Going Without TV - Again

Last year, Jen and I gave up TV completely for 40 days. It was to be a time of cleansing and refreshing. It was, too.

But soon after the 40 days were up we got back into the habit. It was as if we'd never done it. We were back up to our average viewing in no time.

Lately, I've been the one advocating turning off the TV. Not totally, mind you, but just unplugging the cable service and only watching DVDs and streaming video. Jen was hesitant, but thought hard about it. I could tell she was leaning away from the idea. I can't say I blame her, either. TV is a big part of our life.

Last Thursday Jen and I went to see Dave Ramsey's EntreLeadership 1-Day seminar in Dallas. Dave stressed the importance of reading and the unimportance of watching TV. He's right. On the drive home I convinced Jen to let me turn in the cable box.

Last night, we took turns playing Fallout 3; one played while the other read. I read three chapters of the book I've been reading for the last two weeks - the most I've read in one sitting in a long time. It was quite refreshing.

So, I bid a fond farewell to some friends. If you're not streaming, I won't see you until the DVD comes out:

• Sheldon, Raj, Howard, Leonard and Penny
• Jeff, Rupert, James and Boston Rob
• Mac and Stella
• Catherine, Nick, Hodges, Sara and Dr. Langston (who we know is really Morpheus waiting to make his move against the Matrix)
• Gibbs, Ducky (who really didn't die at that train station in Germany), Tony, Ziva, Tim and Abby
• Bill and Jen
• Mr. Callen, Hetty and Sam
• The intrepid crews making sure we have fresh Alaskan crab
• Mike, Barsky and the rest of the crew
• And many, many more.

I'm putting together my reading list. I'll most likely share that on my other blog.

Desert Storm - The Beginning

I remember it rather well. On Thursday, August 2, 1990 I was stationed with the 3rd ACR at Fort Bliss, Texas. I got home from work that day and was ready to settle in for an evening of television.

Being single, I lived on ramen noodles and tuna fish along with peanut butter. Good stuff, that was.

I was living in my first apartment, which I rented shortly after arriving in El Paso after three years in Augsburg, Germany. I had already been at Ft. Bliss before and asked to go back. I had friends there and I wanted to go someplace familiar.

I turned on the evening news in time to see the headlines of the day. Iraqi forces under Saddam Hussein invaded and annexed their neighbor Kuwait. This action brought immediate and strong condemnation from most of the other countries of the world.

I remember thinking to myself that we were going over there. At least I was pretty sure the U.S. would end up sending troops over. I had no idea how big this was going to get and I certainly wasn't sure whether or not my unit would be sent over.

The next day all the talk was of the pending war. Many of the people I worked with were anxious to go. I was not. I knew the odds of the 3rd ACR going were pretty good, but nothing was certain. In those first days there was talk of 3 divisions being deployed, and those would probably deploy from Europe (since they were already half-way there). It took a few weeks for the full scope of the operation to take shape - and for the full scope of overwhelming force to be fully appreciated.

I don't remember when we got the official word we were going. It may have been up to a month later. We'd already started planning and packing "just in case." No sense in waiting until the last minute, "just in case," and it did keep us busy while we waited.

This is part 1 in a series. Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19

My Most Embarrassing Moment

Back in the '80s I was in the Army and assigned to the 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment at Fort Bliss, Texas. Sometime during my duty there, one of the Regiment's squadrons was assigned the new M1 Abrams tank. After some training on the new equipment, the Regimental commander decided to have a mock war pitting one squadron equipped with the older M60 tanks against the regiment equipped with the new tanks.

During this particular mock war, I was working in a command post on the side with the old tanks. One afternoon, right before lunch, we got a call on the radio that the "enemy" was headed our way and we needed to get ready to move. Given that information and seeing the dust cloud in the direction the opposing force would come from, we packed up our stuff and got ready to go.

During these training exercises, we could watch an approaching cloud of dust and estimate how long it would take before the cloud arrived. After doing this for a few years we were pretty good at it, too. In this case, we figured we had about 30 minutes before the "enemy" tanks arrived. I thought that since we had some time before we were going to move, I would take the opportunity for a nature call.

In those days, for the most part, there were no portable restrooms out in the desert training area. We would grab a roll of toilet paper and a shovel and do our thing behind a sand dune. We dug a "cat hole" in the sand, stacked up the shovel and our rifle so the rifle stood muzzle up. This kept sand out of the barrel and also made the weapon a dandy toilet paper holder. All the comforts of home.

There I was, hind end bared to the desert, in mid - well - business when, suddenly, I heard what sounded like a jet passing low right behind me. It startled me, but I was not able to do much more than finish what I started. I didn't think about it too much since it wasn't all that unusual for jets to make low passes over this part of the southern New Mexico desert. After the sound passed behind me, though, it went off to my right, fading only slightly into the distance. Then, the sound turned and started headed back towards me. This would have been strange for a jet plane since they required a lot more room to turn around. After a couple of seconds, a brand-new M1 Abrams tank came screaming out from behind a sand dune and stopped dead about 25 yards in front of me.

