WWJD?*
I’m going to talk about religion. If that bothers you, tune in tomorrow and there will be something different.

I started thinking about this a week ago when my Dad asked why so many people who feel they are religious are turned off by “in your face” preachers like Jerry Falwell, Pat Robertson, James Dobson and others. I thought awhile and it became clear, to me at least, why that is.

The appeal of Jesus was his charisma. People followed him because they loved him, wanted to be near him, wanted whatever it was he had. They didn’t follow him to be successful in life or to avoid purgatory. In fact, I don’t think you’ll find Jesus talking about Hell in the New Testament, even though he has his encounter with the devil. He does speak of loving your neighbor. He heals the sick and drives out demons and generally hangs out with “sinners and tax collectors.” But he never threatens to do things his way or else put on your best asbestos suit and get ready for the mother of all barbeques.

In Matthew, Jesus said, “Enter by the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard, that leads to life, and those who find it are few.” 7:13-14 Still, here there is no screaming, threatening and bloviating on the dangers of eternal damnation in the fiery pits of Hell. There’s just an observation—hey, you want some of this? Follow my Father’s commandments and walk in life. Turn away from him and there is only destruction. Your choice baby…your choice.

If the early Christians were led by someone like Pat Robertson, the movement would have died an obscure Jewish cult. It would be long forgotten today. People wanted to follow Jesus, not out of fear but out of love. Pat Robertson frankly gives me the creeps—I wouldn’t want my child anywhere near the man who, on national television, advocated killing the duly elected President of Venezuela. Can you imagine Robertson's Sermon on the Mount?

I go to church almost every Sunday. The Booglet has been going since she was toted about in a carrier. She gets to visit with her cousins, go to children’s chapel, and have lemonade and cookies after the service. About once a month, I take the Eucharist out to nursing homes, read the Old Testament lessons and say prayers with people who are frail in body but strong in spirit.

In short, religion to me is more than a ticket to some fantastic condo in the sky, or insurance that I get sucked up in the rapture while the rest of the world wallows in pain and suffering. To me, it’s the environment I’ve grown up in—the men in my church I saw as a child lead by example. They worked hard, they supported their families and were respected in the community. They’re happy, not continuously fearful of what others are or aren’t doing.

In other words, it’s not like accumulating SkyMiles for my reward and looking down on others who aren’t yet Platinum Medallion members—it’s a quiet haven where I know my daughter can roam freely and she’ll be safe and among people who, while not perfect, are striving to walk through the narrow gate.

And I guess I’m distressed that this concept, to love your neighbor as you love yourself (and let’s face it—that’s a lot) has been so twisted that now all that comes through for many is do it this way or face the wrath of my God—and by the way, my God can kick your god’s butt! Love replaced by fear, joy replaced by guilt, peace replaced by shrillness. I don’t think that’s what God intended. I firmly believe he would, as any parent, want us to have fun while we walk through this life.

In short, I think he’s a loving, gentle Father, not a hard disciplinarian.

Couple that with the rise of political power and the attempts to impose what is someone else’s version of God’s will through a secular framework, and it’s even more distressing.

Okay, I’m done now.
______________________
* What Would Jemison Do?

Family Values

I love it. Hey, I'm no angel but I don't tell people to f-off with the eucharistic wafer still stuck in my teeth.

What would Jesus do?

I'll write about that tonight if I can keep me eyes open long enough...

By the way folks, that's Justice Antonin Scalia--arguably the most conservative Supreme Court Justice of our generation. Let's put it this way--he hunts with Dick Cheney (and lives to tell about it).

Torture? You bet. Abortion? No way! Government spying? Ab-so-freakin-lutely.

Chester Farms

My dog Chester, being the international entrepreneur he is, decided in 1999 to launch a wine bearing his name. He of course enlisted me to pick the blackberries, (it takes five pounds to make one gallon of wine), mix the berries, rack the wine, bottle the wine, and do all the clean up. He lended his name and "special ingredients." Because he's such a damn fine good one, I agreed.

So, all of these


eventually, after the Champagne yeast is done eating the sugar and excreting the alcohol, become this...



