Dismantling Memories

As I began the work of dismantling the children's swing set/playhouse/fort combo yesterday, I found myself self waxing strangely sentimental.

We purchased the set when Ab was very small.  It was made of good quality, heavy duty materials.  The local company from whom we purchased the monstrosity constructed it on site at our old house.

She was too small for both the slide and the swings when we bought it.

Ab is now twelve years old and almost as tall as her Mom.  AA is just nearly three years behind her and only a couple of growth spurts away from seeing eye to eye with his Dad.

Throughout their lives the old faithful play set has sat there in the yard, beckoning. . . "c'mon take a run or two down the smooth green slide"...  or ... "how about one last turbo-push on the swings just before dark?"

Underneath the "tree-house" decking was the perfect place for a little picnic or a sandbox.  It was always filled with an eclectic collection of weathered toys, digging implements and various leaves, stick and rocks.  It wasn't unusual to find a spare lizard, frog or grasshopper under there either.

The bannistered walls of the tree house had survived numerous coatings of sidewalk chalk; and the pounding of playground balls and make-believe swords.

We have only attempted the monumental task of moving the behemoth a few times:  I remember a band of guys from our Sunday School class (including some family) that showed up one evening to move it over so we could have some landscaping done; and then when we moved to our present location R.'s Mom and Dad took it apart while we were at work and moved it piecemeal.

A couple of years ago, after the swings sat idle for quite awhile we removed that portion of the set along with the slide and the tarp roof.  The tree house was now something of a "deck" to go beside the above ground pool in the summer. 

It's weathered look had become something of an eyesore and it competed in size with the trampoline, so it was time to take it down.

I found a date painted on the side - most likely put there by Ab who has often had an interest in noting items for posterity - it was last June and it recorded the names of those present.

A similar notation was on the inside of the tree house this time in pencil. It was either from two years earlier or 10 years earlier - I couldn't make out the date that well.

At the base of the edifice, one is always sure to find interesting articles....

... a "hair-thingy" as I call it ... these turn up everywhere... they hold tales of by-gone summers when a busy little girl felt the need to cast off her restraints....

... a slightly mangled, wooden alligator. . . this was a souvenir from some place.  AA applied his own creative decorative capabilities to give the gator a unique visage.  The alligator joins an entire army of action figures and "Happy Meal" promotions that future archaeologists will likely be digging up around here for ages to come. 

In addition to the colorful items that surround the base of the  structure, there are stories literally attached....

...The small rope, a reminder of last summer's goat adventure.  This bespeaks the evening that I tried to tie them to the play set.

All these memories flooded my mind yesterday as I dismantled this fixture in our lives... little curmudgeons leaning out of the side of the tree house with smiling, dirty faces ... cries of  "Higher!" ... "Higher!" from a catapulting swing and the gentle sing-song squeaks that yielded a comforting "all is well".

I know that new adventures await us, but none will replace the sweet innocence of childhood.



Of Bicycle Chains and Bell Bottoms

For the first time in a long time, I took my bicycle out for an extended ride yesterday evening.  A spring break trip, a cool snap, a good bit of Spring rain and general busy-ness have resulted in my being fairly inactive the past few weeks.

I have a goal in mind (which I won't share right now, since I don't want to be held accountable) so beginning with April I need to be more active.

My brother-in-law and I were riding bicycles fairly regularly until about a year ago.  We broke up the tandem due to the time change - I think.  My brother-in-law and I take two very different approaches to bicycling:  for him, speed is important and getting the task done is the aim; for me, I prefer to take a more leisurely pace, and enjoy the ride.  Also there is that thing about not being able to breathe when we travel fast - I find that somewhat disconcerting.

Because of this different mindset, and the fact that he has one of those scaled down, really fast bikes ... and possibly because he is in better shape than me - he is often left biding his time at the top of most hills, waiting for me to catch up.