To anyone but the most unobservant, it was quite obvious what I was doing. The people in that tank crew, unfortunately, weren't so unobservant. The hatch closest to me on the top of the turret flew open and out popped one of the crew members. He turned, pointed at me and started to laugh. He grabbed the machine gun, aimed it at me and fired (shooting blanks, of course). My only consolation was that he was laughing so hard, he would have, no doubt, missed me completely if he had been shooting real ammunition. There's no way anyone could shoot straight in full belly-laugh, guffawing as he was.

The man dropped back into the tank, the hatch closed and the tank accelerated away - sounding remarkably like a jet plane.

Left alone, I finished my business, including the paperwork, assembled what little dignity I had left and slowly made my way back to the folks in my group who were gathered around our vehicles. They were ready to leave, waiting only for my return so we could mount up and head out. Since we were all "dead" we were required to immediately leave the battle area to a place designated for mock casualties. We drove away in humiliation - I much more than the others.

It didn't take long for word to get around that someone had been killed while taking a nature call. The tank crew reported it to their command, who reported it to their command, and so on and so on. By the time we got to the casualty area I was the butt of many jokes going around (pun intended). Thankfully, not too many people knew it was me, and my comrades in arms were very nice to keep the identity of the "crapping casualty" a secret.

Book Review: "Winston Churchill" Christian Encounters Series by John Perry

Sir Winston Churchill is, no doubt, one of the leading figures of the 20th Century. His place in history as a great leader is without question. I had never considered that Churchill might be a man of faith, at least not how I've traditionally thought one might be.

In this book, John Perry does show Sir Winston to be a man of faith, though not in a way one might consider. He was very introspective and firmly believed he had been born and taken along a path which led to his eventual landing in the Prime Minister's office at just the right time in history to lead the free world to victory against Nazi tyranny in World War II.

That he believed in God is without question. Whether his belief qualifies as a "Christian Encounter" is quite something else. While Perry's effort is an excellent, well written and well documented short biography of Churchill's life, I'm not quite convinced it belongs in this type of series. Still, I'm glad I read it.

My favorite quote from the book: "I am ready to meet my maker, but whether my maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter." Churchill said this towards the end of his life. It illustrates the wit of this great man.

If you've never read an account of Sir Winston's life, then this book is certainly for you. It whet my appetite for more reading on the life of this inspiring and storied man. For that reason I recommend it highly.

Disclaimer: I am a member of Thomas Nelson's Book Review Blogger program. Although Thomas Nelson Publishing provided the book at no cost to me, this review is my honest opinion of the work.

Temple Civic Theatre Youth Production of "Jungal Book"

The Temple Civic Theatre is presenting a Youth Production of Edward Mast's "Jungal Book." This is going to be a great performance (and I'm not just saying that because one of my boys is in it, either). I highly encourage you to attend a showing.

Tickets go on sale Tuesday, February 23rd and cost $8.00 for adults and $5 for youth under 13. The box office is open from 9:30am to 1:30pm.

Performances are scheduled as follows:

• Friday, February 26th at 7:30pm
• Saturday, February 27th at 7:30pm
• Sunday, February 28th at 2:30pm

The Theatre is located at 2413 South 13th St, off HK Dodgen Loop behind the Summit Recreation Center:

View Temple Civic Theatre in a larger map

Book Review: "The King And Dr.Nick" by George Nichopoulos, M.D.

I wanted to read this book because my wife is a very devoted fan of Elvis and after visiting Graceland last year I have to admit I'm rather intrigued by the man myself (Related post: "What I learned at Graceland"). This volume, by the man who was Elvis' personal physician for ten years, did not disappoint my curiosity to learn a bit more about the complex man/myth/legend which is Elvis Presley.

The first chapter of the book is a narrative by "Dr. Nick" of the fateful day in August, 1977 when Elvis passed away. Because he was Elvis' doctor, he was called when Elvis was found unconscious in his bedroom and arrived at Graceland just in time to accompany Elvis to the hospital in the ambulance and witness the efforts made to save his life. There is quite a bit of detail included, as I'm sure that day is indelibly impressed into his mind. He also details the extra efforts taken by the authorities in Memphis and the Presley family regarding the autopsy performed and provides very compelling arguments as to what (or rather what did not) caused Elvis' death.

