Devotion - Newsboys (2004) 7. Step Up To The Microphone - Newsboys (1998) Don't know exactly why this one ranks so high, but I love it from end to end. I guess it's just the whole package. 8. The Hammering Process - Living Sacrifice (2000) The most massively heavy Christian metal I've ever heard. Unbelievable musicianship on this one. A bone crusher. 9. Promise Man - Holy Soldier (1995) I know, you've never heard of these guys either, but this is a Christian Rock album worth paying big bucks for on ebay, as I think it's out of print. If you like Christian rock, this is easily one of the best albums, ever. I'll put this one up against any secular album you care to compare. 10. At The End Of The Day - Galactic Cowboys (1998) I saw them on tour with this, their second-to-last album, so when I listen to it, I'm at the House of Blues all over again. I'm still glad I got to see them in concert before they broke up. Best known for their great turn portraying the band "Sons Of Thunder " in the Brendan Fraser movie Airheads in the '90s. 11. Gretchen Goes To Nebraska - King's X (1989) The best album by the best rock band you never heard of. 12. Dogman - King's X (1994) The boys get really heavy on this one. 13. Relocation - Plankeye (1999) Intelligent, emotional, low key Christian music, but the lyrics are as if I wrote them myself, they match my attitude and ways of thinking about my Christian walk so closely. This is like doing the songs I hate list from last week. I could go on forever. But this is a pretty good representation of the CDs I would like to have with me if I ever get marooned on a desert island. And as a person who loves music, of course, this list, from say, number 7 through 13 could be different, depending on when you ask me. But I approached this from the mind set of which ones would I take with me if I could have only 13 CDs for the rest of my life. This past week has been normal, I've just been workin' and scanning slides and stuff this week. Just the usual dramas of life. Links to other Thursday Thirteens! 1. Trish 2. Christine 3. Heather 4. Buddy 5. Dane Bramage 6. Leanne

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That's Outrageous

I've added a new link over to the right. It's by a gentleman who calls his blog "That's Outrageous."

It contains some of the most well-reasoned and thoughtful commentary on modern politics in America I've come across so far.

The posts are fairly short, but hit like a hammer.

Wish I could get my message across as succinctly.

He has started posting more often of late, which is great too.

Nikon vs Canon Feud

Back in the good old days, there was a furious feud a-goin' on.

Ford vs Chevy vs Chrysler.

I've never been much of a car person, so I never got caught up in all of that brouhaha.

As if there was ever a nickel's worth of difference between the three anyway.

And the fight still lingers in the minds of some, although Chrysler, sadly, is no longer an American car, and hasn't been for a number of years now.

Heck, Chrysler is even trying to shore up flagging sales by associating the brand with the much heralded German engineering of the parent company, Diamler-Benz, in their latest commercials.

The whole Ford vs Chevy vs Chrysler thing has always been a big yawn to me, but my Dad and Big Brother were Chrysler men.

And the NASCAR fanatics that I know at work still swear allegiance to the Ford or Chevy flag as the case may be, but personally, I hate NASCAR.

A lady at work told me she saw a man in a store recently that had on a NASCAR jacket that said 'Viagra' all over it in huge letters. She thought he was insane until she realized it was as NASCAR jacket. Then she KNEW he was insane, because he had obviously spent a lot of money on this top of the line leather sleeved jacket, WITH 'VIAGRA' WRITTEN ALL OVER IT.

Iffen you love NASCAR, don't be offended. I'm not knocking it, it just doesn't interest me.

But men-folk love to be a-feudin'.

Men love to pick a side and come what may, stick to it. They love to argue the merits of their side and the folly of liking the other side.

This holds true, even with choices in cameras.

Yes, cameras.

To this day, here in the 21st century, the storm still rages online with regards to who is the better camera manufacturer, Canon or Nikon.

And again, I'm curiously uninterested in the battle.

See, I have owned and loved Canon manual focus AND Canon auto-focus 35mm cameras.

I have also owned several auto-focus 35mm Nikon cameras.

I loved them all. I preferred Canon's older cameras's layout and operation, but with the newer auto-focus and digital world of cameras, I prefer Nikon's layout of controls and operation.

So when I post pics here that I have scanned from old slides of mine, they are Canon camera produced for the most part, but also some were Nikon.

The latest digital stuff on here, of course, I've said is from my new Nikon D70s.

So with such a mish-mash of camera brands and types, which is the best? Please tell me, I must know!

Neither.

For me, in this day and time, Nikon is better, but I'll never say Nikon is better than Canon.

In fact, Canon is a bigger, wealthier company than is Nikon, and is much more on the cutting edge of technology than Nikon in many respects. Not in every area, but in most areas, Canon has the lead.

So why did I buy a Nikon? I looked at all the digital SLRs in my price range, and came down on the side of Nikon.

Nikon's camera controls are much, much more in line with my way of thinking. In other words, if I designed the control layout on a camera that would be custom built for me, it would be much like Nikon cameras already are built.

That being said, I understand that the guy standing next to me might very well feel exactly the same way about Canon. I've read reviews of Nikons by Canon lovers who say the same thing I said, but flipped. Nikon's controls make little sense to them, and Canon's controls, they can work as if born to them.

So you aren't getting the classic Canon vs Nikon argument from me. I still have a sack full of Canon equipment and lenses, but I also have a brand new Nikon digital SLR that I love to use.

I've said all of that to say this. If you like one, go with it. Enjoy it. If you like another brand, go with it, enjoy it.

This tired old fight still clogs up photography message boards with the same old junk that's been said over and over, literally for decades.

Can't we all just get along?

I just want to make nice photographs that are pleasing to me, and hopefully to others. I don't care what brand is on the camera, the photograph is the thing for me. Not how I got there.

I reckon I'm just not cut out for feudin' of any kind.

Old Buck

When I was growing up, my Father (henceforth referred to as Don C.) was for the most part a Chrysler man.

When I was small we had a Chevy II. But after that, it was big Chryslers for a lot of years. Fury III, Newport.

Most of the family vacations I remember are in one of those two cars.

Uncle Al, Don C's brother, used to laugh and say that "your Father doesn't like a car unless it has 10 yards of steel out in front of the windshield."

Don C. liked big cars. But since both Don C. and Sainted Mother worked, they needed a second car. Mom got to drive the nice family car, the Chrysler, to work.

That's when Don C. entered us into the world of the two car family with a series of used 'work' cars.