And, the first person who replies with an address (P.O. Box is fine--I'm not stalking anyone) can get a bottle of Chester Farms, Wildberry III wine sent to them. You'll thank the good pup.

Tuesday Morning

And I stand with my face uplifted, eyes closed, letting the sun beat down on me, warming me with the photons departed from its surface some eight and one half minutes ago.

Then off to school with the Booglet, singing I'm your Boogie Man and Joe Jackson's Just Got Lucky.

Sweetheart, Stay in Your Chair...

Given her proclivity, I wouldn't be suprised if this were the Booglet in fifteen years.

Friday Night

This afternoon was beautiful. Sharp blue with a brisk northwestern wind. I was out on the beach but stuck inside a conference room. Still, walked out during lunch and spied the emerald waters, clear as a bell. Ahh spring, bring it on baby. The Booglet is eyein' her blow up pool and starting to get antsy to stick her toes in the water along the bay. I'm with ya sweetheart...and yes, this summer we'll go deep.

Interesting conference--but even better I got out at four pm and, instead of fighting traffic to get back into town for thirty minutes of face time at the office, I cruised leisurely home just in time to catch the afternoon nature walk. Down to the beach, through the woods, down the red road (that's right, some of our neighborhood roads aren't even paved). And then came Mommy.

Dinner, play time, tickle bug, tubby time (with Mr. Bubble), then Olivia, Good Night Gorilla, and Africa before off to bed. Sleep tight little one, tomorrow is swim lessons....

So beautiful, days like today. As the afternoon lengthened, and the red sun rays crept up the pines on the still little acre, I sat on the porch, looking over the garden, hearing the little one giggling while swinging and sliding down her slide, and thought,

How cool is this?

The world may have to stop tonight and tomorrow. I'm busy with a little girl and her mother.

Just This Quick Note

And then I have to run to an all day conference. I think it is absolutely precious that the Booglet calls McDonalds "Old McDonald's." It's just that sort of innocent viewpoint that she brings that warms my spirit.

Last week, when Calamity was working late one night, we went to a Chik-Fil-A restaurant. Normally, when I'm alone at a fast food restaurant, it strikes me as rather sad. Impersonal decor, cheap food, etc. Still, the Booglet had such a good time watching the other boys and girls playing on the slide and, after she was done with her nuggets, sliding herself, that the whole experience became something wonderful.

I love being the Daddy...

I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend. Perhaps I can catch up on musings at Bobalouie's this weekend after swim lessons.

Flying High

Last Saturday I took my father out to a local airfield and he got to fly in this plane, a Texan TA-6, also known as the SNJ. It was used as the primary trainer for naval aviators for years and years following WWII. My father went to school as a young boy on the navy base and walked past these trainers every day. He never thought he'd get to fly in one and I really think he enjoyed himself.

His pilot was a genial former fighter jock who left the Marines after ejecting at low altitude from an A-4. The two of them flew along the coastline and did some acrobatics.

As we were leaving the airfield, I apologized to my Dad for the cramped space in the back seat because of the babyseat. I said I would be happy to get that thing out of the car eventually. He said, "don't rush it. Next thing you'll know she'll be forty years old and taking you riding in an airplane. You'll wonder where the time went and how come you didn't do so many things..." That's close to an exact quote. It was tinged with sadness and even now it's hard for me to remember the tone of his voice, as if he had regrets for things we as father and son didn't do.

Don't worry Dad, you have always been my hero. You have always been a giant to me. There will be no regrets from me as long as we are both still here. And there is still time to do things, the only difference now is I get the bait, gas up the boat and make sure there's lunch in the cooler these days and you just come out and hop in...

I don't mind. It's the least I can do for my father. And who knows? Maybe next time you'll do the loop. Maybe next time we'll land that monster redfish or trout. It doesn't really matter--just like my little one, I'm happy just being with you regardless of what the activity is.

Springtime is Back

And everywhere are the pale purple-white flowers signalling where the blackberries are going to sprout up.

Did I mention I make wine from blackberries? Chester Farms...world famous. Chester adds his "special ingredient," I think that's what makes it good. Chester thinks so too...

