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Dane Allred examines the "Abundance" of the universe in his list of "1001 Thanks"
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Tuesday May 18, 2010
Tuesday May 18, 2010
CHAPTER SIX
Ray paced a trail in the cheap motel carpet. He was turning over the details of the day in his head. He had returned to Ridgeway the very next day, less than 24 hours after the train had been here and he had thrown the parcel between the wheels.
Could it have gotten caught in the undercarriage of the train? Did it get ground up into a bunch of zeros and ones? “Nah,” Ray thought to himself, since there would have been something left of the bills if they had been destroyed. But what if they had caught under the train, and had dropped off somewhere between here and this Hicksville where the train had stopped?
Maybe he had walked up and down the wrong part of the tracks, and the money was still sitting somewhere just a mile or so away, waiting patiently for Ray to come back and pack that bundle back to its proper home.
Or maybe someone else had found it first.
Ray knew he could go crazy trying to figure out what could have happened, so he decided to focus on what he would do next. It was time to make another list.
Officer Greg Jones had his own worries, which he tossed around in his mind, wondering how much longer he should ponder the possibilities before he called Smitty and bounced a few ideas off of him. There was definitely something wrong, but to find out what the real problem was would take some careful thinking, and some even more careful investigation. “This’ll be out of my jurisdiction, if I’m lucky” Greg muttered to himself, looking at the bundle which was still sitting on his desk.
“Smitty” Harold Smith had told him the robbery netted the thieves $100,000 or thereabouts. The bundle had $1800 in it, but was clearly designed to look more like $100,000 – or thereabouts. Was it the same robbery? If it was, then where was the rest of the cash?
In most cases, if John Graham had turned in a real stack of $100,000, Greg would have had to turn it over to the state immediately anyway. But the local jurisdiction regulations said he could keep amounts up to $2000 in the local evidence lockers as long as it was verified by at least two officers. His deputy had helped him fill out the proper paperwork and they had both signed off on the amount. State detectives would arrive tomorrow to take the money back to the bank. All the ducks were in a row, but something still didn’t make any sense.
Where was the rest of the money?
Smitty wondered the same question out loud. “So you have 18 one hundred dollar bills, but the package was made to look like it should hold more?”
Jones nodded into the phone, but said, “Yeah, and it’s a pretty good job of making it look like a big bundle of money. If someone was picked up and you found this on their person, you would probably not stop to count the bills until you got back to the station.”
Now Smitty was nodding. “So to you, this looks like it’s meant to mislead us long enough for the real money to escape?”
“Yeah,” said Greg. “But if you guys didn’t find the money on the train, and this was left on the tracks, where’s the rest?”
“I can think of three places,” Smitty intoned, trying to sound superior, like the city cop he was.
“I can think of four,” said Jones.
Smitty was not one to take a challenge lightly, so he started in on his three guesses, hoping to deduce the fourth on his way.
“Okay,” he said, drawing in a breath, “the three I’ve got are one, the money is still on the train somewhere; two, the small guy we didn’t find still has the money; or three, there is another package of money somewhere out there on the railroad tracks.”
Smitty came up empty. Harold Smith had to admit defeat and ask his friend for a fourth possibility. Just as an inkling was coming into his brain, too.
The friend. But Jones beat him to the punch.
“I hate to say this, Smitty,” said Jones as he drew in a quick breath, “but I think we have to watch my friend John Graham, too.”
He had talked about Francis Bacon. Christopher Marlowe’s name came up and the suspicious early death of this great writer came up, too. Woody Allen’s name came up, but only as comic relief to an otherwise deadly boring subject for high school students. John Graham liked to read Woody Allen’s essay called “But Soft…Real Soft” to his classes as a summary of how ridiculous it was that there were people at major universities worldwide who were paid handsome salaries to debate year after year who really wrote plays from 400 years ago. John Graham didn’t care who really wrote the plays, and certainly the students could give a flying leap less who wrote them. But it was one of the things John thought students who had taken a drama class in high school should know before they graduated and pretended to go out into the world trained and ready for the workplace.