But the one we all have laughed and had the most fun over, was a car known in our family as "Old Buck."

Old Buck was a 1954 Ford, if memory serves me, and Don C. bought it used as his work car. It was black. Similar to the one in this photo from the internet.

Of course, Old Buck had no air conditioning, and also, someone had carved the "F" word into the driver's side door in large letters. Don C., being the clever sort, converted the dirty word into the more socially acceptable, Buck, with his pocket knife.

And thus a family legend was born.

My parents always took good care of their vehicles and ended up keeping each for a lot of years, so that when it came time to trade them in, it was like losing a family member.

I talked some recently about The Natchez Trace, and Emerald Mound, and how we would go over there and swim in Cole's Creek (which, last time I went, swimming was no longer allowed).

Old Buck was the car I remember Don C. taking us there in on many occasions.

But the funniest memory of Old Buck was with regards to Big Sis.

Big Sis was in her early teens when Don C. added Buck to the family. And for Big Sis, seeing Old Buck was hate at first site.

It doesn't take much to embarass a teen age girl, but having to ride in Buck was the lowest of the low on Big Sis's personal scale.

If she was riding in it, ALWAYS under protest, and even suspected that anyone would see her, she would drop over sideways in the seat and hide.

Of course, being the oldest child, she always rode shotgun, but that also allowed her the best chance of seeing someone she knew and hiding before they saw her.

I never understood it, Big Brother and I loved Old Buck. But then as young boys, we didn't have the delicate sensibilities that Big Sis had. I just remember sitting in the back on numerous occasions and seeing her drop over sideways in the front seat as if she had been shot.

I do know that Bigfoot has more confirmed sightings than those of Sis in Old Buck, such was her complete concentration and determination NOT to be seen.

We lived in Vidalia, Louisiana at the time, and Don C. worked across the bridge over in Natchez, Mississippi. Not too far a drive.

But later, Dad started working on offshore oil drilling rigs in the Gulf of Mexico. He would work 7 days and be off 7 days, but his drive to and from work was much longer, so we finally saw the last of Old Buck. He needed a newer, more dependable car.

Don C. eventually traded in Old Buck and bought a nice used 1967 Mercury Cougar, which, in itself was a great car. Beautiful gold color. Bucket seats.

Don C. was stylin'!

But the memories of rides hither and yon in Old Buck are still special to me. I'll have to see if Sainted Mother has any photos of Buck that I can scan.

Too bad there are no pictures of Big Sis ducked over to the side in fear that a high school chum might see her in such a beaten old car.

Old Buck still rides the highway in my memories though.

Do cherished family cars get to go to Heaven?

Crooked Souls Trying To Stay Up Straight

Oh Lord, why did you forsake me?
Oh Lord, don't be far away away
Storm clouds gathering beside me
Please Lord, don't look the other way

Crooked souls trying to stay up straight
Dry eyes in the pouring rain
The shadow proves the sunshine
The shadow proves the sunshine

-- Switchfoot in the song “The Shadow Proves The Sunshine”

Sorry folks. My usual dose of sweetness and light just ain’t happenin’ lately.

I’m going through a period, where I find I’ve lost my sense of humor. I can’t find it anywhere.

I hate the trains of thought I have during these periods. None of them seem too uplifting.

But I was thinking about several people I worked with once upon a time in Atlanta. We all worked together at Hartsfield for Delta Airlines.

Now I have to admit, probably already have here several times before, but I’m not the most observant person in the world. Maybe that’s why I like photography, with a camera in my hand, I force myself to observe. I always end up seeing things I would have never noticed otherwise.

Anyway, back to Atlanta. This was in spring/summer 1992. When I worked there, every six months, we would bid on what shift and days off we would work for the next six months. This ‘bid’ happened every April and October.

So from May of 1992 until I left the company to finish school in July of that year I worked with a new batch of guys and gals.

There was always a lot of moving around from one section of Delta’s operation there to another, but I, like many, tended to stay in the same area. I would know a bunch of the people already, but there was always movement.

This last bit of time that I worked with Delta had one of my best friends ever, JK, there. The Supervisor for our area and his ‘Lead Agents’, or just-a-bit-less-than-supervisors, also knew us and usually put JK and I together on whatever gate we would work on any given day.

There were a couple of new to us guys working in our area, and I didn’t think anything about them; remember how I said I was clueless a lot of the time? Well, within the first week of this new bid starting, the supervisor called JK and myself in for talks, one at a time, and asked if we had any problem working with Guy1 and Guy2.

I said no. I had already worked with them, and although this supervisor didn’t come out and say anything, I got the feeling that some people had expressed displeasure at having had to work with Guy1 and Guy2 already, this early in the new six month’s bid.

Plus, my friend JK and I were considered ‘serious’ Christians. It was one thing to believe in God and all, but to bring your bible to work and sit around and talk about God during much of your break time, well, JK and I were quite used to being thought of as outcasts. We got along with everyone, and we only talked about Jesus with one another and the people who would ask us specifically about our beliefs.

I realized a while later that this supervisor and his cohorts had intentionally put us with Guy1 and Guy2, not out of meaness, but because he saw JK and I, as Christians, as his best hope for a peaceful six months. If we would work with Guy1 and Guy2, then it would be a big weight off his shoulders, because JK and I were the types to just do our work as best we could and never whined to the Supervisor about things that went wrong.

To make a long story short, Guy1 and Guy2 were gay. And it turned out that at least one of them had the AIDS virus.

And over the few months that JK and I worked with them, we worked on the same gate pretty much every day any or all of us were working.

I think back on it now, and I guess it’s no ‘accident’ that this happened. Because one of these guys, MR, was very interested in spiritual things. And over the months we all worked together, we all had back and forth conversations about our beliefs, and in all of this talking, MR and Guy2 both heard the Gospel, several times.

I worked until the end of July that year, gave a two week notice, and began to go all around the airport during these last days to shake the hands of, and say goodbye to everyone I had worked with.

In the end, I left Atlanta, scared and sad because we LOVED Atlanta (still do) but also excited to be going off on new enterprises. Not every 29 year old gets a chance to start over, and when I had the chance to move back to Louisiana, to transfer from Southern College of Technology in Marietta to Louisiana Tech, I took it.

About a year later, my old buddy JK had called me and we were catching one another up on our families and he said, “Do you remember us working with MR and Guy2?”

