POLICE: THEY CAN DO NOTHING

Coffee this morning was all about fear, tension, nervousness and what to do about CW (not me). After his explosion yesterday several women are frightened. They don’t want to be around him and are doing all they can to avoid him. A few people called and left messages with the authorities and had asked for a call back. No phone calls have been returned. I wrote up a report and emailed it this morning trying to emphasis the fear many were feeling and the lack of safety and security they had especially with the threat from the inside.

Reactions have been to move out. They wanted to know why the police were not called. Chas said he had called and a deputy returned his call to say he would not be coming. CW’s outburst did not constitute an emergency. Not to them, obviously.

The complaining about CW was loud and demanding answers. Why aren’t the managers doing anything? They had said for weeks they were working on it, but we hear no updates and he is still here threatening and frightening people. The Home is labeled a safe and secure place. I doubt that is believable at this time.

The discussion moved on to a class action lawsuit. A few of us tried to steer clear of that without discouraging the idea. The decision was to give them time to respond to those of us who have written and called. We have a meeting on Monday to celebrate birthdays. I wrote the woman who usually comes to bring someone with authority to talk to us and listen. The social director has not knowledge or authority.

I came back to my apartment to eat breakfast. I left early this morning to buy our maintenance man mocha. I told him I would after pulling him out of church to turn off my smoke alarm. It wasn’t long until Gail came and asked if we should go to the sheriff’s office and ask for advice. Sounded like a good idea so off we went.

We explained to the receptionist what had happened and that 911 was called and the caller was told they would not be coming. She said Chas did not make a call. That was a surprise since Chas said he made the call. She searched the records and told us there has only been one call from our address. That came from CW telling them Chas was stealing his girlfriends. Ridiculous.

When asked for advice we were told to contact a lawyer and see if the situation warranted a class action lawsuit. It was management’s responsibility not the police.

I looked Chas up when we returned to ask about his call to the police. He immediately pulled out his phone and showed me when he called 911 and when the deputy called him back. I don’t know what happened but something was screwy.

I’m beginning to wonder if this place is as funny as I have always thought. What is happening now is not funny at all. Chas really feels the pain. He is under serious attack and did nothing to deserve what is coming his way.

IF YOU REALLY WANT TO HEAR ME

To hear my message and be amazed and stimulated not to mention shocked that I spoke nearly mumble and stumble free (OK, there were some) go to:

Living Word Christian Center, Silverdale, WA

Click under the video Icon on Past Sermons Here

Go to “It’s Just Not Fair” and all three sermons are there.

I recommend 9/24/11 7:00 pm (that’s Saturday and I think it was the best.)

In case you are curious the pastor is on the back right on guitar, his wife is the back right on keyboard, his son is on the front left guitar and his daughter is in the front center as lead singer Now sing "We are a happy family." I love these people (I have to say that. He might read my blog).

Here is the link to the Saturday night Service that Clyde spoke at. It starts at the 32 minute mark.

http://ustre.am/:1bnXD - The pastor

ON THE WAR PATH

If the Indians don’t revolt and start attacking the soldiers, it will be a miracle. Something must be done. CW (not me) flew off the handle again and this time with the largest audience he has had to date.

The tribe had finished playing bingo and many were leaving the dining room to go back to their apartments. He tore into Chas with the longest string of foul words imaginable. He threatened to kill him and beat him to a pulp. Again Chas kept his mouth shut saying only “bring it on.” He then let him rant. When Chas finally got free and out the door, CW stormed down the hall from the entrance to the elevator yelling and swearing and threatening anyone is sight … , well I’m not sure that’s right. Maybe he was just yelling at the walls.

What he did do was frighten a large group of women who did not know where to go and hide or if they were safe. He was ranting and raving and coming right at them. They stayed in the dining room and a few backed into the kitchen. Most women are afraid to walk into the halls as it is. They look out their door to see if he is there before they leave their apartment. If he is getting off the elevator when they want on, he is given a wide berth.

It is laughable that CW called the police to report that Chas is stealing his girls. The whole issue is so ridiculous and absurd to everyone but CW. He is serious. He takes every opportunity to tell anyone who will listen about Chas stealing his girlfriends. It never happened and no one can figure out how he even got that strange idea. I was there for the very first encounter and Chas did nothing and said nothing. CW has got it in his mind that Chas is taking his girlfriends and will not let it go. No one will ever take his girlfriends. No one believes he will ever have a girlfriend. We all know he has mental issues and should never have been let into this facility in the first place. If he isn’t removed soon there will be more move outs.