But the lecture had the desired effect. He had been distracted, too, and realized that he hadn’t thought about the money for almost an entire hour. Now that class was over, however, his thoughts did return to another aspect of this new adventure in his life. He began to think how cleverly he had handled the entire situation, even planning several scenarios in advance in his mind.
Scenario one. If his police friend Greg Jones decided the money was really at John’s house, and got a search warrant for it, John had hidden the money in so clever a place that he was almost certain no one would ever find it. Result: he could keep the money and spend it slowly over a lifetime.
Scenario two. He became so overcome with guilt at having kept the money that there was no clear way to keep it without going crazy. John had decided that if this happened he would simply take the money to another town and drop it off at the nearest church or charitable organization. With the amount of time he was spending lately contemplating his options, he was smart enough to realize that this could be a distinct possibility. Crazy didn’t seem that far off.
Scenario three. He gets caught with the money, through insanity, as he had imagined before, or through carelessness. He could brag about the money to someone somewhere someday and find himself the center of suspicion. At this point, to plead insanity would not be a bad idea. Then he could return the money and beg forgiveness for his moment of weakness. His church preached repentance and forgiveness at least once a month, and it seemed to him that those with shortcomings were favored by pity at least, and usually respected more later by the congregation for having shown weaknesses.
Scenario four. John Graham knew there was another possibility out there, that there was always the unseen, the unexpected that always showed up and slapped you across the kisser with the Homer Simpson-like “Doh!” that someone who hasn’t thought everything through usually deserves. This was danger waiting to happen. John had once heard a Secretary of Defense call these the “unknown unknowns”. There was nothing you could do about it, so the best defense was not to worry about it. You could worry if you wanted to, but you would still get slapped up side of the head.
“Greg?”
“Yeah, this is Captain Jones.”
Smitty bent over the phone on his desk. “Hey, Greg, Smitty here.”
“Harold!” said Greg, a little too loud.
Harold Smith was trying not to talk too loud, because a major investigation had just fallen into his lap thanks to the help of his good friend in Ridgeway. He didn’t want to share this good fortune with anyone else in the department just now, and when a major event broke here at the office, everyone wanted a piece of the pie for their own claim to fame. “You were right on the money, buddy.”
“It’s from the robbery?” said Jones.
“The serial numbers match the last bills of $100,000. Whoever made the fake package may have had access to the entire amount,” said Smitty. “But why would they make a decoy?
“Maybe they made it on the train to distract us. So what do we do next?”
Smitty paused. “Wait just a minute. Zabronsky just came in the room. I’ll call you right back.”
Smitty had called Jones back earlier in the evening and filled him in on all the details. Unfortunately, there just wasn’t enough on the bank robbery case to work 24/7 on it, so when the next call came in, he was out the door with his partner.
It was way too late for the local gas station lights to still be on, especially when there was no one around watching the place. The police had been called by a guy who stopped for gas and had figured out after pumping it, there was no one to pay. Paranoid about being caught not paying for gas or else feeling his patriotic duty calling, he was still there when Smitty pulled up.
“This doesn’t look right,” he said, getting out of the car.
“Thanks for coming over so fast,” said the nervous customer, waving a twenty in the air. “I pumped my gas, but can’t see anyone to pay.”
Smitty looked around at the gas station, still fully lit though it was long past the posted closing time. One of the sliding glass doors was open, and music was playing inside the booth.
“Maybe the guy is in the john,” Smitty said, motioning to the back building. “Have you checked back there?”
The customer shook his head no, and Smitty motioned for his partner to check it out. Smitty walked over to the booth, and taking the information from the customer, also took his twenty. “Thanks for reporting this, and if there’s anything else we need, I’ll call you at your home number, or come by your house.”