I said, “Yeah.”

“MR died of AIDS last week.”

Me, “What, you must be kidding?” See, when we worked with them, nobody said so, but apparently he already had gone from HIV positive to actual AIDS. That’s what I mean about me being clueless, that’s why the other guys didn’t want to work with them, MR had AIDS. Not because they were gay, although for some of the guys I worked with at the time, that would have been enough for them to not want to work with them.

I was absolutely flummoxed. I just sat there stunned.

JK went on to tell me that MR left the company and had moved back to his hometown, and that’s where MR died.

That’s one of the things that helped MR and I become good work friends, was because his home town in Mississippi was about two hours from my home town in Monroe, Louisiana. We had actually heard of each other's home towns.

So that’s basically my sad story. I wish very, very much that I had known about his sickness and that he had gone home to Mississippi to die.

I’ve been thinking about MR a lot lately, and I'm not really sure why. But he keeps popping up in my mind.

As a man, I hate that another man that I considered a friend, died. As a Christian, I am glad and grateful that he was interested enough to let me tell him the Gospel story, and that, over time, he heard it numerous times. Many die and never hear what Jesus did for them.

I hope to see him again someday.

Remember to be kind to those you encounter, at work and elsewhere in the world, and:

... and be ready always to give an answer to every man who asketh you the reason for the hope that is within you with meekness and fear (1 Peter 3:15)

---

Yeah, I know that was a bummer of a story, so I'll leave you with a couple of photos I took while exploring yesterday (Sunday) evening.

Maybe a couple of purdy pictures will cheer us both up.

Picture Post, Sunday, August 13, 2006

Thought I would throw some sunny, nautical Florida at y'all today.

No comments from me, so as you enlarge and view them, please insert your own tropical breeze that's carrying clean, slightly salty air.






Y'all come back now, y'hear?

British Airways Concorde

I've been a model of restraint this week. I've written, and shown very few photos.

But today I want to share some pics near and dear to my heart.

While working for Delta Airlines in Dallas (DFW) in the late 1980's, I had the privilege of seeing the British Airways Concorde several days a week, for 10 weeks during the peak summer flying time.

This flight came from London, Washington D.C., and then to Dallas. It overnighted in Dallas, and went back to London, via D.C. again.

Delta did all of the ground work, loading, unloading, etc., as well as cleaning and restocking the inside on those nights.

I was in Cabin Service with Delta at the time and we were the ones who went inside and cleaned, etc.

So, I've been on the Concorde, though I've never flown on it. It was a massively cool experience.

This plane was so loud, that it didn't pull to the gate under it's own power like the other planes, it stopped out on a taxiway and we would hook a tractor to it and pull it to the gate.

That is what is happening in this series of photos.

Click on them. I'm making them small because there are more here than I usually post at one time.








Those last two are my favorites.

Those Evil Oil Companies!

On Wednesday, I came across an article in the Washington Times online, from Tuesday's edition. I've been hearing all kinds of whining and moaning about how much profit the oil companies are making.

This bothers me on a deep, deep level, because when I hear that a company shouldn't make that much profit, or that sports stars shouldn't be paid that much money, I get upset.

I usually don't say much about it because I'm just too tired to try to convince a sleep walker that he's sleep walking. Know what I mean?

But I grew up with the constant threat of nuclear war possibilities between the U.S. and the Soviet Union. A world with capitalism versus socialism. And like some people have an ability called perfect pitch which allows them to 'know' any musical note heard, I have a pretty good ear for socialist and communist talk.

So when I hear Americans moaning and angry over the huge profits of oil companies, or even sports star salaries, my socialism sensetive ears perk up. It gets my hackles up as some say, though I'm not sure what exactly a hackle is.

I believe with all of my heart, that when we as Americans, start judging companies on their big profits, we have just stepped into a socialist mindset.

I don't think it makes someone a socialist to think this way or make this complaint, but it signals to me that this person has entered into a dangerous line of thinking.

How much is too much profit? Who gets to decide this? Your complaining about the oil companies, and other companies's profits being too large, is, to me, a danger. It is the beginning of a line of thought that the political left in this country has perfected; they repeat a complaint enough, and you'll start making the same complaint without really thinking about it.

Please don't fall for it America! Research these things for yourselves!

America, economically, is built on the foundation of free enterprise and capitalism and the desire to better oneself. The very idea that you would point your finger at someone else, or even a legally operating company, and say, "You make too much money" is jealousy, plain and simple. That's a terrible frame of mind to operate from. You don't want to live in that place.

Now I want to quote to you from this article from the Tuesday, August 8th, 2006, Washington Times by Patrice Hill:

Big Oil Reinvests Big Profits To Tap Costlier Reserves

Big Oil's record profits attract attention and outrage, but an independent study has found that oil companies do exactly what economic textbooks say they should do with all that money: They invest it in oil exploration and development efforts that eventually should relieve pressure on prices.

The top 20 U.S. and Canadian oil companies actually invested 50 percent more than they earned in the past 10 years in efforts to produce more oil, but adverse geopolitical developments conspired to give them fewer opportunities to expand production while fading oil fields in the U.S. and elsewhere forced them to spend substantially more just to maintain current production, according to the study by the Ernst & Young accounting firm.

"Reinvestment is under way, and it's strong," said Charles Swanson, an energy analyst at the firm, but "average costs to find and develop oil and gas reserves have tripled since 1997, while total reserve-replacement costs have more than doubled."

The study found that the top companies -- including Exxon Mobil, ConocoPhillips and Chevron, among others -- took in a mind-numbing $5 trillion in revenue from sales of oil and related products between 1995 and 2005. After subtracting the cost of equipment, leases, labor and other operating expenses, the companies posted whopping profits of $336 billion.

Over the same time span, however, the companies spent even more than they earned -- $550 billion -- on oil exploration and development. Some of them went deeply into debt to finance new ventures, especially during times of lean profits.

These are just the first few paragraphs from the article which TOTALLY DISMEMBERS THE ARGUMENT THAT THE OIL COMPANIES ARE MAKING TOO MUCH MONEY OFF THE BACKS OF THE AMERICAN PEOPLE.

But please follow the above link and read the whole article.

For decades now, the power of environmental groups's ability to use the court system to delay and/or block the development of oil fields here in the U.S. that are known to have huge deposits, and their ability to stop the building of new refineries and even power plants, has brought us to this predicament.