My brother-in-law also dresses the part.  He has the helmet, the wind resistant sunglasses, and those panty-hose-looking shorts.  I sometimes wear the reflective safety vest my wife gave me one Christmas and some of those blousy, long basketball shorts.  I think my wardrobe choices might be a little embarrassing to him - not to mention the fact that they slow me down a little more.

Yesterday when I re-entered the biker's world - I was certainly not dressed for the part.
Sometime ago, R. bought me some of the "guy-version" skinny jeans.  They ride a little too low for my taste and they're bell-bottomed.  So that was what I was wearing since it was Saturday and I was working outside a lot.

Right away I noticed a problem: first my left trouser leg began hanging up on the portable bicycle pump attachment on my bike.  Next the other trouser leg began -first flirting with- and then catching onto the large chain drive near my pedals.

There are few worse predicaments than getting the cuff of one's pants hung in one's chain. 

1974.

I think 1974 was about the last time I had the cuff of my pants caught in my bicycle chain.  Wearing bell-bottoms greatly intensifies the likelihood that one will find one's self strangely drawn in by the ankle into the grinding teeth of the bicycle chain.

Anyway, on the chance that my brother-in-law might happen by and see me and die from sheer embarrassment - I decided not to apply the age-old, tried and true remedy - of rolling up one's pants to the knee.

Instead, I just made a mental note to myself to avoid bell-bottoms on future bike treks.

We live in "the country" - a very rural area.  I like that, but it means that people often let their dogs run loose.  Some of those dogs find it quite sporting to terrorize small children and old people who toddle by on their bicycles. I like to know the dog situation before I ride into unknown territory.  If you haven't ridden in area in over a year - you can't know the dog situation.  This added a level of fear to my journey.

I was happy to see that one house that I used approach with trepidation because of the snarling, slobbering bulldog of some kind that lived there and was sometimes unrestrained - now was home to two yapping little dogs.  Annoying but not threatening.

I chose a route different from the one I had customarily taken when riding in the past.  It was a road with two long, high hills.  On the one other time I had taken that route, I was almost to the top of the second hill when I was greeted my a gang of three canine carnivores ... one was a Great Dane.

As I approached the area, I tried to remember which house to avoid.  Somehow I cheated death... I passed the house and heard some distant barks after I was well over the hill top and enjoying my ride downward.

A small, puppy-looking dog came after me a short time later but he proved to be all bark and no bite.

Finally, I reached the farthest point of my ride, and rather than just turning back and retracing my trip, I took another route down a little country road that I had traversed only once on bicycle and going in the opposite direction.

Is it possible that there can be MORE hills when going the opposite direction on the same road?  That certainly seemed the case as I struggled slowly up every precipice.

This was where I faced my first real dog threat.  I happened up on two resting dogs on a front porch.  As I reached their house they awoke in a huff - realizing that they were already behind in the chase, they both bounded off the porch in a barking cacophony.  Only one made it to me, a spotted mutt with brindle markings -like he had been sleeping in motor oil.

I think if I ever had a guard dog, I would dip him in motor oil.  There is something very threatening about a dirty-looking dog.

He made two or three attempts at biting my back tire... I was glad that he preferred tires over ankles.  He soon gave up the chase and returned to dream about tasy tire treads and what might have been.

I began to relax, I knew that I was nearing the end of that unknown territory and would soon be back on familiar roads.  I also figured somehow that I had faced the worst threat of the day. Like the soldier in the old war movies who says, "piece of cake!" just before a snipers bullet takes him out... I had that "piece of cake!" feeling.

I began a long descent into a valley which was followed by an equally long hill.  At the top of that hill - a farm house.

At the farmhouse - two good sized dogs became aware of my approach and announced their displeasure.

My first thought was to turn back.  However, I remembered the brindly- tire-biter that awaited me along with his slow-footed partner.   So I proceeded down the hill cautiously.

