I'm Late .. I'm Late .. I'm Late

Sundays are hectic, but I always try to find the time to post an entry on my blog. It usually happens after lunch before a short (or not so short, if I'm in the zone) nap.

Today is a little different.

Cheryl and I had to go (and I emphasize the word had) to a family reunion immediately after church and I just got home. If I start rambling (something completely uncommon for me), it's because I'm sleep deprived and slightly "loopy".

Family reunions are right up there with a case of the shingles or having an enema. There .. it had to be said.

Don't get me wrong. The food is fabulous, I do like Cheryl's family, and these events (a term usually associated with the Olympics, but totally appropriate in this case) offer a great opportunity for me to brush up on my memory skills (now you're married to Uncle So-and-So's sister from .. help .. can someone please make it stop???). That doesn't sound so bad, does it?

The "deal breaker" is the family picture .. or should I say picture(s). There are hundreds of them. It's like a photo shoot for Sports Illustrated without all the hot women (except for my lovely wife, of course .. nice save, don't you think?). A bus load of Japanese tourists couldn't snap any more photos than we have done at a typical King or Flowers reunion.

"Look, here's Kevin eating a piece of chicken." ... "Hey, check out this picture of Kevin after eating a piece of chicken." ... "That's a great shot of Kevin sitting next to Jon .. who's eating a piece of chicken." ... "Is that Kevin over there on the floor in the fetal position?"

If my mother-in-law is reading this, Alice, please forgive me. I hope that over 27 years of marriage to your daughter will convince you to show me a little bit of grace for what I have written today. It was all in good fun and you know I really do love you.

There are 314 photos of us hugging to prove it.

Open Sesame .. Open Says Me .. Open, O' Simsim .. Whatever

Ask a dozen people what Ali Baba said to open the door of the forty thieves' cave and you will probably get three different answers. No, make that four ("Who cares?", would be the fourth).

There are no great treasures in the recesses of my garage, unless you count the stuffed Alf toy (television "jumped the shark" when that show left the air) that is in a white plastic garbage bag. However, the garage, itself, is like gold. If it's pouring down rain (some of you can vaguely remember rain) and you have a car load of groceries, it sure is nice to pull in to a dry, covered area.

Our garage door opener has not functioned in over three years and Cheryl hasn't smiled much during that span of time.

Well, that all changes today.

My father-in-law will be here at 8 o'clock this morning to help me reclaim the beautiful smile that Cheryl has (I've seen old pictures and it's really quite stunning). It's true, what they say. "Happy wife. Happy life." They also say, "If mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy."

I've been told that when one door closes, another one opens.

Let's pray that door will be on a garage at the Hamilton's house.

What We've Got Here Is .. Failure to Communicate

My son, Drew, called last night. Was it to say that he misses me? Did he call just to hear my voice? Nope. I'm tech support, plain and simple. He was setting up a wireless router and wanted to talk (make that mumble) through the process.

If you've ever called for technical support, you know there are just some things that can't be articulated over the telephone. Evidently, there is also some sort of requirement that you not speak or understand the English language.

Last night was no exception.

He was frustrated. I was frustrated. All God's chillin' were frustrated.

I am getting a little hard of hearing (it's a good thing I'm not in a profession that requires good listening skills) and it's significantly worse when I'm on a cell phone. Add to that a caller who is working with something like, let's say .. a wireless router, and you have a recipe for disaster.

He was speaking in his OUTSIDE voice. I was speaking in my OUTSIDE voice. All God's chillin' .. (you get the picture).

All did end well, however. The router was up and running and no one slammed down the receiver (it's hard to make a dramatic exit with a cell phone .. "Don't make me press END!"). I believe he might even speak to me again .. in time.

That's about it for today's installment of "As the Stomach Churns". I have to return a call to my dad who is, also having computer problems (I need a 1-800 number). Evidently, when he clicks the "thing-a-ma-bob" by the "what-ya-ma-call-it", the "do-hicky" doesn't ...

I'm so not getting any inheritance.