And America's political left scream that these huge profits are obscene, yet they conveniently 'forget' to tell you that these profits, historically, have been used up in developing further oil sources and new technologies. America's political left makes a big deal out of 300 billion dollars in profits, but willfully deceives you by not mentioning that the oil companies have typically used ALL OF THAT PROFIT, AND MORE, to open new oil sources, etc. To the point of going in debt!

So next time you hear on the news about the disgusting amount of profit the oil companies are making, remember that they use ALL of it to reinvest in new oil fields and technology FOR US.

Be careful what thoughts you allow to pass through your lips. We all tend to consider the Soviet Union's demise as the defeat of socialism/communism, but if you fall prey to this type of thinking I talked of earlier, you are jumping on a bandwagon that includes Marx, Lenin, Stalin, and other such notables.

What was once called socialism or communism in America, now goes by the name "Progressive."

I wouldn't want you to be lumped in with those guys, and I'm sure you wouldn't want to be either.

I'm just tired of Americans swallowing without question everything reported on the news and adopting the first negative spin on that report as their own position.

What? Can't we criticize?

Of course. Look at the shutdown at Prudhoe Bay right now. What is happening there is like me ignoring the check engine light on my car and the squealing of my brakes until my car is undriveable. If there is a problem with the pipeline, shouldn't that have been taken care of in routine maintenance? Of course it should have been, but the oil company's bigwigs chose to ignore comon sense.

And we'll pay for that at the pump, trust me.

But don't fault companies making profits in a free enterprise, capitalist economy like ours. Especially if evidence shows that they reinvest those whopping profits in more exploration and the like. Keep in mind the part of the article that said, "Over the same time span, however, the companies spent even more than they earned -- $550 billion -- on oil exploration and development. Some of them went deeply into debt to finance new ventures, especially during times of lean profits."

That is all.

I'm gettin' a nose bleed way up here on this soap box anyway.

Al Gore

You a big fan of Ol' Al?

Think Al is living what he preaches, while flying around the world promoting his junk science scare-fest "An Inconvenient Truth"?

Then go read this op/ed piece on Mr. Gore in the USA Today from today, 8/10.

And you thought Jim Bakker and Jimmy Swaggart were hypocrites.

Thursday Thirteen #1

Thirteen Songs JAM Hates, Nay, Despises Tryin' something new here folks. I do some blog surfing and I have noticed that some people do a thing called Thursday Thirteen. Every Thursday they make a list of 13 things about themselves, usually about some particular topic or another. Thought I would give it a try. I like reading other people's Thursday Thirteens but have avoided doing it myself because I remember how painful it was to come up with 100 Things About Me. I don't need the extra pressure in my life. That's why I keep a link to mine over to the right; that was a lot of work! Anyway, I decided to give it a try, and on subsequent Thursdays I'll keep doing it. Until I run out of ideas. In fact, if you can think of some subject matter for future versions of my Thursday Thirteen, I'd appreciate it. 'Specially iffen I use that subject. Just leave a comment if you have requests for a set of 'Thirteen'. J's Thursday Thirteen: Thirteen Songs I Hate (This one is like shootin' fish in a barrel, I tell ya.) 1. I Love Rock 'n Roll - Joan Jett and the Blackhearts. Words cannot describe how much I hate this one. I won't even try. 2. Old Time Rock and Roll - Bob Seeger 3. Lady Marmalade - LaBelle. Includes that horrifying remake by Christina Aguelera, or however you spell her name. 4. Black Velvet - Alannah Myles Those first four are in order. They have topped my list for over 15 years, and probably always will. The rest are in no particular order, just puttin' 'em down like they come to me. 5. Your Body Is A Wonderland - John Mayer. I already think this one will end up always on the tip of my tongue and first on my mind like 1-4 have been for so long. 6. That Smell - Lynrd Skynrd 7. Gimme Three Steps - Lynrd Skynrd 8. Once Bitten Twice Shy - Great White 9. Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm - Crash Test Dummies. Although I think that dude's voice is cool. 10. What's Up - 4 Non Blondes. It's that song where the lady sings: hey, hey, hey, what's going on. From the early 90's. 11. Don't Worry, Be Happy - Bobby McFerrin 12. Loving You - Minnie Ripperton. That squeal she does in this song was foreshadowing of the coming of Mariah Carey. I was blissfully ignorant of how scared I should have been. 13. Nickelback - Any song they've ever recorded or ever will record. BONUS 14th Song! Beverly Hills - Weezer I threw in that last one because I was trying to come up with more recent songs, but I have pretty much stopped listening to radio music and mainly play my CDs and it was hard to think of recent songs I hate. Except for the Nickelback, John Mayer, and Weezer songs, the rest are pretty old. Seriously though, maybe back when I first started the blog, I should have done 13 Things About Me and later 100 Songs I Hate. That would have been a whole lot easier. In fact, on future Thursday Thirteens, if I get writer's block, I'll just do more songs I hate that week or weeks. There are bunches more where these came from. Links to other Thursday Thirteens! 1. (leave your link in comments, I’ll add you here!)

View More Thursday Thirteen Participants

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

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Engineer Humor (or Lack Thereof)

Yesterday at work, we had to turn in one of our badges for a new one. I was kinda hoping that, in the picture of me on the new badge, I might have a bit of a Brad Pitt thang goin' on.

Nope. Same old blockhead. The pic is a few years old now, so at least in it, I have less gray hair.

---

How many software engineers does it take to change a light bulb?

None. It's a hardware problem.



(See, in the engineering world, when something goes wrong with a device, the hardware guys stand there and point at the software guys. The software guys, of course, are standing there pointing at us...

Oh, forget it. It's not funny if I have to explain it.)

---

When I was at Louisiana Tech, some of my fellow engineering students wore a shirt that had "10 Reasons To Date A Louisiana Tech Engineering Student" on it. I never got one because I was married and I thought it would look dumb on an older student like I was. It's easier for a 20 year old to pull that off than for a 32 year old.

Of course, that was a number of years ago and I can't remember the ten things, but a few of the reasons to date an engineering student that stuck with me were:

-- He knows what all of those buttons on your calculator do.

-- He can help you with your math homework.

-- Your parents will approve.

-- Good starting salary.

---

When an engineer says: We're trying a number of different approaches.
He means: We have no idea where we are going, but we're moving.