The next chapters of the book cover highlights of the ten years Dr. Nick spent as Elvis' personal physician in Memphis. He goes over tours which on which he accompanied Elvis, details about Elvis' health and chronic medical conditions which made the grueling tour schedule all the more difficult for him. He details the extraordinary efforts he took to keep Elvis in good health so Elvis could do what he loved best: entertain his many fans all over the world. Through these pages, one gets an intimate glimpse into the extraordinary life Elvis led as a man driven to give his best to everything he did. Dr. Nick touches upon the extreme generosity of Elvis as well as gives insight into the life of a man shrouded in mystery and legend.

The last section of the book describes the personal trials Dr. Nick went through after Elvis' passing. He describes the pursuit of (then) 20/20 reporter Geraldo Rivera and how the fallout of the story about the alleged conspiracy to cover up the real cause of Elvis' death dogged Dr. Nick until he was finally forced to leave the medical profession. Throughout it all, Dr. Nick confidently assures the reader that the cause of Elvis' death was not according to "popular knowledge" and gives compelling reasons so the reader will understand.

The epilogue compares and contrasts Dr. Nick's experience after Elvis' death to the experiences of another doctor - the personal physician to Michael Jackson upon that artist's death. It's an interesting way to wrap up the story.

I found this book to be very interesting and recommend anyone who is interested in Elvis to give it a read.

Disclaimer: I am a member of Thomas Nelson's Book Review Blogger program. Although Thomas Nelson Publishing provided the book at no cost to me, this review is my honest opinion of the work.

Reflections on My Anniversary

Today is the anniversary of the day my wife, Jennifer, and I were joined together in wedded bliss. While that statement may seem contrived or corny, it really is neither. Bliss is what we have - really.

Though many of you who read this do not know her, those who do know Jen is a wonderful lady. She is a faithful, faith-filled, loving and kind person. Those who take the time to get to know her quickly find she is a gem among women. I could not be more pleased that she is a part of my life.

Some people find it surprising we met via eHarmony.com. We find that fact to be a great part of our story together. Perhaps one day I will regale it to you here. When we married we filled out a survey on eHarmony and received a very nice crystal candy dish as a wedding gift. It sits on our entertainment center and holds plug adapters for our various electronics.

This is the first year we haven't gone on an "Annual Honeymoon" as I call them. We decided to cut back on our travel a little so we could pay off debt as part of our Total Money Makeover. Next week, though, we're going to see Dave Ramsey live in Houston. I think that will make up for it. Hopefully we'll be able to resume our honeymoon tradition back up next year.

What a great time we've had together. We still smooch and hug often throughout the day. Sometimes people tell us we're "disgusting" and that we need to "get a room." We don't care, because we're "In Luuuuuuv."

So, on this day I declare that I love my wife tremendously and I don't regret one single second of our life together. I am very grateful she's here.

Book Review: "The White Horse King" by Benjamin Merkle

"The White Horse King - The Life of Alfred The Great" is an excellent biography of the Anglo-Saxon King of Wessex and Mercia. Alfred is the only English king be called "The Great" and the title is well earned.


Alfred was a wise man who took education and learning quite seriously. He became king during a tumultuous time for his country and led his people in success and excellence. His ascent to the throne coincided with terrible war against Danish Viking invaders bent on conquest and pillage. Although unable to completely drive the Danes from the British Isles, his military reforms set the stage so that his grandson, King Aethelstan, would be finally able to do so.


Alfred was a bit of a Renaissance man, valuing education not only for himself, but also for his people. His efforts to encourage literacy was quite progressive for 9th century Europe. He was also responsible for a renewed interest in literature, leadership development and Christian studies. He commissioned the translation of many great works of the time from Latin into the Anglo-Saxon tongue and was even personally responsible for translating part of the Bible's Book of Psalms into his native language; this being hundreds of years before The Protestant Reformers or King James would create their translations.


But it was Alfred's military campaigns against the Danes which really set him apart. The book tells the story of a man who studied his enemies and looked for weaknesses to exploit. He learned from his mistakes and sought not to repeat them. He also was not afraid to look at his own forces to look for ways to improve how they functioned. His ability to gather people around him and inspire them to loyalty and greatness makes him an example excellence in leadership.


If you have an interest in history, English history in particular, then this book is for you. Benjamin Merkle does an excellent job of bringing to life one of the great kings of history. He makes the story interesting and compelling while keeping it factual and not a piece of "hero worship."


Disclaimer: I am a member of Thomas Nelson's Book Review Blogger program. Although Thomas Nelson Publishing provided the book at no cost to me, this review is my honest opinion of the work

Desert Storm/Desert Shield 20th Anniversary

2010 Marks the 20th Anniversary of the beginning of the war in the Persian Gulf which was known as Desert Storm. On August 2, 1990 Iraqi forces commanded by Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait, an action which brought the world against them and me on a free trip to the Middle East courtesy of Uncle Sam.

I've been regaling you with stories from my military career in this space for some time now. This year I will focus on some of the stories, some humorous and some not, which happened during that time.