The dogs employed a strategy of barking at one spot and then having established their ownership of that portion of the field, they moved forward a few more paces and again established their dominance of the territory.

I tried to remember if this was a good sign or a bad sign.  I watched for any sign of friendliness - the least bit of motion that might resemble tail-wagging....

...nothing.

By now they had proceeded down the hill toward me.  I surmised that I would be most vulnerable at about the spot they were standing, after having pumped that far up the hill to meet them.

Having attended a Reformed Theology church now for almost three years, I am more attuned to the sovereignty of God than ever before.  But at this point, I reverted to some of my Arminian roots - and began to pray in a slightly manipulative fashion. 

I must admit that it wasn't my hope that God would choose to somehow glorify Himself through a dog-mauling . . . I just wanted deliverance. 

"JesusJesusJesusJesusJesusJesus..."

There were two of them before me.  The first one had bright blue eyes... I tried to speak calmly to the first one. 

Were his eyes glowing?

I rebuked the second!

.... and rode past.

They never offered to even follow.

From there it was "downhill all the way" - though not literally.

After almost an hour, I returned home - though fatigued I was no worse for wear... except of course for the oily chain marks on my bell-bottoms.

Spring Break Mini Get Away: Alabama's Gulf Coast -Day One

It's Day One of our Spring Break Mini-Vacation and I am still basking in the momentary leisure of a first day in the Central Time Zone - it's almost like a just recompense for the hour stolen from me last weekend.

I say that I am enjoying a leisurely moment - despite the fact that my quiet time has already been disrupted once since starting this post. Perhaps I will get to complete my thoughts before the next event.

For us, the first day of a trip is always somewhat traumatic... it is as if the world in which we are tightly ensconced is not willing to let us go without a fight.  For that reason, our road trips usually include some tense moments; but somewhere along the way -after arrival - we find something like that "click in our head" that Paul Newman's character referred to in the movie Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.  For him the "click" was induced by excessive amounts of alcohol applied liberally - and the "click" was a sense of peace that was more numbness than tranquility.

For us the "click" just means that we all move into a shared vacation mindset and we just relax a bit.

Well, our tension began with us being fairly unprepared to leave yesterday after R. and I came home from work; and expecting to get prepared and packed and away from home at a time that would allow us to arrive some time before the wee hours of the morning.

Because we were tagging up with another family (R.'s boss) who were using the condo the first part of the week and turning it over to us for the remainder, we didn't have to worry about checking in or any of the other hassles associated with the typical arrival at a vacation spot.  That was good.

I drove and because I had risen early that morning - I was extremely drowsy along the way. My plight was fraught with self-pity since it seemed that each individual in my family was equally occupied by his or her own electronic device and I was left to be the victim of the dissonant convergence of all of the noise of those devices. 

Translated:  no one was talking to me and I couldn't listen to what I wanted to listen to on the radio.... and I needed a cup of coffee real bad.

We finally made it ... in the said "wee hours" ... (Ab - ever the optimist- reverted quickly to Central Time and reported that it was not all that late). . . . for people nearing their 50's, 2:30 AM is late in any time zone!  We went straight to bed.

We were awakened this morning by a fire alarm.  Since the clock by my side had not been adjusted for daylight savings time, I don't know what time it was - trust me - it wasn't late enough for me to have slept the allotted 8 hours required -er strongly suggested by the Wellness Department where I work.  I made the subconscious decision to go ahead and get burned  up rather than to disturb my slumber.

Ab - who was the fire captain of her class in school last year - soon appeared in our room.  Her brother was in tow.  They both pointed out that it was a fire alarm.

I must say that I had to apologize to her later for my response.  In my semi-sedated state, I was thinking - "she is just in here to mess up my sleep - she is making too much of this! - It's just a fire alarm - it doesn't mean anything!" ... I did not say those words but whatever I did say included me rolling my eyes .... I'm sure I would not respond well should she roll her eyes at me.