When an engineer says: Early operational testing proved inconclusive.
He means: It burned up the first time we flipped the 'on' switch.

When an engineer says: We are satisfied with the test results.
He means: How about that! The thing ACTUALLY works!

That last one I learned of first hand. When I had been working about two years, I was on a project with a guy that had been an engineer for eighteen years. We had done the design (part of a big team), a handful of prototypes had been built, and it was up to me and this guy to 'give them the smoke test'. We took our time, dotted all of the I's and crossed all of the t's, so to speak, and when we applied power to it, I'll be dang if it didn't work, right away.

The experienced guy let out a long, long sigh. I couldn't believe he had that much air in his lungs. He turned to me with a look of TOTAL amazement and said, "I've been doing this for eighteen years, and I'm still blown away when something just works."

I knew right then, that the stress and nerves I felt as a new engineer would never totally leave. When six months work, and hundreds of thousands of dollars comes down to the flick of a switch, you really do feel that a lot is riding on that simple act.

---

This joke was sent to me by Big Sis's friend Patti, via Big Sis.

A pastor, a doctor and an engineer were waiting one morning for a particularly slow group of golfers.

Engineer: What's with these guys? We must have been waiting for 15 minutes!

Doctor: I don't know, but I've never seen such ineptitude!

Pastor: Hey, here comes the greenskeeper. Let's have a word with him.
Hi George. Say, what's with that group ahead of us? They're rather slow, aren't they?

George: Oh, yes, that's a group of blind firefighters. They lost their sight saving our clubhouse from a fire last year, so we always let them play for free anytime.

The group was silent for a moment.

Pastor: That's so sad. I think I will say a special prayer for them tonight.

Doctor: Good idea. And I'm going to contact my ophthalmologist buddy and see if there's anything he can do for them.

Engineer: Why can't these guys play at night?

I love this joke, but what is sad is that it accurately portrays how engineers think.

---

My favorite though, is a saying a guy who used to work for the same company I do kept posted on his office door.

"There comes a time in the life of every project, where it becomes necessary to shoot all of the engineers and go into production."

Tru dat yo!

---

I've seen the following photo on a number of engineering web sites, and supposedly was taken from a May, 1995 weekly engineering paper in Denmark called "Ingenioren." At least that's the only reference I could find for it, I'm really not sure who to give credit to for this photo.

Blackmail Photo

Hey, I never got any money out of it so here it is. Can't get blood from a turnip as they say.

Sorry Sis.

Blackmail!

A True Story Of Greed And Attempted Crime

Way, way. Way-way-way, back in the mists of time, around 1987 or 1988 or so, I hatched a plan to get rich.

Well, not super rich or anything but enough to be debt free. Ya dig?

I have thousands of 35mm slides from 1982 up to a couple of years ago. And if you've read here for a while, you know that I've begun to scan them into digital form. But way back in 1988 (or thereabouts) digital cameras affordable to the masses, a computer in every home, and other pipe dreams like film scanners and stuff were still many years off.

Although slides always allowed me to get the best photo, they were and are, I admit, raw-thuh inconvenient. But I was always SO disappointed in how prints turned out, while I loved many of my slides.

For Christmas that year, I got a new-fangled contraption made by Polaroid which basically took a photo of a 35mm slide. They actually turned out really good too, for a Polaroid picture that is.

Just before Christmas, we went to Louisiana to a family Christmas get together at my Aunt Zorner's house. (Not her real name by the way.)

And like usual, I was blinding everyone with my flash. I was goin' to town there. From outside the house the neighbors probably thought there was a disco strobe going.

One time, I snuck up behind Big Sis and said her name. She turned around and there I was, already focused on her and she started to say, "You better not!"

But I took the picture during the word 'you'. He he.

And later when I got the Polaroid slide picture taker thingy, a devious plan began to form in my mind.

I took the slide of Big Sis, eyes sorta closed and goofy lookin', and made a Polaroid copy. Then, one Sunday afternoon while lovely wife was napping or something, I sat there and for about 4 hours, cutting letters out of the Dallas Morning News. (I remember thinking it would only take me a half hour to do, but it takes a long time to cut out all those letters. Remember that next time you watch a mystery where someone does that.)

We lived in Irving, Texas at the time.

And I made a blackmail letter and taped the letters from the paper onto a plain sheet of notebook paper.

That was 18 or 19 years ago, so I don't remember exactly what I said in the letter, but it was something like: "I have the original of this photo. For me not to publish this photo, you will have to pay me $750,000. I will contact you…etc., etc."

I included the Polaroid of my slide with the 'ransom' note.

I worked for Delta Airlines at the time, and I gave the letter to a friend who was traveling that week to drop into the mail for me from some distant location's airport. I can't remember where, I want to say it was Atlanta.

Anyhoo, I just wanted it NOT to have a Dallas post mark, 'cause Big Sis would know exactly who sent it, see?

Then the excitement died. A few weeks later I had forgotten all about having made and sent my joke blackmail letter.

A few months later Big Sis calls me.
"John?"
"Yeah?"
"I have to ask you something."
Me, scared. "Alright."
"Could you lend me some money?"
Aw man! She's hurtin'! She's in trouble, and we're so broke, we can't pay attention! So I start back pedaling. "Big Sis, we don't have any to give you. How much do you need?"
"I need $750,000!"

It still took me a second to take that number in, process it and realize she was finally tracking down the 'anonymous' blackmail letter! I just started laughing and asked her how she finally figured out it was me.

She said she wasn't sure but that my response just proved it. She said it had been driving her crazy, and she suspected me, but she knew my camera was 35mm and not Polaroid. The letter was postmarked from wherever, there was no handwriting except on the envelope, but I had printed that like a first grader learning capital letters, and the photo had the Polaroid symbol on the back.

She had realized from the background that it was at Aunt Zorner`s house though, and it had to be someone there.

Man, she had really thought about this! But it had been so long since I had sent it, that it backfired on me. I thought she needed help and I couldn't do it!

Next time I get a good blackmail shot like that, I hope it's of someone who's rich and famous and who's not as broke as I am.

Crime really doesn't pay.

---

Now that I think of it, I still have that slide.

And I have a film/slide scanner to convert it to digital form.

And I have access to the whole world via the internet.

I could maybe even post it on my Blog!

Nah. Better not.

I Was Thinking / 105 Years Old / More Natchez Trace

Another Frightening Look Inside My Head

Yesterday morning while I was getting ready for church, I pulled some black socks out of my sock/underwear drawer.