At the last resident meeting to celebrate birthdays, people wanted answers to the problem and all discussion was shut off. They owe us an explanation. I don’t care how hard it is or frightened they are to listen and talk to us — it must be done. A written note taped to our door will not satisfy or answer the questions. Residents are angry.

I suspect the Housing Authority would like to wait until they can say they have found a place for him and he will be moving on such and such a date. I don’t care if he is moving tomorrow, many others, and I want and explanation as to why his language and threats are being and have been tolerated. He wouldn’t be the first mentally ill person on the street. I know that is hard and cruel and I would prefer he had a place to go. But our women deserve a safe environment. They were promised one as well. Where is it?

IT IS FINISHED

Obviously I did not write Sunday night as I promised. (I must stop making promises). I under estimated how tired I would be. It was a great weekend. I was pretty relaxed. I was nervous initially, but as the day to preach got closer I had no fear of the audience. I was familiar enough with this congregation that I was completely comfortable being up front. I had study sufficiently that to fully believe I was on the right track and God was in this.

If you ask me and who else would you ask, Saturday night went the best. I stayed on track all night and while I wished for more laughter (I think I’m funny), it was clear the audience was tracking with me. I never saw a single person wandering away. I can’t remember when I have had that kind of total response. I got lost once and had to hesitate to find my place. But I managed to stay with my outline and included all I had planned.

When I got home that night I went back over the outline because I had the feeling I got lost because something was in the wrong order. Didn’t seem like it. It was also a wonderfully warm night )most likely our last of the season so Chas and I sat on the front porch talking till nearly 11:00. Seems like it was the warmest of our three-week summer.

It was cool Sunday. But not raining when I walked to church. My apartment next-door neighbor was there. She had been in the hospital and had come from recovering at her daughter’s home. It was great to see her. She looked terrific — tired, but terrific. She3 things she is coming back to The Home Tuesday.

Both Sunday services were more difficult. I had the physical energy for two services in a row, but some of the mental stamina was gone. Strangely I stumbled in the same place as Saturday night. While it looked OK, I now knew something was turned around but it was too late to fix. I just trusted God to help me get through.

I thought all was fine for that service. There were six people from The Home – all friendly faces. But I forgot my best joke — one about the poor band not being able to afford shoes. Many members of our church band play barefooted. It was my best laugh on Saturday. The hardest part about missing that joke at that service is it was the only service the band hears. I felt like my audience contact slipped a bit by this second service but there were some very encouraging comments.

I was most troubled by the last service. I got a tickle in my throat that water would not wash away. My voice slipped into mafia kingpin mode with a hoarse somewhat nasal sound. Reminded me of Marlon Brando in the Godfather. Then the coughing started. I managed getting a couple to the side away from the mic, but one was directed right into the mic. I think when I covered my mouth I caught it in my hands and hacked right into it. It sounded a bit like an explosion. I may have even deafened some people.

My family came to that last service and my grand kids would were wonderful to me. My daughter was very pound. She knew what few knew. I needed this opportunity to complete a restoration from years ministry pain. I had convinced myself that I had no place in a public ministry. That had much to do with the nervousness. While I believed the quality slipped some with each service, it was completely healing for me as it reassured me that God has blessed my ministry of the past and had not thrown me out with the garbage as some of his servants had done.

All in all I am grateful for the opportunity and that God gave me the courage to try again. Cindy is a hard workingwoman who brings a number of seniors each Sunday from a care facility and came with her boyfriend on Saturday night. I know nothing about the boyfriend but he was so focused and had a tear running down his left cheek from time to time. He was with me all the way. I really wanted to know his story. She threw her arms around me on Sunday morning and told me it was wonderful and hoped I would speak again.

I was very surprised and, glad God spoke to her and hoped the pastor didn’t hear her comment. While the opportunity was spiritual healing for me, I don’t need more. it is no longer a life goal. Admittedly it kicked a bit of new life into these weary bones. I would beg to do it often if it caused weight loss, but alas, that didn’t happen.

I'M STILL HERE!

“This is not an uncommon event; space debris is re-entering out atmosphere all the time," said William Ailor, director of the Center for Orbital and Reentry Debris Studies at The Aerospace Corporation in California.”