Used to be, before the Booglet, I could go out on a Saturday walking the Pup and picking blackberries. Now I may have to settle for picking a few and buying the rest. Oh well, always there are trade-offs.

What Will We Do?

This weekend? Well, Daddy and Mommy know where a carnival with a merry go round is! And we have to plant our little sprouts in the garden so they can start growing and take a nature hike and play "I'm your Boggie man" on our way to church. What else? Did I forget something? Oh yeah, Saturday morning swim lessons!

Have you been getting used to your goggles?


Oh yeah, I forgot.

Silly ole bear.

Travel Day

I'll check in this evening if the wireless network here in ATL stays up. Meanwhile, leave me a note with the most interesting news story I'll miss today.

UPDATE (8pm back in ATL)

One more flight my little one and Daddy will be there when you wake up. Hey, you know what Daddy likes? Deponents who lie but don't realize Daddy knows it. You know what I don't like? Having to take a depo with a translater. Good Lord! It takes forever!

You know what Daddy really likes? Sky miles upgrades to 1st Class.

Sleep tight sweetheart. I'll see you in the morning...

Everything I need to know

..about human nature I learned from my 2 year old. We think we're different but we're not. From the mightiest politician to the person cutting you off in traffic. We're all little children inside. We may not cry when we don't get our way but I've seen grown-ups throw temper tantrums.

With 2 year olds, at least I learned from the various magazines Calamity puts by my nightstand, their emotional restraints aren't fully developed. Any variation from how they've expected reality to be can set off emotions so raw they surprise everyone, including themselves. We're no different--we want our way. Or else.

We have elaborate societal structures put in place presumably to allow us all to live alongside each other in relative harmony. Yet daily I see conflict and strife. Someone didn't get their way and, instead of taking it like a man/woman/adult, they go running to the police/courts/media.

Everyone's the victim: no one's to blame. We have somehow been lulled into a sense of entitlement; bred to believe our profligate ways are our birthright. Trent Lott, former majority leader in the Senate, and well-known foe of trial lawyers, was quick to "lawyer up" when he realized his hurricane insurance policy wasn't gonna cover the loss of his beachside manor along the Mississippi Gulf Coast because there's a rising water exclusion. He isn't getting his way and he's mad mad mad.

Even our President, a failed businessman and no lover of lawyers either, assembled a small army of them to go to Florida in 2000 to make sure he got his way. Now, like a child caught red-handed, he can't reconcile reality with his inner 2 year old. He hasn't done anything wrong. Just keep doing things his way and the good times will continue.

Bernie Ebbers, Ken Lay, Scooter Libby. The list goes on and on.

God Almighty! Give me strength to endure this world of ill-begotten children. And keep my eyes open for those adults out there who will keep their heads up even in adversity, who will do what's right even if it doesn't further their own agenda, who will tell the truth and who will look upon others with wisdom and compassion.

Glory Days

Calamity found this picture of me and the Arkansian Surfer. I showed it to the Booglet (who now wants to be a lifeguard). I miss Kevon. May he rest in Peace.

I've been meek,
And hard like an oak,
I've seen pretty people disappear like smoke,
Friends will arrive,
Friends will disappear,
If you want me, honey baby I'll be here...
Bob Dylan

Monday Morning Musings

Outside all weekend and the Booglet and I both got some sun. Tilling the garden again and mixing in the magic potion--mushroom compost. Bubba hauled a load for us and we mixed it up. Sunflowers planted and peas, tomatoes, cucumbers, watermelons and squash are sprouting up in their trays for next week's transfer to the garden.

Quick (without looking) what color are the President's eyes?* I thought about this several days ago, guessing that blue eyes are probably more prominently represented in our past presidents. This has been hard to confirm though (the search has taken a lot longer than I thought). Still, it appears that blue eye color is strongly represented in our past presidents (around 33%) as are, oddly enough, gray eyes. (James K. Polk–cold gray eyes; Franklin Pierce–penetrating gray eyes; Abraham Lincoln–gray eyes; Grover Cleveland–gray eyes; John F. Kennedy–cool gray eyes). So who's gonna be the next President? I dunno--but I bet he'll (she'll?) have blue eyes. By the way, although there are some gaps in my record of presidential eye color, the only president listed as having brown (not hazel) eyes? Richard M. Nixon.