And, being thoroughly male, spent a few moments in absolute concentration under a bright light trying to make sure that these socks were indeed black, and not blue.

I finally decided, that (a) since it has been a long time since I wore blue socks and blue ones wouldn't be that close to the top, and (b) they really did look black, I would go ahead and wear them.

(Sure, like anyone at church would look at me closely enough to determine whether or not I was wearing blue socks with my black pants.)

But the slightest tint of blue was in the socks and so I started thinking about light, color, and how we see them.

You know, plain old science stuff we learn. Like how we don't really see color per se, we see reflected light that our minds interpret as color.

I was thinking of how a red flower isn't red, it's chemical makeup causes it to absorb most of the colors in sunlight, but not the red, which is reflected back to our eyes, and our brains have been trained to think, 'red'.

But then I got to thinking about how light travels. Now light travels at the rate of three hundred million meters per second. So this sock that I'm looking at, although it's only inches from my face, has it's reflected light taking a certain amount of time to reach my eyes and my brain to register the color.

Then I was thinking that these socks were roughly 15cm (.15 meters) from my eyes. So that meant that, at 300,000,000 meters per second, the light being reflected from the (black, definitely black) socks traveled from the sock to my eye in about, like, five ten billionths of a second.

Which, of course, for all practical purposes is instantaneous.

But I started thinking even more.

I've never actually seen anything as it 'is'. I have, and will always see anything and everything I look at, IN THE PAST.

So if I tell you I'm watching you, I'm really watching what you were doing some extremely small fraction of a second ago.

We have only ever seen or heard something in the past.

We can never actually see or hear ANYTHING AS IT HAPPENS. Everything we sense is in the past.

And during all of this thinking, I had time to finish getting ready and started locking doors before leaving for church, and went on to other matters.

So women, when you ask your husband/boyfriend, because he's being quiet, what he is thinking?

You REALLY don't want to know.

---

105 Years Old
Our church, once a month has a mass celebration for everyone who has a birthday or wedding anniversary that month. Yesterday was our celebration for the August birthdays and anniversaries.

A lady at our church was born on August 25, 1901!

She'll be 105 years old in a few weeks.

So at the celebration, they asked me to cut cake, but someone told me to take the cake over and show the lady (at 105, she got her own cake, not shared like the others) her cake before cutting it.

I took it over there and told her that this was her cake and that we wanted her to see it before the masses devoured it.

She looks at it and remarks that her name was misspelled, but that that was alright.

Man. This lady is sharp. 105. Lives alone. Still has a current Florida driver's license, and has never had an accident or ticket.

We should all be so blessed.

(Her son, who also goes to church there, is 82 and has been retired since 1992. He's as healthy as anyone you've ever seen. He volunteers at the church all the time. You would guess he was 65, tops, if you ever met him.)

---

For Big Sis
My Big Sis left a comment on my post the other day about Emerald Mound on The Natchez Trace Parkway.

She asked if I had any photos of Loess Bluff. (Loess is a geographical type of soil that is loose, windblown topsoil that can be dozens of feet deep in places. On the Natchez Trace, there is a bluff of about 50 or 60 feet high that shows a good section of loess.)

Well, Sis, I do indeed have a couple of pics. And here they be.

This first one is from 1992 when the pics of The Girls and Me on the other post were taken. Behind the sign you can see the 50-60 foot bluff of loess.


This second one is from around 1961. From left to right is Big Sis, Mamaw Hinton, Papaw Hinton, Sainted Mother, and Big Brother. (trust me, you might not be able to make them out in this photo, Sis. This old slide has a fingerprint that you can see in the sky part. I'm not good enough with Photoshop Elements to clean that up just yet.)


And since I am on the subject of The Natchez Trace again, I wanted to show anyone out there that there are still open sections of the Trace, or road, that are kept clear to show visitors to the park old sections of the actual trace from hundreds of years ago.

This last photo is of Lovely Wife and Lovely Daughters on such a section of the original Trace 'road'.

---

Long post for a Monday wasn't it?

Oh, kwit yer komplainin'.

Pictue Post, Sunday, August 6, 2006

Sign, sign, everywhere a sign
Blockin' out the scenery, breakin' my mind
Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?
-- Five Man Electrical Band

I have Always, Completely, and Utterly despised this song. And then a number of years ago, Tesla ups and covers it, and I'll be dog if it didn't become a hit all over again.

I hate that song (regardless of who sings it) but I do love signs. So that's what all y'all are gettin' today.


This here first one is a slide that proves that even as far back as 1982 that I loved signs.


Please don't worry your pretty heads (or handsome heads for that matter) about me. I WILL NOT transgress Florida Statute 372.667 if at all possible.


Some signs are quite artistic, even if illegal and illegible.


Some signs make for cruddy photographs, but make up for it by telling an interesting story.


These bridge columns are holding up a bridge section of US1 in Melbourne, Fl. Each painted post was sponsored by a local business.


And this particular one was sponsored by the company I work for.


And signs can catch my eye because they look lonely and pretty much forgotten.


Have a great Sunday, folks!

Emerald Mound

What the heck is that you ask?

Well I'll tell ya. It's one of my all time favorite places to go visit. Emerald Mound is a hill that was sculpted into it's present shape by the Natchez Indians, on what is now part of the Natchez Trace Parkway just north of Natchez, Mississippi.

The mound itself is like a rectangular plateau, about 35 feet tall. It's like an oversized soccer field that has risen up out of the ground. This flat part of the mound has two smaller mounds on it. A large one at one end of the rectangle, and a smaller one at the other end.

It's a pretty impressive thing to see. This area was inhabited by the Natchez Indians, and this mound built around 1200AD.

This section of the Natchez Trace Parkway is a beautiful drive. There are picnic areas and when we were kids and lived in nearby Vidalia, Louisiana, we would sometimes go over there to swim in Coles Creek and see Emerald Mound.

Here are some photos that don't show the whole thing, you'll have to go to the links above for an aerial view of the mound. This photo on their website, you have to look at it a minute to realize what your lookin' at. Like I said, it's a plateau with two smaller mounds on it.

(As always, give the photos a click so you can see more detail.)

This first photo is of me near the top of the larger mound on top of the plateau part. This was taken in around 1966 or 1967, when I was four or five. Here, I'm almost at one end of the mound, and you can see the smaller mound in the distance. This thing is HUGE.