The satellite did not strike Washington or any of my Canadian friends, as far as I can tell. But as it turns out (sic. They don’t type any better than I do), Chicken Little was right — the sky is falling. With all the stuff somewhere up above, and NASA reporting that junk is falling all the time, Someone better come up with a light weight steel umbrella. The NW rain doesn’t bother me, but when it rains satellite parts I think I have reason to want a steel umbrella.

Remember the song What Goes Up Must Come Down.

Do you know everything you do

Has a reaction in kind

What you give is what you get

Since the beginning of time

If you hurt someone it's fair to say

Sooner or later it's comin back your way

You can't play games without any risk

Better beware and remember this

What goes up must come down

The things you do come back around

I know cause I found

What goes up must come down

I guess we have always known about reactions, but we did it anyway. My friend Anna sent this little story my way. Not everything about modern society is better. We may like the ease and for some we sould not want to go back, but we may be paying for the kind of progress.

"In the line at the store, the cashier told an older woman that she should bring her own grocery bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment.

"The woman apologized to her and explained, "We didn't have the green thing back in my day."

"The clerk responded, " That's our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment."

"She was right -- our generation didn't have the green thing in its day.

"Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over and over. So they really were recycled.

"But we didn't have the green thing back in our day.

"We walked up stairs, because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks.

"But she was right; we didn't have the green thing in our day.

"Back then, we washed the baby's diapers because we didn't have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy-gobbling machine burning up 220 volts -- wind and solar power really did dry the clothes. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing. But that old lady is right: we didn't have the green thing back in our day.

"Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house -- not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of the state of Montana.

"In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us.

"When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used a wadded up old newspaper to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.

"Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity.

"But she's right; we didn't have the green thing back then.

"We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water.

"We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull.

"But we didn't have the green thing back then.

"Back then, people took the streetcar or a bus and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service..

"We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint.

"But isn't it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the green thing back then?"

I'll write again late Sunday. And no, I don't know why the font and size kept changing.

THE SKY IS FALLING

It was a little surprising to read on the net tonight that Western Washington was/is in the path of that bus falling from the sky. They say this used up satellite that may or may not come down while I’m sleeping (maybe while you are sleeping as well) and it may hit my area and possibly my friends in Western Canada as far east as Calgary, Edmonton area. I happen to be on the bottom floor so expect that if it hits The Home this place may be damaged and my roof may sag but I should be OK if I sleep under my bed.

Pleasant dreams and let me know if you survived. If I don’t hear from you I can only assume you are no longer here to write.

AN ORDINARILY PLEASANT DAY

It ended up being newsletter day. Once a month I am in the final stage of finishing up the monthly schedule of activities (not many events this month since I’m not planning anything), the jokes and info that administrators want me to pass on. I not only printed in the last newsletter that I was done planning events I mentioned it to several people who could and should do something. I did list one thing — a Halloween Day potluck. We have always had one and while I have set the day and time, I never do anything else to make it happen. That is my concession to event planning. As a result the calendar looks pretty empty. Celebration of Birthday party’s, the flu shot clinic and the potluck. It may take awhile before anyone misses any of these things. Time will tell.

I always finish up the newsletter as soon as I have interviewed someone for his or her profile story. October is about out new maintenance man and his wife. They seem like terrific people. They moved here from Texas. They had a few years where they hobnobbed with the wealthy of Texas society – as employees. They worked as estate managers for an heir to the King Estate, the largest ranch in Texas probably about the size of Washington State. He was an office assistant to the retired David Pace, founder of Pace Picante Sauce. And he worked for a famous Naval Seal who wrote Lone Survivor, about his experience of capture in Afghanistan. I reached out my hand to Robert Kennedy when he was stumping for his brother John’s run for the presidency. I was one of thousands. That’s it. That’s the most famous person I have ever been near. Can’t say met, as that didn’t happen.

I liked visiting with them and writing the story as their introduction meeting to us told us nothing about them. He is shy and the administration barely talks. It was a bomb – not the good kind.

I finished the day working on my message for the weekend. I’m actually getting excited. I’m getting afraid that I am so over prepared they may have to come and haul me off the stage. That might be entertaining.

Saturday I am off the three soccer games. Glad it’s going to be nice. Last weekend it was so windy the team going into the wind could hardly do a thing. That’s what I blame Morgan’s loss own and I’m sticking to that story.