Eyes. They're really just extensions of our brains. People don't say look into a person's mouth and see their soul, or ear, or even more private parts. It's the eyes that are called the windows to the soul. People's eyes are given characteristics, playful, dancing, sparkling, etc.

And no, I don't know why I think these things...
_____________
*Answer: Blue

UPDATE: the percentage of blue-eyed presidents is even higher than I thought, 46.5% after I discovered every president since Nixon has had blue eyes...

Words to Live By

"Look at me,
look at me,
look at me now.
It's fun to have fun, but you have to know how."
Dr. Seuss
Hope everyone has a good weekend.

Astronomy 101

So I get home the other night and the first thing out of the Booglet's mouth is, "Daddy, how come we can see the moon during the daytime?"

Oh Sweetheart! You sure know how to make your daddy happy!

So I get a globe, a flashlight, and her play tomato to demonstrate how the moon revolves around the Earth and the Earth revolves around the sun. She played the moon, turning the tomato/satellite around the globe. Later we looked through her astronomy book and she named the planets...then counted them in Spanish.

This weekend, if it's clear, we'll break out Daddy's big telescope, okay?


Okay.

Wait till Daddy shows you the galaxy cluster in Virgo.

My Travels

Saw this and thought I'd try. Here's the result...



Now that I see the map this way, I really need to go to New Mexico and Maine. Oregon would probably be cool too.

I Remember 1984

So this picture is shocking and saddening to see. When exactly did Eddie Van Halen become a sea hag?

Caption This

View from the Porch

Sunday afternoon, the Booglet sleeping in her bed snuggling with her favorite blankie. A southeast wind is blowing and the sun is cooking things up to a gourmet 68 degrees.

[Lord of the wasps, I killed four of your people. I know, I know. Hey! No…no...no, remember me last time telling you to stay off the porch? No, don’t give me that instinct crap, your subjects know exactly what they’re doing. What do you mean double standard? Oh, the carpenter bee. Well, he just hovers and buzzes. I have never been stung by a carpenter bee. I have been stung by one of your subjects. No, I don’t think it was an accident. Well listen, I don’t want things to get any nastier okay? You’ve been warned. Further construction or even suspicious loitering will be considered a capital offense.]

Seriously, the weather is a foretaste of spring today. I’m getting in some much needed porch time before leaving again tomorrow for another three days. The bay is stirring with the scrubbing of a fresh wind, not to white caps but moving with a purpose. The mourning doves are acting like a cheap x-rated movie so I guess there will be a good crop in a few more weeks. Stupid birds they are, but good food for the traveling raptors. Even now the osprey are patrolling the shoreline, surfing the breeze like airborne sentries. Good thing for you guys they just like fish.

Chester lifts his head occasionally from his nap to growl at imaginary monsters. The purple martins gurgle their unique sounds while ferrying bits of material to furnish the tiny condos we set up. The sun beams down on us all and the little seeds Daddy and the Booglet planted in their trays yesterday are stirring to sprouthood. Later we’ll put them in the garden, tilled now like an earthen blanket waiting to nurture our summer vegetables, and watch them grow. You watch them my dear little one, and I’ll be watching you as you grow. It’s become my favorite thing to do—besides tickle bug of course…

Tubby Time

Daddy's got to go on a quick trip. But don't worry my little Sugary Bear, I'll be back in time for swim lessons Saturday morning!

My Daughter

"Take another little piece of my heart now, baby!"
Janis Joplin

So this is my Daughter, the Booglet. The one who comes bounding into the bedroom in the morning and running up yelling "Daddy!" when I come home at night. That's her Pooh Bear (Silly Ole Be-ah) chair and you can see some of the vast library behind her.

This, folks, is what it's like to have a part of you walking around in the world. This little piece of my heart goes to her school two times a week (pizza day today), she plays out in the yard with the Puppy and Kitty, she swings on her big girl swing, or she plays in her room.

I just sit back and watch...

I'm going to be busy the next few days; I have another picture I want to share and hopefully I can write something substantive soon. I've been thinking a lot but writing very little.

Well, writing stuff I want to write very little.