All By Myself .. Don't Wanna Be .. All By Myself

Eric Carmen and, more recently, Celine Dion sang about the agony of being alone later in life. I feel your pain, my dear brother and sister. Maybe it's just me, but people seem to be distancing themselves from me these days.

When I started this blog, it was pretty much for informational purposes. I was promoting upcoming church events and telling about my travels. However, when I made the decision to update daily, I found I had to "scramble" to come up with something to say (whatever you're thinking right now .. keep it to yourself).

That means I have kept my eyes and ears open to what's going on around me.

If you just happen to cross my path, you might end up as one of my blog entries. If you say anything the least bit interesting (okay, it doesn't even have to be interesting), you might read about it the next day, right here.

Let face it. Like a seamstress with no money, I'm desperately in need of some new material (if I had a dollar for every time ..).

Consequently, people won't talk to me. They won't hang around with me. They avoid eye contact. I feel like a leper, or worse .. a lawyer. When you are a very social person, this really hurts.

I'm tired of feeling sorry for myself. There are so many people who have it much worse than I. On Thursdays, I visit the hospitals and they are filled with hurting people. People lying flat on their backs, many unable to get out of the bed without assistance.

I'm taking a pen and legal pad.

Thanks for Reminding Me .. Yeah, Right

Yesterday, I received a package in a plain brown wrapper (like Ice-T or P-Diddy). Inside were two DVDs with a note that said, "Here is a video of something you did thirty years ago." Of course, my first thoughts were, "Where am I going to get the kind of money to make this go away?" and "I wonder if WalMart is hiring?"

You see, thirty years ago would have been during my college days and back then I would pretty much say and do anything for a laugh (unlike today .. I'm older and can't quite do what I used to).

Imagine my surprise (and relief) when I realized it was a copy of Gilbert & Sullivan's, "Mikado" that we presented at Union University when I was a student. I played Pooh Bah, the Lord High Everything Else (a role usually given to a rather large man .. I weighed 135), and this was my one and only acting stint.

The "mystery package" was courtesy of Dr. Joseph Blass (this was his first big iDVD project), who directed the operetta back in the late seventies (the decade, not his age at the time).

Dr. Blass was my voice teacher and sort of a pop icon (maybe it was just pops) at the university. He came to Union in 1959 and retired in 2004. Last year, he returned to help out in the music department when there was a need (His, not theirs. He was strapped for cash and just showed up one day .. sad, very sad).

Forty five years in one place.

In a day of microwave ovens, fast food and "get rich quick" schemes, that is what I call an incredible accomplishment (I believe the administration called it .. wearing out your welcome).

I had the privilege of serving up some "roasted joe" at his retirement dinner four years ago, and it was one of the true thrills of my life (I held some bitterness over a conducting grade and this was part of my therapy to let it go).

Of course, this is all in good fun (I have to say that to avoid a libel suit) and I count it a great honor to say that I studied with Dr. Joseph Blass .. he dies a little inside every time I say it, but I still say it. He'll be okay, though. After all ...

It's only a flesh wound.

Slow and Steady Wins the Race

Yesterday was quite a busy day which included a good, but lengthy, morning staff meeting (it was still going on when I had to leave), lunch with the senior adult group at Trenton (see yesterday's post), a driving lesson on the new van/bus (thank you Kevin Kail for not yelling at me), tying up "loose ends" at the office, and an evening meal (I ate so many hushpuppies, I thought I was going to turn in to one) with "my own" seniors.

I tried to go to bed at a decent time, but I had a problem falling asleep and then, later, staying asleep. I'm sure it had nothing to do with consuming mass quantities of fried dough (those hushpuppies were awesome) and fried fish (it ain't heavy .. it's my supper).

For whatever reason, I am having a difficult time "getting started" this morning.

Two cups of coffee usually gets me going in the morning. However, it also gets me going in the morning (oh, the irony) and that makes it harder when you're trying to get ready to face the "daily grind" (pun intended .. I'm such a drip).