To kick things off, I refer you to the story of someone else, Mark Murphy - someone I've never met. He put some of his Desert Shield/Desert Storm experiences on line back in 2007. Please check out "Eye Of The Desert Storm." I found his stories interesting and I suspect you will, too.

The Inspection

For a time during my Army career I was assigned to the 66th MI Company, 3rd Squadron, 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment. At that time, the 3rd ACR was at Ft Bliss, TX, just outside El Paso.

My roommate Jim and I were both from the Detroit area. We tried to bring as much Motor City culture as well as creature comforts with us into our barracks room. When the First Sergeant said we could have cable TV, we had it hooked up within days so we could watch hockey. When we asked for a phone, he gave permission for that as well, provided we paid the bill.

We had things set up very nicely. At the time ESPN carried the NHL nationally, so we had "Hockey Night in Texas" on whatever evening they had a game. That was a night for pizza and beer.

And, not just any beer. I've always been a bit of a beer snob (much so since living in Europe, too), so we weren't drinking just any crappy beer. No, we had to have Molson Canadian. We found one store on the west side of El Paso who would see us Molson Canadian - but he had to special order it and would only sell it to us by the case.

That wouldn't have been a problem, except that the rules our unit had was that there could be only one six-pack of beer per person in a barracks room at any given time. With 24 bottles in a case, that meant two six-packs per person. We felt it was worth the risk, though. After all, what were we to do about it?

Over one Christmas holiday Jim and I both went to Michigan on leave. When we returned, we headed out to our favorite store to purchase our Molson beer. The proprietor informed us that he was closing up for a couple of weeks to go on vacation, so he got us two cases of Molson in case we wanted extra while he was gone. Of course, we took him up on his kind offer.

I had a small dorm refrigerator in which we kept our beer. In good military fashion, all the bottles were lined up neatly inside with the maple leaves on the caps pointed upwards; neat and orderly. Since I just came back from Michigan, I also had the extra room in the refrigerator stuffed with Vernors Ginger Ale, a soft drink which was not available in El Paso at the time.

The Monday we went down and outside for our first morning formation. When we assembled together, we were told the barracks people were going to have a Health And Welfare Inspection. During a "Health And Welfare" the people would go inside and stand outside their rooms until the Commander and First Sergeant came in. Then they went inside their rooms, opened their wall lockers and stood by while the Command, First Sergeant, Platoon Sergeant, and just about anyone else with stripes or bars who cared to would go through all their stuff looking for contraband and checking for cleanliness.

When we got upstairs, Jim and I took our team sergeants aside and let them know we had more than the permissible amounts of beer in our rooms. While in the middle of explaining why we had the extra beer, the Commander and his entourage arrived to check our room. They already weren't too happy as they found more than a few two-liter bottles of pee in the locker of one person who lived in the room across the hall. Apparently he was too lazy to walk down the hall to the latrine when he needed to pee in the middle of the night. I'm glad he wasn't my roommate.

As the people went through our stuff, Jim and I were summoned into the room. The C.O. queried me, "Specialist, why do you have a case of beer in your wall locker? I'm sure you're well aware of the rules about how much beer you can have in your room."

"Um, well, Sir, it's like this; we like to drink Molson Canadian beer. Only one store in town will sell it to us and the guy who runs the place special orders it for us, so we have to buy it by the case."

"Oh, I think we can let that go. What do you say, First Sergeant?" I don't recall what he said, but I assume he agreed.

They made their way to Jim's locker and found two more six-packs in his locker. "I understand one case, but there's another two six-packs in here. What's going on with that."

Jim responded to this one. "Well, Sir, the guy who runs the store we purchase the beer from closed his store for two week to go on vacation. Since we're regular customers, he was nice enough to buy two cases so we wouldn't run out while he's gone. He was so nice about taking care of us, we didn't want to refuse."

"Oh. Well, I guess that's OK."

Then he went to the refrigerator.

"More beer?"

"Yes, Sir," Jim responded. "We have to buy by the case, so we have two cases total."

"Oh, I see," the C.O. replied as he looked back into the refrigerator. "Hey, you've got Vernors in here."

"Yes, Sir," I responded. "I just came back from Michigan, so I stocked up on some while I was up there."

"Wow, I haven't seen that in years. I grew up in Ohio and we drank that all the time."

"Would you like one?"

"Oh, I couldn't."

"Please," I said, "I've got plenty. Help yourself."

"Well, Thank you. I won't drink it now, it's a bit early. I'll have it with lunch."

Then the phone rang.

Neither Jim nor I answered since we were in the middle of an inspection. After four or five rings the C.O. finally asked, "You've got a phone in here, too? Are one of you guys going to answer it?"

I picked up the receiver. It was my mom.

"Hi. Oh, hi mom."

"Oh, I'm fine. Things are going well."