Happy first day of fall! Out summer seems to have just been here for a couple of weeks so we would like more summer weather. We will see.

A STRANGE DAY

This morning I learned how to make tea from coffee. It’s really very simple when you know the secret. First pour a nice fresh pot of water into the water well. Then remove yesterdays used filter (not everyone cleans up immediately) and clean the filter holder and put in a new, clean fresh filter. Finally add your normal amount of beans. And turn it on. It will produce a tea like fluid that looks exactly like tea and takes somewhat like boiled dirt. If you prefer to actually have real coffee, grind the beans first. So much for today’s helpful gourmet hints.

I awoke in the muddle of the night with a tickling sensation on my face. I did not have to visit the restroom (unusual as that may be) and looked up through my blurry and groggy half open eyes to see ivy growing over a wood like wall. Since it was annoying me so I pulled it down disposing it in the moat by my bed. I didn’t get it all so I reached up to pull down the remaining few leaves I could still see hanging over the wall. When the root hit me in the face, it was a strange substance unlike anything I’ve had on my face before. The root felt like it dented rather than breaking apart and spreading everywhere. It seemed like I was in my own bed but I could not recall a wall with ivy growing anywhere near me. None of this frightened me, but caused wonder and confusion. Maybe I wasn’t in my own bed? What was this ivy doing in my bedroom? I then turned over and went back to sleep. The tickling was over.

I didn’t even remember the dream I had until I made my bed (a strange event as well). There on the floor (in the moat) was this plastic ivy stuck into a foam florist block from an arrangement of ivy that had been sitting on my dresser. I had killed the beast and left it in shambles. It is good to know I can protect myself even while sleeping and do it without completely waking up. Yeah!

After breakfast I worked to balance my checkbook. I went into panic mode when I saw that in my records I was short $18 and would then be charged $35 for the overdraft. The bank said I still have $15 – a difference of, well there was a big different when you have little to start with). I had bought a new pair of pants from Fred Meyer the day before. I wanted a new pair for the services on Saturday and Sunday.

Because I had not yet pulled any tags off, I got dressed and sped along to Freddie’s. I explained that I had to return the pants because if I didn’t I would be over drawn on my bank account. The nice Freddy lady refunded me in cash and I sped my way back to my bank to deposit $45 (my refund and what was left in my pocket). When the statement came out of the magic money machine on the wall of Albertson’s Grocery Store it told me I now had $85. What? I was confused. I had no idea what happened but decided to wait until Monday to try and figure it out. If that doesn’t work I will call my daughter to come help me. When I panic, my numerical dyslexia goes into overdrive. I need to back off and return to the problem when the panic is gone. That might be now, maybe tomorrow, but I have others things I need and want to focus on right now.

I’m actually getting excited about preaching this weekend. I absolutely loved the classroom (I hated grading papers). I want to spend tomorrow going over the message and refining it. I am praying for freedom and that I will get rid of the thoughts that I am no good, not fit for ministry, of no ministry value any longer. It’s gong to be a great return to my roots.

Now about the day I had. I can’t stop laughing (really smiling to myself). It was strange. But I liked it.

SAY IT ISN'T TRUE JOE?

Who even knew there was a place one could buy a $16 muffin. They didn’t even look to be as big as the ones from Costco. They are the little ones. Bella Bella (fancy dancy) cupcakes sell for $16 for a half dozen or $2.75 for a single cupcake, I think these might be slightly over priced. You can buy a Hostess Cupcake with that nice creamy filling for under a dollar and you get two in the package. If you buy a bunch you may even be able to get them fresh.

Oh well, this is your tax dollars at work. Lets take some more away from the old people and maybe they will die off quicker. But lets not forget the needs of our congress people some of whom have said how hard it is to make it on $175,000 a year. (I’m willing to try). Maybe it is if it costs $16 for a muffin and $8 for coffee all over down. What’s in these muffins? What kind of Latté, Cappuccino, Foamy, doubt pump, mucho gusto 64 oz. coffee are they buying. For a group that size set out a few coffee urns with normal coffee cups like normal people do. Better yet, serve them bread and water. On some days that’s a treat for those on social security. Can’t someone there make a pot of coffee? People do it in offices all over the country everyday. Can’t they have potluck snacks and everyone can bring a plate from home. That might be too much. But grocery stores have whole aisles of cookies. Some could even be sugar free.