This next photo was actually taken in 1961, before I was born. I added this one so you could see the larger mound that I'm on in the top photo. That's it in the background there. That's my 'Mamaw Hinton', my maternal grandmother on the right in the red sweater and white scarf looking for pecans, and my 'Papaw Hinton' to the left of the pecan tree. You can see my older brother Paul beside him, but he was just a little feller there, about two years old.

In 1992, we were in the process of moving back to Louisiana from the Atlanta, Georgia area for me to attend Louisiana Tech University. That June we took our girls to the Natchez Trace for a picnic and to see Emerald Mound. Lovely Wife had them pose in the same place I had stood all those years ago, so you can compare this photo with the top one.

And last, but not least, here's yours truly thrown in there for good measure, so all three of us can stand there and squint into the sun. (Oh, to be twenty nine again. Whew!)

So that's a little bit o' learnin' for y'all's noggins. Look up the links if you care to learn a little more.

Though, now that I look at these photos, it makes me think I'll have to see if I have some that take in more of the mound. Hmmm. Probably trying to conserve film, something I always regret later.

Friday Evening Post

Ok. So I'm a bum. Sue me.

This is my 'every-other-Friday-off' Friday, so I slept until about 10:30.

Of course, being the knucklehead I am, I woke up in a sheer panic at 5:39 this morning and was struggling to get up when I realized that I didn't have to. Too bad the relief I felt at that moment wasn't enough to make up for the 16.44 seconds ot stark terror.

Such is my life.

---

Dear Overweight Middle Aged White Guy In Walmart Wearing A 'Do-Rag':
Take it from another overweight middle aged white guy; your "look" ain't workin'. You're about 20 years and 85 pounds past pullin' that one off.

No offense. I'm just sayin'.

---

Dear Main Stream Media:
Hezbolla (or however you spell it) is NOT a sovereign nation. They are a terrorist organization, working at the behest of Syria and Iran.

Hezbolla (the above mentioned terrorist organization) attacked the sovereign nation of Israel and intentionally shoot their missiles from within population centers so that Israel will attack them there, kill a few innocents in the bargain, and THEY KNOW YOU'LL REPORT IT AS IF ISRAEL IS THE BAD GUY.

Are you really that stupid? I guess so.

Just so you know, us relatively normal people see you for the idiots you are making yourselves out to be in all of this.

Doesn't say much for the level of teaching and honesty in the U.S.'s journalism programs does it?

---

Weird Fact About Me:
You know the Windows calculator that you can pull up and use on your computer?

I always switch mine from the normal little one to the scientific one, because I'm much more comfortable with it that way.

Even though 99 times out of 100, I'm just balancing the checkbook and only need addition and subtraction.

SIN, COS, TAN and all the other scientific functions are like a comfy blanket to me, just to see them there.

---

I know. It sucks, but that's all I've got.

I tried to upload some pics, but Blogger wouldn't let me. I'm too lazy to try to figure out the Flickr/Blogger connection to do it that way.

'til tomorrow.

I Suddenly Remembered Something

It's really weird how a memory can just pop into your head. Something you haven't thought of in years.

It has been pretty hot down hyar in Florida. I know, just like everywhere else. But that's what makes this memory so weird.

For several years when I was a kid, we lived in an east central Louisiana town called Vidalia. It's on the Mississippi River across from Natchez, Mississippi. It has about 4,000 souls.

The house my parents rented at the time had a shed in the back yard that had a water line to it and that's where our washing machine resided. Some previous owner of the home had added a den and second bathroom to the house, and in that bathroom was a place for a dryer. (Here's a pic of that house taken many years after we left, I don't have one of the shed out back.)

So, washer out in back yard shed. Dryer in the house.

The image that popped into my head was of going outside with this porcelain coated 'tub' that Mama had, and getting clothes out of the washer to bring inside to the dryer. AND THE WEATHER WAS FREEZING AND I REMEMBER THE CLOTHES WERE WET AND COLD TOO. I REMEMBERED MY HANDS GETTING COLD LIKE ICE. I REMEMBER HURRYING AND SHIVERING.

If you had walked up to me before I remembered this, put a gun to my head and asked me to describe the inside of this shed or die, I would have just said to go ahead and pull the trigger, because I can't. Now I can picture three inside corners of it, but not the fourth.

The mind is a terrible thing sometimes.

This house was, as were most houses in the area, built up off the ground about 2 or 3 feet. And I never played under there because, hey, it's Louisiana and that kind of place is prime real estate for snakes.

We only went far enough under there to retrieve errant balls and such, and that was done with a stick or something to extend your reach. I still remember how creepy it was to do that. Every time, I was sure there was going to be a snake right in my way. But thankfully that never happened.

And this house being off the ground like that, and only having space heaters, meant some seriously cold floors in the winter. It gets cold in Louisiana at times, and I remember the smell and sound of the gas heaters as Daddy or Mama would crank them up in the morning.

But those cold two steps of putting both feet on that cold, cold floor first thing in the morning, OUCH! Especially since they were so toasty from being under cover.

And I guess it was a good thing the house was built up off the ground like that, because in the early seventies, there was a lot of flooding and the Mississippi River was really high. The levees in the area held back the water but the ground was so saturated that even miles inland from the river, your yard would be totally soggy and have water puddles and water in the ditch, simply from seeping that far inland underground.

And the grade school I went to at that time was right next to the levee, so the entire school yard was useless to play on; it was always wet. I remember at recess everyone would just stand around outside on the concrete and talk, because we couldn't go out there and run or play any games.

I'm not exactly sure what got me thinking about all of that.

But I just thought I would share.

---

Good news for the East Coast of Florida, bad news for Cuba and the Gulf States. This is the projected path of Chris as of this morning.

Well Folks, Here We Go...

Looks like I'm gonna be watchin' me some Weather Channel this weekend.

I just hope Jim Cantori doesn't come to Palm Bay like he did a couple of years ago.

I swear them hurricanes draw a bead on that boy.

Click on the picture to see what I added.

Gentleman Jim Reeves

One of the things that I remember fondly about growing up was the music my parents listened to.