"Yes. Hey, mom. We're in the middle of an inspection. Can I call you back later?"

"No, it's OK. You didn't know. Yes, I'll call you later."

"OK. Love you, too. Bye."

"You guys are living the 'Life of Reilly' up here, aren't  you? Well, everything looks OK here." And with that the entourage left.

In Memory: Richard Flick

I just found out that one of the men I served with during Desert Storm/Desert Shield was killed in an auto accident in 2006. I was informed of his passing by a mutual friend. Although I'd not had any contact with him since 1992, news of his death still struck me.

Rich Flick was a friendly, funny guy. When I met him he was full of youthful exuberance and excellent at what he put his hands to. He was a quick learner and eager to participate in whatever tasks were going on. He was quick with a joke and often made me laugh out loud.

• If I recall correctly, he was the one who nicknamed me "Uncle B."
• I, and the others in the platoon, called him "Flickster."
• Also, if I recall correctly, he was the guy I was told who barfed on Cloudcroft, New Mexico. Supposedly, he was on a training flight and got air sick, and, rather than barf inside the cabin (a big "no-no") he opted to open the door and let loose over a parking lot in the town.
• He and another guy were party animals for a time when we returned from the Middle East. Like I mentioned above, he was full of youthful exuberance when I knew him. There was no way I could have kept up with the pace those two guys maintained.
• At a bar-b-que held at another of our platoon member's home, he and three other guys tossed me into the pool. I remember it scared my, then, 2-year-old son because he thought they were hurting me. Far from it, though. We all had a good laugh over it. At least the host of the party was kind enough to empty my pockets before they tossed me in so my stuff didn't get ruined.
• He could also be very quiet and contemplative. He was very generous, too.

It was nice to read about the accomplishments he made since the time we served together. I would rather have read them under very different circumstances, though. 

He was a good man.

http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/houstonchronicle/obituary.aspx?n=richard-edward-flick&pid=17397994

Fun With the IRS - A Year Later

Last year (November of 2008) I wrote my first piece describing the humorous events which transpired when my wife and I made a mistake on our taxes (see Fun With the IRS).

In the end, I left the experience feeling the government owed me $2.00. Of course, I wasn't going to make a fuss over two bucks. It's hardly worth the time and effort on my part, nor worth the waste of over $2.00 of someone's time to get the money. Although my wife and I would joke around about "Where's my two bucks?" from time to time, we pretty much forgot about it. Until yesterday, that is.

Yesterday we received a check in the mail from the U.S. Government for $2.10. No letter of explanation was enclosed, just a check. Maybe they read my blog post from last year and decided to make right their error - along with interest?

Who knows? I just had to laugh, though. And, we'll need to remember to claim that ten cents as interest on this year's income tax - you know they'll be looking for it.

Windsheld Wonder

I hate dirty windshields on my cars. This is especially true in the Autumn and Winter mornings and evenings when the sun blazes through the front window and shows every tiny bit of smudge and fog.

I also hate washing the inside of the windshields. Which can be a problem if you hate dirty ones.

I saw the Telebrands Windshield Wonder on TV many times and thought that if it really worked it would be a great product for me. I normally don't order things off TV ads, but when I saw this item at the checkout of our local big box retailer, I decided to buy one and give it a try.

It really does work quite well. All one does is spray a little water from the small spray bottle included with the kit onto the cleaning pad and then rub the pad on the window. The pad is attached to a handle which makes it quite easy to use.

I think this is a great product. I'm glad I picked one up.

Disclaimer: I purchased the product and review it here because I like it. The above link goes to Amazon. If you purchase after clicking that link I will get a small percentage of the sale.

The Stuttgart Death Ride

During one of my Army tours in Germany, I found myself on a temporary duty stint outside of Stuttgart on a small airfield. While there, I found out a friend of mine was stationed at a barracks a few miles away. One Saturday I made arrangements to meet him.

In planning my visit, I misjudged the distance to where he lived. Instead of it taking about an hour, it ended up taking 2 1/2 hours to walk there. That put my visit time in a bit of a crunch. After meeting some of his new coworkers he suggested we all head out to a local haunt where the folks in his unit generally hung out. This turned out to be a 30 minute walk - in the opposite the direction I'd just come from.

We ate, drank some beers and told lies for a few hours. I had to work the next morning, so about 9 pm I decided to catch a taxi and head home. The place we were was in a small shopping center, so I figured there would be a cab stand outside (at the time it was illegal to hail a cab on the street). Not seeing one, I looked for a phone booth since there was usually a taxi ad with a number to call inside the booth. There was no phone booth.

I went back inside and asked the bartender if he would please call me a cab. He told me taxis didn't run near the bar's location. I was rather shocked to hear that. I couldn't imagine a place in a relatively built up area near a large city in Germany would have no taxi service.