Also, if there's anyone who doesn't need caffeine, it's me. I know this is going to come as a shock to many, but I'm a little high strung. Okay, maybe more than a little. When I say "more than a little" I mean, compared to me, Barney Fife looks like he's on Xanax®.

When I'm seated, my leg constantly shakes (even more than "Shaky Leg Greg"). When I'm standing, my leg constantly shakes (kind of like an "Elvis" thing .. without the white jumpsuit suit and barbiturates, of course). There's just a whole lot of shakin' goin' on (you're expecting a reference to Jerry Lee Lewis, aren't you? Not going there. I'm into the obscure, not the obvious). Most days, I'm as nervous as a termite in a yo-yo.

It's time to hop in the shower and get ready for work .. after just one more "cup of coffee".

Spiderman, you're not the only one who will be climbing walls today.

Please Give Me a Sign

Today I get to rub elbows (I have to be careful .. when you reach a certain age, that's considered "first base") with the AARP crowd (actually, I'm eligible. Stop sending me stuff .. I get it.). At 11:30, I will be speaking to a group of senior adults at FBC in Trenton for their regular (thank you, Metamucil) monthly meeting. Then, at 5:30, I have about fifty (49 to be exact, but my OCD requires me to round up to an even number) YYs (Youth of Yesterday from FBC Humboldt) going out to eat at the Catfish Cabin in Jackson.

I love "hanging out" with the elderly. They make you feel young and they prove that there can be life after 50. They also have a few tricks up their sleeves (ziplock bags hold quite a bit of left-over fish and hushpuppies, you know) that can come in handy.

Many people retire and just sit. These "live-wires" prove to me over and over again that you can still live active, fun filled lives in your golden years .. if you choose to do so.

Me? I'm still going with that "sitting" thing.

Smells Like Nirvana

After church this morning, Cheryl and I went to the Humboldt Grill for lunch. She wanted to cook me a big lunch (her sole purpose in life is to cater to my every whim), but I insisted we eat out. Since I am having some issues with cholesterol and I just had blood work done on Thursday, I knew I needed to eat sensibly. That side of broccoli was just the ticket .. and it tasted great with the ribs and beef tips.

The food is great at The Grill (that's what we professionals call it), but there is one drawback. When you eat at the Humboldt Grill, you smell like the Humboldt Grill for the rest of the day.

Oh, you can try running in the wind or spraying cologne all over. No luck. You could set your clothes on fire and the result would be the overpowering smell of smoke .. and the Humboldt Grill.

Wash your hair. The smell's still there. Blow your nose. Spray it with a water hose. (This is sounding like a Dr. Seuss story). That "greasy spoon" aroma is there for you (and everyone else) to "enjoy" for, at least, twenty four to forty eight hours.

I suppose I will have to endure this for the next day or two. There's nothing I can do. Oh, poo. (There I go with those Seuss-isms, again).

That about wraps up this Sunday afternoon entry. I have to go. There is a pack of wild dogs scratching at my front door and they look hungry.

That stinks.

I'm a Big Kid Now

It's 8:00 AM on Saturday morning and I can tell that I'm getting old.

I have a counter at the bottom of my blog that not only tells me how many people have been to my site (the numbers seem fairly impressive .. but most of the "hits" are from me), it also tells me what time this has occurred. By the time I logged on this morning, four people (you know who you are) had been by to see if there was an update.

When I was a kid (in the chronological sense), I would have been up hours earlier watching Saturday morning (make that all day) cartoons. Of course, in 1967 (click the above photo to see the full schedule) the incentive was there to rise and shine early. CBS had a killer line-up that included "Shazzan", "Space Ghost" and "Jonny (I'm sure he had to constantly spell it .. much like the Shaniquas and Orajels of today) Quest". Of course, the official morning schedule didn't start until eight o'clock. I had been up since 6:30 watching "The Adventures of Superman" (the old George Reeves version .. not to be confused with "The Superman-Aquaman Hour of Adventure" at 11:30), eating pop-tarts (Jaclyn Scott's breakfast of choice) and drinking chocolate milk (whole milk .. not that 1% swill that I have to drink today).