We all dressed and went outside momentarily... learning from a neighbor that this is the sixth fire alarm this month - probably a symptom of spring break - we went back inside our condo.

R. and I returned to bed, it was about nine o'clock ...somewhere. 

The kids did not go back to bed - in fact they had been up before the fire alarm ever sounded.  AA was pacing the ever-shrinking condo like a caged animal.  Both he and Ab displayed a giddy sort of nervous energy that had to result from excitement and lack of sleep.  I knew that they probably needed food more than I needed sleep and the snacks that we brought with us would only sugar them up more; so I got up.

We embarked on our first adventure ...

...on foot ...

... in search of food.

Maybe a half mile - maybe more, we discovered it:  WAFFLE HOUSE

Oh, nirvana!

In order not to further disturb R.'s sleep (the "keeper of the purse"), I had borrowed ten dollars from AA and so I started calculating in my head whether we could afford a WAFFLE HOUSE breakfast.  In my typically fallible arithmatic style - I miscalculated - but this time it was to our advantage.  I set a four dollar per person limit as we waited for our table and I am happy to say that collectively we made that goal.

I should confess that it was me that went beyond the $4 limit - I needed to have coffee.

Before we made it back to our condo, we noticed a congregating mass of green near a local dive ... then we heard the bagpipes - it was a Saint Patrick's Day Parade!
So the kids and I made a quick detour and joined in (as spectators). 

It was a new experience for us - especially the green beer.

Okay - I'm just kidding - none of us imbibed, but it was a new experience, although I think I was more impacted than Ab and AA.  They quickly wanted to know when we were going to the beach.

There you have it ... all this excitement on our first day and it's barely lunch time.
As I tap away, R. has graciously greased everybody up but me and has taken the troops to the beach for some R and R. Leaving me to just a few more moments of solitude.

I realize this has been a long and somewhat pointless blog post but I have learned that I need to record those first day tensions because they are quickly forgotten when the vacation mindset becomes fully engaged.

Did I just hear a click ?

Old Man Still Got It?

Even though the title is fitting, this post is not about me.

Tanner is our chocolate Lab, he's been with us for about six years now and was probably much older than the 3 year old we guessed he was when we got him.

R. and I have speculated as to whether this might be his last winter with us.
He gets around - but it is a struggle and he can't stand up for very long at a time.
On cool mornings his teeth chatter. He has more grey hair than I do.

I don't know what kind of watch dog he would be, he treats most visitors - FedEx guys, Jehovah's Witnesses and Census takers - all with the same disregard.

When we got Tanner, I had a talk with him.  I told him two things:

1. I cupped his face in my hands and stared him in the eye and said "I am the Alpha-Dog!"
2. I told him that I wanted him to watch out for my kids.

He was pretty receptive to the Alpha-dog thing, but I haven't been real certain about the "watching over my kids" part.

As I have mentioned, last year my father-in-law purchased some land near us that we call "Pop's Farm".  Like bees in a new hive, he went right to work - restoring a large garden spot and bringing in a pretty impressive crop last year; he also had a dry pond dug out in hopes of restoring that.

To this point the pond has been a very large and smooth hole in the ground - with only an occasional puddle at the bottom.

Due to some impressive rains last week and the clearing of some channels feeding the would be pond, it is suddenly full.

Ab and AA have already developed an appreciation for skipping rocks and that appreciation has grown over the last few days.

Tanner may not be a bodyguard, but he seldom lets the kids make a trek to "The Farm" without him.

Despite all the commotion his tentative steps and laborious breathing stirred up on the walk over - Tanner seemed to have his youth somewhat revived when he got to the pond.

One of the reasons we were given Tanner, was because his previous owner couldn't use him - he had become gun shy; but I suspect that he was reliving some of his glory days, go after birds in his imagination.

He circled to the other side of the pond, watching our flat stones skipping and splashing across its surface. 

Then it happened.

I heard a splash . . .