I returned to the group at the table and told them my transportation dilemma. I had to ask them how to get back to the main road so I could hike it back to the airfield. One of the guys pointed out a group at a nearby table where someone in their unit was sitting with his girlfriend and her roommate. The ladies just happened to work on the airfield where I needed to go. He led me over and introduced me. I asked for a lift and they agreed to take me back when they were ready to go.

When they were ready to leave they signaled me to come with them. The boyfriend eyed me suspiciously as we walked out to their car. I guess he was the jealous type, though I was no threat to his relationship. I just needed a ride. We hopped in the car, the ladies in the front seat and me in the back with their baskets of clean laundry.

As we pulled out of the parking lot, the driver announced to me: "I just got my driver's license yesterday and bought this car this morning. Isn't that cool?" I didn't think much of it, since everyone needed to get a special "U.S. Army, Europe" drivers license to drive civilian vehicles in Germany. Then she added, "I've never driven before. I'm completely new at this."

That made me a little nervous, but she seemed to be handling herself well enough. I started to relax, but just for a minute.

Those who have lived in Europe know how the fog can be in the Fall and Winter. You can be driving along one minute in clear sky and clear air with visibility going on for miles and the next minute you're in a very thick fog through which you can barely see to the end of the hood of your car. This fog is THICK - and I mean THICK. The only place I've ever seen fog that comes close to this is on the coast of California.

We ran into one of those fog banks going along the Autobahn at about 120 "clicks" (kilometers per hour - about 70 MPH). It's really quite like hitting a wall, only you go through it while not being able to see through it. The only way I could tell we were moving was to look up out the window where I could barely make out the street lights going by.

One of the first mistakes rookie drivers make in a fog is to turn their brights on - even though every teaching manual and class informs not to do it. This young driver clicked on the brights, enveloping us in a shroud of light which even obscured the street lights I could see beforehand.

Panic started welling up inside me. Here we were, going about 70 MPH down the Autobahn totally blind. There was no way this young lady could see where we were going. I wanted to say something, but I didn't want to offend because she might stop and kick me out of the car, leaving me stranded not knowing where I was. "Think," I said to myself, "Think!"

I fished around in the dark back seat for the seat belts while I frantically tried to come up with some way to communicate to the driver to turn the bright lights off without offending her. As I found the seat belt, it came to me. I said to her, forcing my voice to sound calm and matter-of-fact, "You know, I once read in Reader's Digest that it's a bad idea to use the brights in fog because it makes it  harder to see where you're going."

"Good," I thought to myself, "that was good." Reader's Digest, I reasoned, was a non-threatening source of conventional wisdom which wouldn't offend the young lady.

"Really," she said, "I never heard of that." She clicked off the brights. Before I could breathe a sigh of relief, turned the lights off. Completely off. Bright lights, regular lights, running lights; they were all off.

Admittedly, with the street lights peering their way through the fog from above, I could actually see the road better; even better than when the regular lights were on. Still, in a dark colored car, at night, with no lights on, no one could see us. This was still very dangerous.

At this point, I wasn't too worried about offending because I was more worried about getting hit by another vehicle rather than running off the road. I said, "Well, you can see better, but with your lights off no one can see you. You really should turn the lights back on."

She turned the parking lights on and said, "There. Now we can see and others can see us." This wasn't optimal, but I reasoned on the Autobahn, with everyone going in the same direction, at least we probably wouldn't be hit by another vehicle.

We exited the Autobahn and took the short road up to the gate of the air field. Normally, one would dim the headlights as they approach the gate. In this case, the headlights were dimmed as we turned onto the road. The guard at the gate mentioned this to the driver when we stopped so he could check our ID cards. He said something like, "You're not supposed to dim your lights that far back, just when you approach the gate." When she told him she turned off the lights so she could see better in the fog, the guard told her that was dangerous and looked at me like I had something to do with her decision to turn the things off. I guess his attitude was that since I was "The Man of the Car" I should have done something about it. Gender, of course, had nothing to do with this - she was a new driver and didn't know how to drive in the fog and that was it. At this point, I was just grateful to be one piece.

As we pulled up to the building I was staying, the ladies invited me to go partying with them the following evening. I politely declined as I quickly made my way to my room, thankful I'd survived what would be known as "The Stuttgart Death Ride."

Book Review: "Everyday Greatness" by Stephen R. Covey & Reader's Digest

"Everyday Greatness" is a collection of short stories gathered from the archives of Reader's Digest, compiled by David K. Hatch with commentary and insights by Stephen R. Covey.

It's an inspirational volume with stories by personalities including Alex Haley, Betty Ford, and Ed McMahon; but, also from people you may have never heard of. Some stories tell of triumph over adversity and long odds, some of gathering inspiration, and all have a life lesson. Each story is followed by the insights and commentaries of Covey, who expounds on the lessons and sometimes offers suggestions for application in everyday life.