Now, at age 51, all I have to look forward to on Saturdays is cleaning out the garage, scrubbing the toilets, mowing the yard, and things of this nature. Not very motivating. Oh well. I suppose we all have to grow up sometime.

Gotta go. Cheryl's attending day two of her women's conference and I only have a couple of hours to re-create a scene from "Risky Business".

Just take those old records off the shelf

I sit and listen to 'em by myself

Today's music ain't got the same soul

I like that old time rock and roll

The Agony of De-Feet

Tonight and tomorrow, Cheryl will be attending a women's conference at West Jackson Baptist Church called "Beautiful Feet". I don't have the gift of prophecy, but I can see fast food and frozen pizza in my immediate future.

I'm not sure exactly what they do at women's conferences. Cheryl says they help make our relationship stronger. Translated, that means she likes me better when she doesn't have to be around me all week-end.

I used to attend "Promise Keeper" events. They printed up full color brochures with a list of the numerous speakers and sessions that would take place. These were, of course, all fake and done just to throw our wives off the scent. In reality, we sat around in a large football stadium eating junk food and griping about women (not having to mow the lawn that weekend was an added bonus).

Whether it's just to get away, let off some steam, or actually learn something about your relationship with your spouse and/or God, these conferences are well worth it. Sometimes a change in environment or routine is just the thing to help you make it to the next level in the "journey".

I hope this is one of those weekends where they emphasize how the woman is to be submissive to the man. If that's the case, I'm letting her know in no uncertain terms that I'm no longer wearing an apron when I vacuum.

I am man. Hear me roar (make that .. meow).

Christmas in August

The Adult Choir had a "listening party" last night where we introduced the music for this year's Christmas musical. We had lots of food, including pinto bean fudge (I bet that explains a lot of things this morning, doesn't it) that Teresa made and placed on the table .. unlabeled.

We had a good time listening, laughing and licking our fingers last night. Next week, however, it's time to get down to business. There are plenty of songs (eleven, actually) to learn and December 13 & 14 will be here before you know it.

In the spirit of the holiday season and because this account of my life is posted on the www, here are the words (author unknown .. I believe he was in my sixth grade science class) to "Happily Addicted to the Web". It is sung to the tune of "Winter Wonderland". Please sit up straight and use your very best singing voice.

Doorbell rings, I'm not list'nin'

From my mouth, drool is glist'nin'

I'm happy although my boss let me go

Happily addicted to the web

All night long, I sit clicking

Unaware time is ticking

There's beard on my cheek, same clothes for a week

Happily addicted to the web

Friends come by; they shake me saying, "Yo, man!

Don't you know tonight's the senior prom?"

With a listless shrug, I mutter, "No, man.

I just discovered laugh-a-lot dot com!"

I don't phone, don't send faxes

Don't go out, don't pay taxes

Who cares if someday they drag me away

I'm happily addicted to the web

Opposites Attract

It's Wednesday morning and I am up early .. as usual. Cheryl's alarm has gone off twice at this point and she is still "under cover" (no, she does not work for the CIA). She has a snooze button and she's not afraid to use it .. multiple times.

I suppose what Paula Abdul sang in her 1989 debut album, "Forever Your Girl" (I'm ashamed that I know this), is true. Opposites do attract.

Cheryl loves to read. Me? Not so much.

I'm in a men's group on Wednesdays that is currently going through a Max Lucado book .. for those who might have just started reading this blog (yeah, right .. like new people are reading this stuff. If this were a TV show, I would have been cancelled weeks ago). Today's chapter is entitled, "Caught with Your Pants Down, But Your Head Up" (I wish I had thought of that) and is only three pages long. The only way it could be more perfect is if someone would read it to me while feeding me chocolates.

Cheryl loves to work in the yard. I know that there are 36" in a yard.

Cheryl goes to the gym. I have a friend named Jim.