There was no need to keep extra eyes around that would only keep asking stupid questions like, “Could you give me my change from the drawer?” Smitty explained that nothing could be touched until it they figured out what had happened, and that the change from the twenty would be mailed to him.
The now irate customer left muttering something about getting screwed by the cops every time he tried to do something good. Smitty called for another team to come in and help search the area. Then he called the corporate number on the booth to tell them one of their gas stations was unattended.
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Sunday May 16, 2010
Sunday May 16, 2010
O Captain My Captain
by Walt Whitman
O Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
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Sunday May 16, 2010
Sunday May 16, 2010
CHAPTER FIVE
Officer Greg Jones had a few jobs to complete. But first he had to call his deputy, who was part-time, to come over and help him catalogue the evidence. Regulations said two people had to count money, and even if he wanted to flip through the pile and see if there were more bills inside, he would still have to wait for Larry to arrive.
He worried as he waited that his good friend John may have tainted the evidence, but this still seemed to be a straight-forward robbery, and the serial numbers on the bills would match, or they wouldn’t. It wouldn’t matter once Larry was there if they could reassemble the pile of papers and money to look exactly like it had, because they would take some Polaroids and those could be used as evidence as well.
That would be the next job. He would have to call the store and have the delivery boy bring over some more film. The stuff in the camera was so old Greg doubted it would still work, and delaying any more while they waited for film would destroy the fun of the investigation.
They would together and dissect this package, and try to figure out just what had happened. Why would someone make a bundle that looked like it was a lot of money when it wasn’t? And who had the rest of the money?
Raymond Johnson was not the most patient man in the world. He had once stabbed himself in the hand with a potato pitchfork, and rather than wait for an emergency room technician to pull it back out of his hand, he calmly walked over the concrete step and pulled it out himself. He also pulled dirt back into the wound and had to have intravenous antibiotics for 3 days, but the pitchfork was out. He even went to the doctor down the street and convinced him to sew it up rather than go the next town to the emergency room.
But with $100,000 sitting somewhere out here on the tracks, Ray had developed a patience he had never experienced before. This was his fourth trip down the tracks and he still couldn’t find the bundle. He was pretty sure where the train had stopped, since there were only two road/railroad intersections in the entire town. He knew it was farther south on the tracks than the Ridgeway city limits sign he had seen from the train.
This was the right place, but there was no package. It was beginning to grow dark as Ray tried to think of what would be the next step. Without the money, he could see no future prospects, unless he was to go and rob another bank himself. The fifteen years he had spent in prison for trying to rob a bank by himself had convinced him that it was best to have a partner these days, a front man, and his best front man was enjoying cable TV back at in jail.
Tonight, Ray would have to spend a few dollars on a motel in town. Then he would think about where the money might have gone. One way or another, he was going to find that money.
John Graham was not usually a nervous person. He was able to stand in line at grocery stores while clerks took their own sweet time trying to find the subtotal key on the register. He could sit in traffic that wouldn’t move, no matter how hard the people around him honked, just enjoying the radio. He even liked standing in long lines because it gave him time to notice what the others in line really looked like, and let him wonder where they came from and what the real story behind their lives really was.
But now almost $100,000 was sitting in his house, and John was a guy who didn’t like to break a $20 because the money would then vanish in a matter of hours. He had been daydreaming at work all that day about what he could spend the money on if no one found out he had it.
He had cycled through sports cars, motorcycles, motorized parachute flyers, ultra light airplanes, cruises, hot tubs, house remodeling, expensive watches, fine art, diamonds, rare coins, expensive electronic toys, shoes, suits, and safaris. Then he would chastise himself for even thinking about spending the money since it really wasn’t his and it would probably end up back at the bank safe in the depositors’ accounts.
Then the next cycle would begin, and to relieve the guilt, John would think about what he could by for Reba. Expensive clothes, figurines, exotic trips, jewelry, furs and fast cars. Then another wave of guilt for even considering spending this windfall on such ridiculous extravagances. He should be thinking of college and books for his daughters or their husbands, trust funds for his grand-children, contributions to his church.