The stories are divided into seven main categories:

• Searching For Meaning
• Taking Charge
• Creating The Dream
• Teaming With Others
• Overcoming Adversity
• Blending The Pieces. 

Each main category is further divide into three sub-categories, each containing three stories. In between are hundreds of quotes reinforcing the main point of that section.

All in all it's a great read. It's easy to read a section and pause to think about the life lessons presented in that section. It's also a great conversation piece as the morals and points of the stories are easily applied in many situations of life. Some of the stories are just plain interesting, too.

"Everyday Greatness" is a great book and I highly recommend it.

Disclaimer: I am a member of Thomas Nelson's Book Review Blogger program. Although Thomas Nelson Publishing provided the book at no cost to me, this review is my honest opinion of the work

Hospice Care After-Care Bear

A friend of mine from work recently lost her father after an extended illness. As you can well imagine, this put quite a bit of stress on her and her family.

The other day, I went into her office and saw a teddy bear. A golf-themed teddy bear. Knowing she doesn't play golf, I had to ask her about it. She told me the bear was made from a shirt which belonged to her father. Someone from the hospice care group called after her father passed and asked her for a shirt which she felt was special to him. Volunteers with the hospice organization made the bear from that shirt as a way to help her go through the grieving process.

As she relayed the story to me, I got a bit misty myself. What a great way to lend a hand to someone during a troubled time.

Hats off to the volunteers who do this kind of thing for people - you are doing a great thing. Thank you.


Photo credit: Eric Lucas

Hilarious Monty Python Joke in Church

While it is true that most churches would never have a funny Python moment, I'm glad I go to one where it's possible.

I live tweet during our Sunday services at church. For those unfamiliar with "live tweet," that means I get on twitter under our church's account and tweet selected highlights of the service. We find it's an interesting way to reach out to the world. Most of the time it's rather routine, me tweeting and every so often we get a message or a retweet.

Today, however, there was a very funny surprise. During the service I tweeted this:

2nd of 3 kinds of faith: Jehovah Jirah faith: "My God will supply all your needs according to His riches in glory in Christ." Phil. 4:19

A few minutes later, this appeared in the church's twitter stream by a user called "StoningBot:"

@vcftemple has been found guilty of uttering the name of our Lord, and so, as a blasphemer, is to be stoned to death. *throws a stone*

This is a reference to a part of Monty Python's "Life of Brian" movie. Here's a clip of the scene from YouTube:

I went to check out the profile for "StoningBot" and found that it is, as the name implies, a bot. It's purpose is to search for tweets which include the word "Jehovah" and automatically responds with the reply as above, substituting the name of the tweeter each time. As of this writing, the count is 201 tweets since the bot started on October 8th at 6:58pm (central time).

Does someone have too much time on their hands? Or, is this a way to bring a bit more humor to the world? Perhaps it's a little of both.

Either way, I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing during the middle of the service as I thought about that scene from the movie. Thanks, "StoningBot" for giving me a good laugh today.

Temple Civic Theatre Production of "The Arkansaw Bear"

The Temple Civic Theatre is presenting a Youth Production of Aurand Harris' "The Arkansaw Bear." This is going to be a great performance (and I'm not just saying that because one of my boys is in it, either). I highly encourage you to attend a showing.

Tickets go on sale Tuesday, September 22nd and cost $8.00 for adults and $5 for youth under 13. The box office is open from 9:30am to 1:30pm.

Performances are scheduled as follows:

• Friday, September 25th at 7:30pm
• Saturday, September 26th at 7:30pm
• Sunday, September 27th at 2:30pm

The Theatre is located at 2413 South 13th St, off HK Dodgen Loop behind the Summit Recreation Center:

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Professor Slavitsky's English Lesson

Warning: This story makes many references to the "F-word." Although I will make this as family-friendly as possible, some might be offended.

While I learned Czech at the Defense Language Institute, one of our teachers was a linguistics professor in (at the time) Czechoslovakia, Dr. Slavitsky.

One day, Dr. Slavitsky came into class and announced to us: "I just watched 'Eddie Murphy: Raw' and I have a number of questions about this word F***. He uses it as a noun, a verb, an adjective, and adverb, an exclamation and in many other ways I simply do not understand. Will you please explain this 'f***' to me?" He held up the video as he said this.

Of course, being rough and tough young soldiers, all of us in the class were well-versed in the use of the F-word. Because all of us were from different parts of the country, we also had knowledge of the unique way the f-word is used in different parts of the US. It was natural for us to be able to fully explain to Dr. Slavitsky the proper (or, more appropriately, improper) use of it in colloquial speech.