Despite our differences, I know God put us together. Not once in our 27 years (28 in September) of marriage did Cheryl ever consider divorce.

Murder .. maybe, but never divorce.

I'm Looking for the Man Who Shot My Paw

The Humboldt Music Club (I am the program chairman this year) will meet tonight at Grace Methodist Church at 7 o'clock. This organization was formed in 1925 (I believe a few in the group are charter members) which makes it the oldest club in Humboldt.

First Baptist's own, Fran Newell and Janice Pillow, are in charge of tonight's program which is is entitled, "Songs of the Old West."

I attended a rehearsal for this program on Sunday and it is going to be a root'n (Ru-dy, Ru-dy, Ru-dy) toot'n (... that one's too easy. I'm not going for it) good time for everyone.

They will be singing songs like "Home on the Range", "Sue City Sioux" (say that three times really fast, but not out loud in church), "Happy Trails to You", "Yellow Rose of Texas" and the list goes on and on (trust me, the list goes on and on .. I was at rehearsal).

In typical Fran and Janice fashion, there will be costumes, props and staging. This is going to be quite a production.

The purpose of the Music Club is to promote good music (I was grandfathered in and didn't have to meet these stringent requirements) in our community by utilizing the talents of its members and invited guests, and we are looking for a few good men (you can't handle the truth) and women to join us.

We meet four times a year (about the same number of rehearsals that Barry Brittain attends in adult choir) and would love to have some new blood (children of the night) in the group.

The public is invited tonight, so why don't you join us and see/hear what we are all about?

I just wish they were singing my favorite cowboy song: "Get Off the Stove, Granny. You're too Old to Ride the Range."

Sincerity .. Am I Faking It Okay?

It's another Monday, my favorite day of the week (I am also independently wealthy and look like Brad Pitt).

I don't know why most people dread Mondays so much. We should look at it as a privilege just to be alive (barely alive .. but alive, none the less) and kicking (there are a couple of folk I would love to kick).

Tonight, I have been asked to sing at a revival service in Rutherford. I suppose I need to have a little attitude adjustment (ya' think?) beforehand. Don't get me wrong. God knows everything about me and He loves me "just the way I am" (I sure do miss Mr. Rogers). Like the psalmist, I am fearfully (run .. it's Freddy Krueger!) and wonderfully (I've got nothing for this one) made.

Baptists don't usually like you the way God and Mr. Rogers does. They like you "just the way they want you to be." I understand this completely and, like the Apostle Paul, I can be ALL things to ALL people.

That's why when I have a headache or low-grade fever, I just try to grin and bear it. The people deserve a minister who is always positive and upbeat .. in other words, a complete fake.

This blog, however, gives me the chance to be real. What you read is what you get.

In the words of Toby Keith, "How do you like me now?"

Saturday Nights Are Alright for Fighting .. How About Sunday Mornings?

Bro. Greg's (welcome home from Guatemala .. pink fingernails and all) message this morning talked about Satan's strategy to "trip us up" on a regular basis. There's a fight going on out there, a spiritual battle that the growing believer faces each and every day.

I had a copy of this sermon before the team left on their mission endeavor, so all of today's songs had to do with "fighting", "attacking" and "battle". Sort of like your first year of marriage.

"A Mighty Fortress" and "The Battle Belongs to the Lord" speaks about our total dependancy on God to sustain us through the fight with the enemy.

The choir sang a song called, "The Armor of God" which was actually an old youth choir number from a few years ago. We had the text on the screens (this was the first time, to my knowledge, that FBC had the words "messin' around" for everyone to see) and it helped reinforce the meaning of the song (okay, maybe I didn't think we were annunciating our words clearly).

We face challenges every day (Cheryl always seems to have an "unspoken request". I'm not an idiot. I know it's me) and our only hope is found in HIM.

As we start a new week, I can't rely on my own strength (where did I put that holy hand grenade?) to carry me through. I'm placing my life in His hands.

"Faith Is the Victory" that overcomes the world.