...there he was

...paddling across.

My first thoughts were of worry.  The pond is pretty deep, and it was getting pretty cold ... I admit that if he had started going down  - ... well, I wasn't sure what I would do.  I think I prayed a quick little, silent panic-prayer.

Ab and AA coaxed to an earlier exit to the side.

And he made it.

The old man had proven that - in a pinch, he still had the goods.  He emerged to a celebratory welcome to which he responded by a crowd-dispensing shake (could have used him in Madison last week).

As the sun settled behind the horizon and the temperatures cooled even more, we headed back home.  Tanner made the walk back with a little less struggle, a little more tail-wagging and a sense of confidence regained.

It spoke to me as I approach my first half-century mark in life.  I think sometimes there is great value to be gained from an old man just plunging in.

Standing Up in the Commonwealth of Virginia

I often get quite exercised when folks want to protect me or my family by legislation.  I our government is far too intrusive and not only have removed the fun out of a better part of our lives - but also have managed to remove a great deal of our freedom.

That's why I was a little surprised to read about the reaction of Virginia liberals to a new state law to make abortion clinics safer.  The article is linked here.

The law requires abortion clinics to meet the same safety standards as hospitals.

That sounds pretty reasonable.

Democrats and pro-abortion groups are all up in arms because they say that the bill will result in the closure of some 17 of the state's 21 clinics.

Does that mean that 17 of the states 21 abortion clinics are operating under less than safe conditions?

I thought that was the big motivation behind "abortion rights": to end "back alley" abortions and other unsafe abortive practices supposedly suffered during the "archaic" days before Roe v. Wade.

Shouldn't these Republicans (and a couple of Democrats) be hailed as great crusaders of the public good for demanding that abortions be safe?

I contend that there is little regard for patient safety in this industry - and the liberals who present such public posturing supposedly in support of this "right" care very little for the people involved.

It is why I believe that there are at least two victims to every abortion:  the baby and the mother.  It seems to me that abortion rights are such a sacred cow for liberal politicians that they are willing to throw away the very protections they claim to espouse. 

They cannot have it both ways:  either the abortion industry is in great need of regulation (implying that there has been a dereliction of duty for a number of decades now), or the myriad of regulations that currently ensnare the rest of the health care industry are just to restricting.

I find it quite refreshing that lawmakers can expose hypocrisy, point out the destructive economical effects of government regulations, expose the true motivation of liberals and strike a blow against an industry of death - all with a single piece of legislation.

How about the rest of the Union ...  are you listening?

Petty in Wisconsin

I am going to say something controversial here.

The fact that I don't rail on and on about political matters very often in this forum is a testimony to my restraint.  Tonight I will loosen a little so reader beware.

I believe that there are some very good teachers in our nation - I am even related to some of them.  I believe that teaching is actually a calling. That people are gifted with abilities or compassion that allows them to instruct others.

I also believe that in many of our public school systems, the once honorable profession of teaching has been sold into servitude and is in real danger of losing any semblence of dignity and honor.

Take for example, the teachers in Wisconsin: 

Doesn't it seem awfully small of teachers to call in "sick", in order to sabatoge the school system because they are not getting their way?

Isn't it very shallow to stop the all-important education of our children over money?  That is what this is all about after all, isn't it? 

And what about the pettiness of the arguments they present?  Most of what I have heard have been envious little slurs about corporations getting tax cuts or the governor's friends(?) not getting any cutbacks.

I think it is obvious to most of the thinking world that the Wisconsin debacle is nothing but a power grab for the all-too-powerful teacher's union.

It is a shame that we have to lump all of those teachers together under one umbrella - but that's what unions do - they take away the voice of the individual.

Collective-bargaining means that people give up their right to defend themselves - give up their right to excel and shine on their own - to be exceptional.  Instead they give that right to others who defend  them in the manner they deem necessary.

The constituents are reduced to becoming perennial victims who are trotted out and made to look pitiful every time the union needs a headline.