Also, most of us having seen "Eddie Murphy: Raw" we knew what the good doctor was referring to when he mentioned the different parts of speech in which the f-word was used. Being rather current and fresh in our minds, we were more than able to discuss this as an intellectual pursuit.

Each of us, in turn, went to the chalk board and wrote down a sentence or two using the f-word which we either remembered from the video or from our own vast experience using the word. We would go over our sentence, explaining in detail what the sentence meant, and answer any questions Dr. Slavitsky might have. Of course, each question led to a different sentence, which led to more explanation, which led to even more instances of the f-word being written on the board.

Over the course of the hour, as we talked, Dr. Slavitsky took copious notes in the composition notebook he always carried. He wrote furiously, diagramming sentences and making arrows and underlining things he wrote as we emphasized certain points of "grammar." All in all I think he learned more English slang that day than a normal student of American English might learn in a month. He took it all in, occasionally looking up and saying, "Yes, yes, go on."

At the end of the hour, he thanked us for helping him better understand the f-word and left us to our next teacher. Our next teacher just happened to be our homeroom teacher, Mrs. Lang.

Mrs. Lang was a wonderful lady, who I describe as being "grandmotherly." Indeed, she was old enough to be a grandmother to most of us in the class. She was a proper lady who came from a family of means (at least they were of means before the Communists took over after World War II).

We came into class and sat at our desks, never thinking about the verbal carnage we'd left on the chalk board during the previous hour. Nor had any of us erased what was there. I don't think we did this deliberately, I think we just didn't think about it.

Mrs. Lang came into the class a few minutes late. As she turned toward the front of the class from closing the door, her eyes fell upon the, perhaps, hundreds of sentences on the chalk board - each containing one form of the f-word or another. I distinctly remember the color draining from her face and the audible gasp she made as she read some of the filth we'd managed to conjure up.

In a very un-grandmotherly fashion, she sprinted across the room, lunged over the desk and managed to grab the eraser from the chalk board's ledge and erase a good portion of the board before she almost toppled over the desk head first. She managed to complete her lunge over the desk, plant both her feet in front of the board and continue erasing in almost one motion. She spoke with each stroke of the eraser, in much the same fashion as one might speak to a child with each swing during a spanking: "I ... don't ... know ... what ... Professor ... Slavitsky ... was ... thinking ... having ... you ... talk ... about ... such ... filth ... instead of ... training ... your ... lesson ... from ... the ... book!"

After the board was erased, Mrs. Lang took a deep breath and composed herself again. She picked up her book and started the lesson as if nothing had happened. Flappable, but only for a short time.

Fest Call!

In one of my previous lives I was in the Army stationed in Augsburg, Germany. During my time there, it seemed like there was a beer fest every couple of months. A beer fest is something Bavarians do very well. The organizers will erect a huge tent, place a stage at one end and along one side will be station food and beverage vendors. While the fest is going, there will be an "Oompah" band playing, people sitting at long tables drinking beer and eating.

The food at one of these events is to amazing. 1/2 chickens cooked on rotisseries, giant pretzels, bread with salmon and onions - all truly, amazingly good. (The beer isn't bad either, as I was known to imbibe during my misspent youth).

The ladies who carry the beers and food back and forth are a sight to watch. Some will carry up to 12 mugs (Biermass) of beer at a time as they make their rounds through the tent. These mugs aren't what we're used to seeing in the States, either. Each mug is made of glass, holds a liter of beer and is stout enough to handle clanking together as is tradition in that part of the world. Empty they weigh, probably, four or five pounds. The ladies rush about, wearing the traditional dirndl dress, toting those mugs. Some of them had arms like Popeye - no exaggeration.

On one occasion, some friends and I were enjoying the food and music at the Augsburg German-American Fest. At the next table there were two groups: a bunch of soldiers and a bunch of German youths who looked to be about college age. Neither group interacted with the other until... The Incident.

One of the beer ladies came and deposited a few beers in front of the soldiers at the next table. Now, when beer or food is delivered, these ladies expect prompt payment and get rather terse when payment is not forthcoming. One of the soldiers in the group protested that they hadn't ordered the beers. There was somewhat of a language gap because he wasn't speaking German and the lady wasn't speaking English - but I think the disagreement was understood. After a few minutes of back and forth the soldier stood up quite suddenly. The lady, wanting no trouble from a potentially drunk American soldier took a huge swing at him, hit him square in the chin and knocked him out cold on the ground. I mean, she cold-cocked him and flattened him right there.

All of the sudden, all the Germans at the table stood up and faced towards the Americans - who also stood up to face the Germans. I elbowed my friends, thinking a fight was about to ensue and that we should beat a hasty retreat. A few tense moments went by, after which both groups turned to look at the kid on the ground, pointed at him and started laughing.

Afterwards both groups bought each other rounds, "prosting" and high-fiving.

German-American relations were just a little bit better that evening.