For that price I will be the middleman and buy what they need on the west coast and ship them UPS over night express to Washington if they will buy 250 at a time. I want to know if $16 is the group discount price? Those poor struggling civil servants living just above the poverty line! And they have free health care. Contrast that with how the government defines the poverty line: $22,314 a year for a family of four and $11,139 for an individual.

“(WASHINGTON) Reuters reported: As the U.S. government grapples to find ways to trim the bloated federal deficit, a new report suggests officials might start with cutting out $16 muffins and $10 cookies.

We found the Department (of Justice) spent $16 on each of the 250 muffins served at an August 2009 legal conference in Washington,” said a DOJ Office of Inspector General report released on Tuesday.”

It’s not that I’m angry, bitter or upset, but “)xqzlidp,” why don’t they dig into their own over loaded pockets to help the economy by trying to find a tank of coffee in the big city of price gouging that doesn’t cost more than a tank of gas. We elected you to help us, not have us help you to a lifetime of guaranteed income not based on years of service, but on just being elected.

Don’t get me started.

INTRO TO SUNDAY

No one showed up for Bible Study today. I had heard one by one from all but one that they could not come. Well, the one I hadn’t heard from didn’t come either. The pastor, his wife an their infant grandchild came and me.

We used the time to video an introduction for my speaking engagement this weekend. Very few people even know my name so we did a piece on how we met and my early days at the church and then came and continued the video at my apartment to see my art and what I do with a monthly newsletter. Mostly we talked and got to know one another better. It helped to relax me a bit. Now I’m thinking I should put the whole message on tape and stay home this weekend. At least all my goofs could be edited out.

My apartment is coming together — at least the living room. But I have a weird odor now. I know what it is; I just can’t believe I did it.

All I wanted was to thaw out two hotdog buns for a couple of sausage dogs for Supper last night. I usually put them in the microwave for one minute at a power of 3. They come out nice. Slightly warm and the bread will not turn to rock very quickly. While I was defrosting the buns I went to turn on my computer and set it up to type. While I’m at the computer the fire alarm in my apartment goes off. I turn and look toward the kitchen and see smoke billowing out of the back of the microwave and it is still running. The kitchen area is filled with smoke and it is coming my way.

I ran (well walked fast) to the kitchen to turn off the microwave and then turned on all the fans I have (three), open every window and then call the emergency number to report there is no fire but I need someone to come to shut off my alarm. I have a ten-foot ceiling and cannot reach the reset button. I didn’t dare open the door to the hall, as it would then set the alarms off for the entire building. Meanwhile I sat with the incessant alarm ringing giving me a headache just to protect my neighbors from the sound. They probably don’t even know what I did for them. Of course, Bobbie will still hear it, as she is right next to the locked control room with the master shut off. It rings in there when ever there is an apartment alarm anywhere in the building.

After much of the smoke dissipated I escaped the blaring sound by slipping quickly into the hall and sitting in the chair across from my door. It seemed like an eternity before someone came to calm the storm. Our maintenance man is new and this was his first alarm shut off. The shut off is not easy. Fire One needs to be called before he can shut anything off. He didn’t have their number.

When things finally quieted down and I returned to the scene of the incident my apartment really stunk. I didn’t know that nuked bread could smell so bad or that the smell would last so long. I mean those two little buns were blacker than sin and glued to the rotating plate. I still have that soaking to loosen up the paste (at least it looks and feels like black paste).

At least I’m distracted from the coming weekend. I think I’ll go work on my bedroom now. That’s where I have stacked all my boxes that need to be sorted. If I don’t do that, I will take a nap.

IMPROVED APARTMENT AND CHURCH

It’s Monday night and the public speaking assignment is now only six days away. Nerves calmed down. No real reason. U guess I just kept busy. I know the passage and I kept going over it in my mind and adding related thoughts. I rarely write things down at this point. I just want to know where I am going so well I will not really need my notes. At least it used to be that way. Who knows now?

On Friday the Housing Authority had a big garage sale across the street. A couple months back they moved from two doors down to Bremerton, now several miles away. Considering what was being sold I guess they got all new furniture. There were desk, chairs, and file cabinets galore.

Since I moved here to a much smaller space than I had ever had before I created a make shift deck. I had a board stretched across two two-drawer filing cabinets. It would have been nice had the filing cabinets been the same height. Since they weren’t I had several loose boards on top of the short one to try and even them out. It wasn’t perfect, but it was workable. The biggest problem was the board was too wide and there was lots of wasted space.