Would. Should. Could. John recognized this ridiculous cycle of thinking for what it really was, and thought about the fact that he might not be the best person for God to tempt with such a great temptation. He wasn’t dealing with it very well, and he realized that his preoccupation with this would soon turn into some type of mental disorder, with the end result being an institution. He could almost picture himself being carried away in a straight-jacket muttering “Rings, watches, vacations, tuition. Rings, watches, vacations, tuition….”
It was time to get focused on the matter at hand, and that wasn’t how to spend money that wasn’t really his. It was time to talk about who really wrote Shakespeare’s plays to students who didn’t really care who Shakespeare was.
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Friday May 14, 2010
Friday May 14, 2010
Death Be Not Proud
by John Donne
Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
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Wednesday May 12, 2010
Wednesday May 12, 2010
by T. S. Eliot
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question…
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep… tired… or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor
And this, and so much more?
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old… I grow old…
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
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Monday May 10, 2010
Monday May 10, 2010
How Do I Love Thee?
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Click on the video below to see the podcast of this poem.
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Thursday May 06, 2010
Thursday May 06, 2010
This is the entire broadcast from Jan. 17th.
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Thursday May 06, 2010
Thursday May 06, 2010
Rebirth
The best thing about birthdays is it is a chance to think about beginnings. We all come into the world helpless and dependant. By the time we are old enough to take care of ourselves someone else has invested lots of time and money to make sure we survive growing up. Then we might get a chance to take care of somebody else and help them make it to the point the can take care of another generation. A birthday is a starting point, but it can also be another beginning. It’s a day we can stop and look at the past year and see what we want to do the next year.A rebirth can take place at any time, not just on a birthday. The miracle of rebirth is always present in nature, and an example or two can help us understand the process as it could also occur in us. I’ve recently planted some pine nuts, and they have already sprouted. Even though I planted them upside down, they are correcting my mistake, sending up the main root and turning back into the soil. If we think about the single pine nut and the potential it can have, it makes me wonder what our own potential could be. These pine nuts were for sale at the side of the road, and the guy who sold them to me wanted to roast them. I had other plans. Where a bag of pine nuts could have been a snack, I intend to turn them into a little grove of pine trees in the back yard. I might make some of them in to little bonsai plants, and since I sell stuff on Ebay, they will probably end up somewhere else in the world. They may grow to full size and produce pine nuts of their own.
The dependable way in which seeds sprout and grow into full grown plants is amazing to me. No one can make a seed, but every time we plant a seed, we have the expectation they will grow. We don’t expect them to grow into something different, so maybe here is a lesson for us. Can we grow into something we aren’t, and who decides what we are and are not?
Another exciting example of rebirth is some impatiens flower plants I had in the yard last year. They were really from the year before, and I had kept them alive over the winter and done some cuttings. This isn’t a new plant, but a part of the old plant. These flowers are sensitive to cold, and they have great stems for cutting. I took longer stems, cut them, put some rooting enzyme on them and put them in a new little pot. By spring I had dozens more to plant, and they all came from the same few flowers I dug up in the fall and kept in the greenhouse.
I did the same thing last fall. I dug up quite a few of the second generation flowers to prepare to get a third generation ready for next summer. I was surprised how many plants I had, and they were flowering very well as the snow fell. Unfortunately, the cat bumped the plug for the heater for the greenhouse before I noticed, and it got below freezing for a couple of nights. About two-thirds of the flowers died back to the soil, and the rest just died. The amazing thing is I still have some to work with, and spent the weekend getting them cleaned up and repotted. I should have a record number of bright purple impatiens ready for the spring.
It’s the same with this program. “Abundance” is the root stock of optimism, and I want a little bit of that idea to get planted and nourished in your life. I know when you stop and think about all the things we have to be thankful for in this modern world, your part of this growing idea will flourish, and before we know it, there will be a bounty of thankfulness. I do it in the hopes that I will be truly conscious of giving thanks, and remember to acknowledge the blessings of living in a world where many of us live a standard of living far above the royalty in the past.