I don't always know the whole story; but I possess at least a smattering of common sense - enough to know that education is not at the epicenter of the storm in Wisconsin.

This time, it is not all about the children.

At times I think I want Governor Walker to wax Reaganesque and fire them all - but I don't know what's best.

I think how refreshing and wonderful it would be to see a few - just a handful of teachers - stand up.  To face their union brothers and sisters and say "this is not what I am put here to do - I am going back to work!"
To hear them say to the union bosses - "you don't speak for me ... and what's more, you don't speak for my students!"

But maybe my perspective is all wrong:

You see, our kids attend a private Christian school.  We pay for their education and then we also pay property taxes to help fund the public schools in our area.
I would say that the majority of families that send their kids to our school do so at a great sacrifice.

Most of the teachers are there because of their passion for teaching and their devotion to the students; certainly not for the money or the benefits. Some have taught for decades in the public school system and yet they come to our little school and teach for much less money and many of them plow a great deal of the money they earn right back into their classrooms.

Moms and Dads volunteer, assisting teachers and coach sporting teams.  Other parents give of their resources whether money or talent, to improve the facilities.

In recent years, families have sometimes had to pay more, teachers have faced cutbacks and budgets have been tight... . .

...but they all just keep quietly pressing on.

And why? 

To be a part of something bigger than themselves. 

Many of them grasp the big picture. They see the value of producing graduates equipped with the ability to thrive academically and from the foundation of a strong Biblical worldview.

They are teaching children that God is the source of all knowledge, He is truth and that He invented math. That's why 2 and 2 always - always - equals 4.  It is an absolute truth. And that absolute truth reflects the complete and infallible nature of our God.

Armed with that powerful perspective.  These children might just be instruments God will use to change the world.

Changing the world .... verses ... changing my health benefits....

...maybe my perspective isn't so wrong after all.

Lose Some, Winsome

Many of you have already read my wife's rant of a month or so back - regarding the brutality of youth wrestling.
On that fated day, she posed a question to me:  what was I going to do when AA had to go up against a girl - yeah! what was I going to do then?!?!?  She didn't say that last part but I inferred it.

I did not know what I would do.  I would certainly be very uncomfortable with the prospect - as would AA, I'm sure.

By now the news has spread round the continental United States of just such a match up in the first match of the Iowa State Wrestling Tournament.  Joel Northrup, a home-schooler, forfeited the match rather than wrestling 14 year old female, Cassy Herkelman.  Here was his statement:

"Wrestling is a combat sport and it can get violent at times, as a matter of conscience and my faith I do not believe that it is appropriate for a boy to engage a girl in this manner. It is unfortunate that I have been placed in a situation not seen in most other high school sports in Iowa."

(from Associated Press story 02/17/2011, "Rather than Face Girl, Wrestler Defaults" http://sports.espn.go.com/ncaa/highschool/news/story?id=6131909 )



Wow!  Many people have remarked about the class displayed by this young man.
It illustrates the importance of a word I have heard bandied about a great deal lately:

Winsome.

Joel Northrup stood up for his convictions in a winsome way.  It won over a lot of commentators and bloggers; Cassy, herself indicated that she did not feel disrespected by him; and her father also seemed to feel that Northrup acted with honor. 

It is how we are supposed to share the Light of Jesus Christ - in a winsome manner.

I have known some "persecuted" Christians that were not rejected because of their relationship with Christ - but rather - they were rejected because they were annoying.

You can see winsome in the Bible when you read about the "excellent spirit" of Daniel and when the detractors could not counter the arguments raised by Stephen in the book of Acts, whose countenance was said to be "like the face of an angel".

Oh that I might learn to always be winsome in the way the gospel is presented through my life.  I hope that we are rearing our son and daughter in such a manner that they would always respond to big questions in a winsome way.

Thank you Joel, for showing us how to lose - and win.