Many, many Saturday mornings, after sleeping late (no school!) I would slowly awaken to the smell of bacon or sausage, and some (usually) instrumental music. To this day I can listen to an easy listening station and love it, even though I'm a rock guy, and metal, through and through. I think that I'm that way because of the pleasant memories of the music my parents played on their big ol' console stereo. (Magnavox, I think)

For instance, my parents disliked John Denver's voice but liked that style of music. So they found an LP recording, of some easy listening type orchestra or another, of instrumental versions of all of John Denver's hits. I have absolutely no idea who this group was, but I would kill for that album on a CD today.

Now at Christmas time every year, of course there was my parent's selection of Christmas albums that they played. Percy Faith, etc.

But the one I always liked best, and the first one I looked for on CD later after I got married was "The Twelve Songs Of Christmas" by the singer Jim Reeves.

Jim Reeves was a very popular singer in the fifties and early sixties, but was yet another star to die in a plane crash.

(Needless to say that my CD of "The Twelve Songs Of Christmas" is in heavy rotation in my home around Christmas every year.)

In 1985, Lovely Wife and I were living in Bossier City, Louisiana. We decided once to take a long weekend and get out of town. We went down and spent a few nights in Galveston, Texas.

And on the trip we drove south through east Texas. And we passed through Panola County, Texas and near Carthage. (My older brother Paul was born in Carthage, Texas.) This is also the area that Jim Reeves was from.

It was getting dark, but when I saw a sign for the Jim Reeves Memorial, Lovely Wife and I stopped and saw the life-sized statue of Mr. Reeves. He's buried here, along with his collie Cheyenne nearby.

The ground is inlaid with stone in the shape of an acoustic guitar.

To me, it was kinda neat to stop and see the grave site and memorial to the man whose songs MOST represent Christmas to me.

It's strange to me how someone you never knew can produce music that is a really nice part of your life, isn't it?

The two slides here on this post are some of the slides I took that day.

In the above photo, there is an inscription in what would be the sound hole of the guitar that reads, "Gentleman Jim, Jim Reeves, Time: Aug. 20, 1923 July 31, 1964, Producer : God"

The photo of the statue at the top reads, "If I, a lowly singer, dry one tear or soothe one humble human heart in prayer, then my homely verse to God is dear, and not one stanza has been sung in vain."

Also, you can go HERE and see the cd, scroll down and listen to clips of the songs.

'til tomorrow.

Florida Is Not The South

Florida is one strange place, let me tell you.

Geographically it is southern. But it sure isn't southern, culturally. Now, before you get your panties in a wad and start begging to differ, let me explain that.

I am sure that there are pockets of southern-ness in Florida, but where I live ain't one of 'em. Up there in the Red-Neck Riviera (the Florida panhandle) is the most likely spot, but it would take me six hours of driving to get up there and hear a southern accent. (The photo to the right is on Bayou DeSiard near my childhood home in Monroe, La.)

I live about 60 miles southeast of Orlando, in Palm Bay, Florida. Never heard of it? You and about 6.5 billion other people.

The closest towns to us that people have heard of are Melbourne (closest), Titusville, and Kennedy Space Center.

We're on the Atlantic Coast just about half-way betwixt Jacksonville and Miami.

Palm Bay is now by far the biggest city in Brevard County, but 90 percent of that size has happened in the last 20 years, so you've probably never heard of it. It's just that Cocoa Beach, Titusville, Melbourne and the other cities are older and were once the scene of all the growth in the area. Palm Bay is now growing faster than you can imagine.

In fact, about two months ago, our population was officially judged to have passed 100,000 people. We moved here in 1996, when Palm Bay was a mere sprout of about 75,000 people. I hear tell that in 1980, Palm Bay only had about 10,000 people.

And, like me and the fambly, most of 'them folks' are from other states. Lots are retirees lookin' for that famous Florida sunshine, some are from the Northeast, tired of shoveling snow all winter, and most of the rest are the creep of the masses that is moving northward from Miami.

I said all of that to say this. I miss southern accents. I miss the South and Southern Hospitality.

I grew up in Louisiana, and have lived in the Florida panhandle, Texas, and Georgia. All of those places are southern, with slightly different flavors.

But down here? Not one little bit southern.

And due to health problems, I haven't even been back to Lousy-anna in several years to see my Sainted Mother, Big Sis, or Younger Brother. But I sure do long to. I definitely want to make a road trip to visit Mama and get some good home cookin' before too long. (The photo to the left is of the cypress trees along Bayou DeSiard near my childhood home in Monroe, La.)

But I'm supposed to be talking about Florida.

I really like it here. I have a great job, working with great people. We have a church that we're involved in like no place we have ever lived. We have a more active and involved life here than at any other place we have ever lived.

I like being able to walk outside early in the morning, in January, wearing shorts and while barefooted. I like not having a big coat; all I have is a hoodie. But I wouldn't mind a nice cold snap a couple of times every winter just to smell some crisp air.

I like that flowering plants bloom pretty much year 'round down here. And in the 'dead' of winter, the grass is only slightly less green and only has to be mowed once every two weeks. Of course in summer, it only gets mowed once a week, even though it needs it every four days or so. (For the first few years after moving here, I made a point of mowing the yard on New Year's Day and we would swim on Christmas day just to be able to 'casually' mention these things to far away family on the requisite holiday phone calls.)

If we feel like having lots of fun (and we're in the mood to part with some serious cash money) we can go from our driveway to the parking lot of The Magic Kingdom in one hour and fifteen minutes, tops.

Heck, I only have 45 minutes for lunch, and yesterday I went from work, to a Wendy's by the Atlantic, parked by the ocean and ate my lunch, stood and watched and listened to the waves and made it back to work in that 45 minutes. How great is that?

So, I'm in no hurry to leave this place where I have been blessed by God in too many ways to possibly name here.

But I sure miss the South. I love the ocean but I miss southern accents.

I miss my family back in Louisiana.

I make fun of Louisiana, but I would love to go back for a visit and smell that rich farm soil (and the smell of some good vittles).

But I'll just keep trying to bloom where I am planted, as the old saying goes.

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Years ago, my Dearly Departed Brother Paul, who lived his last 15 years or so in Salt Lake City told me about a run (he was a trucker) he had to the South for the first time in years.

He had stopped at the first Dairy Queen he saw, which was in North Texas.

He went in and up to the counter and said an older woman working there walked up to him and in pure Texas Drawl said, "Whut kin ahh git fer you, Huuun?"

He said it brought tears to his eyes.

I'm kinda feeling just like that today, if you hadn't already figured that out.