Stop at least once each day and pay attention to the wonders all about us, that have become commonplace to us because we wake up every day and they are available to us. A thankful attitude will help you understand how truly blessed we are. Be reborn to the miracle of life every day you are given, because there will be those who weren’t given this gift of one more day. Get out there and grow into the real you today.
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Wednesday May 05, 2010
Wednesday May 05, 2010
The Benjamins
Everybody has to be born on one of 365 days in the year. Statistically, if you get 23 people in the same room, chances are better than 50 percent two people in the room will share a birthday. With 57 people, the chances increase to 99 percent. Of course if you get 366 people in the same room, someone will share a birthday. If you want to read an explanation, there is a math one at Wikipedia.
I share a birthday with Benjamin Franklin. He was called a Renaissance man, a person who was experienced in many differing disciplines. He gave us the lightning rod, but probably didn’t do the kite flying experiment. He started one of the first volunteer fire departments, libraries and insurance companies. He helped found the first civilian hospital and medical school in the United States. He invented the glasses I wear – bifocals.
We know him best for his contributions to American Independence. I didn’t know he was the person who designed the “Unite or Die” snake which represented the colonies. You’ve probably seen that flag if you ever studied American History.
I really like his list of thirteen virtues, and though I have discussed them before, I think the 304th anniversary of his birth would be a good place to review them. I’ll bet he had an English accent. I’ll use it when I am quoting from his list.
TEMPERANCE. Eat not to dullness; drink not to elevation."
Don’t eat too much I get, but I’m guessing Ben was a quiet drunk.
"SILENCE. Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation."
I wonder what Mr. Franklin would think of our preoccupation with celebrities.
"ORDER. Let all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its time."
Everything in its place I fail, and I do way too many things.
"RESOLUTION. Resolve to perform what you ought; perform without fail what you resolve."
Think of what you ought to do. Then do it.
"FRUGALITY. Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself; i.e., waste nothing."
Oops. I spend too much and waste more.
"INDUSTRY. Lose no time; be always employ'd in something useful; cut off all unnecessary actions."
I like to sleep too much, but I do like to do lots of things. Mostly unnvecessary.
"SINCERITY. Use no hurtful deceit; think innocently and justly, and, if you speak, speak accordingly."
I can pass this one. I may be too sincere.
"JUSTICE. Wrong none by doing injuries, or omitting the benefits that are your duty."
I’m big on causing no injury. I could be more generous.
"MODERATION. Avoid extremes; forbear resenting injuries so much as you think they deserve.
I’m getting better at not resenting, but I am still pretty extreme.
"CLEANLINESS. Tolerate no uncleanliness in body, cloaths, or habitation."
I think we actually shower and bathe more than back then, but my car does need to be cleaned.
"TRANQUILLITY. Be not disturbed at trifles, or at accidents common or unavoidable."
I think I am the ultimate easy-going, laid-back and tolerant person. Maybe too much.
"CHASTITY. Rarely use venery but for health or offspring, never to dullness, weakness, or the injury of your own or another's peace or reputation."
Let’s just say I’m healthy.
"HUMILITY. Imitate Jesus and Socrates."
I wish I was more humble. I am the poster boy for the song “Oh, Lord It’s Hard To Be Humble”.
But I do have a list of my own.
In my motivational presentation “B Positive, More than just a blood type” I focus on how to be our best selves, and the phrase “My Best Self” represents the following ideas, with each letter of “My Best Self” starting each idea.
In the word MY
M represents Make a positive contribution
Y means we Yearn to be better
In the word BEST
B stands for Believing in your potential
E means we Exercise
S stands for Smiles
T means we Trust in the Creative
In the word SELF
S represents Specialization
E means we Expect great things to happen
L means we Learn from others and the final letter
F tells us to Fearlessly forge forcefully forward.
Find ways this week to be your best self. Make a positive contribution, yearn to be better, believes in your potential, exercise, smile, trust in the Creative, specialize, expect great things to happen, learn from others, and fearlessly forge forcefully forward.
Be your best self. I hope your spirits have been lifted this day. Go out and find all the reasons we have to be thankful for in this abundant life.
Today, I’m grateful to share a birthday with Benjamin Franklin. With a couple of hundred Benjamins, nearly any problem could be solved. And I don’t just mean money.
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Wednesday May 05, 2010
Wednesday May 05, 2010
Caesarians
Birthdays are interesting, but I don’t remember anything about the day I was born. I do have two daughters, and I was at both of their births. The World Health Organization recommends that no more than 15 percent of all births should be by Caesarean, which is where the mother’s abdomen is cut to deliver a child. We have exceeded this by quite a bit in my family. Both of my daughters were born by Caesarean. We have a 100 percent Caesarean rate.Watching the birth of your own child is an amazing thing. Watching a Caesarean delivery is incredible. We didn’t plan for our first daughter to be born this way, but that’s what happened. We went to birthing classes so I could be at the birth, and we had to watch a special video on Caesarean delivery just in case. After about 18 hours in labor, my wife was getting very tired, and the process was stressing the baby, so the doctor’s told me to go scrub up and get ready to watch my first child delivered by cutting my wife open. I was only away from my wife’s side for a few minutes, but that was the only time I was really worried. I hoped nothing would happen while I was away. In surgery, everyone looked very serious, and watching a doctor use a scalpel on your wife stomach is a nerve-wracking experience, but it had to be worse for my wife, who was conscious and watching a man approach her with a sharp instrument.
Surgery is a complicated process where a thousand things can go wrong, but the professionals in our hospitals are very good. I was actually at ease watching them work feverishly to bring my firstborn into this world. It was an amazingly fast process, and very quickly the incision was made, and just as quickly a small face appeared. There was a small cut on her face where the scalpel had gone too deep; where her face had been pressing. All of the operating room personnel looked at me. I smiled, but I think they were wondering if I was going to sue. I was just happy to have everyone all right. Our new daughter was not too happy and was already crying; after all her greeting to the world was a cut to the face. I got to hold here almost immediately, and was assured my entire family was going to be fine.
This was in California, but we were moving and the doctors insisted both mother and daughter stay in the hospital for a week rather than the normal day or two. Then they both got on a plane with my mother-in-law and flew away. I drove a U-haul to our new home.
When our second child was due, it was recommended my wife have another Caesarean. Our second daughter’s delivery was much easier. When a Caesarean is planned, not suddenly needed like our first daughter, then you get to pick a date to have the baby. You even can choose a time of day. I have a pretty poor memory, and it seemed like a good idea to choose November 15th. It was the middle of the month, and since my anniversary is the month before on the 14th, I have been able to remember her birthday. I just don’t remember my anniversary sometimes. Another great advantage to planning the time and date is you can make arrangements at work, get a baby-sitter for the older daughter, and even make it home to relax for the afternoon.
This second Caesarean was much less tense. Everyone knew what to expect. The doctors even provided a mirror so this time my wife could watch the operation. I don’t know why anyone would want to watch a sharp instrument cutting into your own stomach, but she thought it was great. We were both a little apprehensive since there was still a little scar on our first daughter’s face, but the mood in the room was very good. The doctor made sure I had a nice place to sit and watch, and as he started the procedure, he turned to me and asked me if I was okay. I told him, “As long as you aren’t cutting me I am fine.” Everyone thought that was funny, but I was serious. I can’t even watch the needle when I get a shot.
So all the excitement produced two beautiful daughters, and sometimes it makes me wonder what we did back in the good old days before hospitals, doctors, nurses and support staff. I don’t want to go back to those times, but the whole process seems a lot more complicated than back then. But it does make for some memorable moments, and some interesting birth days.
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
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SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
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