So I went to the garage sale to see if there was anything cheap that would work and improve the looks of my apartment. I found a secretaries desk with a return, I didn’t want the return so I measured its height, went home and measured my filing cabinets and one was the exact height I needed. Since I only wanted half the desk, I got the oak secretaries desk for $15.00. I disliked a stool I had for my drawing table. It was too high and gave me a sore back. So I thought (good thinking) that an adjustable secretaries desk might do the trick. I felt like I won the lottery. Picked that up for $10.00. Amazing, my living room is beginning to look like a real apartment and now I feel like a real person.

Getting those things has motivated me to straighten the whole place up. It takes a lot to motivate me to do that. I am even getting rid of books. I have no idea why I continue to buy books. I am a block and a half away from the public library. Duh! What is it about book ownership that seems so important? Today I took a pile over to The Home’s library. My daughter will come and go through the rest this weekend and that will let me remove another small bookcase that is really in the way. I am still trying to go through boxes of silly things in storage. My yearbooks go next.

We have a Bible study at The Home tomorrow and the pastor will bring his camera and we will do some kind of interview as a lead in to the service. I got connected to this church through the Bible Study. I was attending a much larger church with my family, but this little one is only two blocks away. I was hesitant to get involved, as his church is the same denomination I attended as a child. Not good memories. I attended for a year with no one speaking to me before I decided to call it my church. Involved was to tell him I was attending that church. He is a good preached and the musical talent of the church is outstanding. I had never seen that in a small church before.

Anyway, so I’m there. I am a greeter at the first two services Sunday morning. That’s a fancier work than the job. I help seniors up out steep stairs or the ramp. I move chairs to make room for wheelchairs. I help seniors get coffee, if the like. I do give out bulletins and greet most people by name, finally. I ask about their week, their job, their family whatever need the indicated the week before. I take guests to a seat, get them coffee and a donut and introduce them to several people in their age group. I didn’t like how it was being done so I took over after my predecessor was sent to prison on drug charges. Don’t ask. That’s a whole other story I will get too.

I know most of the people now. I am a strange fit for the church as there are two main groups, maybe three. The first and largest group is recovering addicts. They have a great ministry to these people. The second is young adult musicians. The pastor’s whole family is very musical and his children are all married adults. His son had several bands through high school and most come and play at the church. He plays drums, guitars, bass and keyboard. Very gifted yet very talented. His two daughters play guitars and sing beautifully. The oldest is the music director. One of the son-in-laws is also musically gifted and all these people attract others and seem to connect with musicians immediately. A new musician can attend on one Sunday and be playing on the worship team the next. I love it.

Gone are the days that anyone in this church mush prove themselves and attend here five years before they are allowed to do anything. This strange little church has several people who just get up to take the offering when the need arises. There is no schedule. I thought it was weird, but it works. This is the most laid back church I have even attended. The band plays mostly barefoot. Call the elders, get the district leadership, and get the president. This must be stopped now. Do it and I leave!

WITH REGRETS

Yesterday I wrote a script for a video interview the pastor wanted to use to introduce me when I speak (or fall on my face) this next Sunday. I don’t know if I slept wrong, got up on the wrong side of the bed or just ate something that messed me up — but I hated it.

Reminds me of when I was working with the Portrait Players and trying to write a script at the same time. I would bring the pages I had written to rehearsal, the cast would memorize them and the next rehearsal I would throw all or most of those out and give them new pages. When I saw the scenes in rehearsal they sucked. Of course that was not a phrase used in them olden days.

So where am I today? I would just as soon drop the whole video interview. Lets just go ahead and throw me to the wolves without further ado. But that is not likely going to happen. Let’s just go o the interview like 20 minutes. Maybe I should do it in shadows or with my voice altered.

Six from the home are on their Alaska cruise and will stop at Juneau for their first day back on land. All are new cruisers (like I have experience. I did make the Alaska Inland Passage cruise — once). The group is nervous. They were afraid it would be raining the whole trip. The night before I check the coming weather at all their stops and they were right. It’s raining. They went this week because it is the last week of the Alaska cruises for the season and therefore the most economical. I helped them get this discounted trip together. I hope they forgot that. If it is also foggy they are likely to see almost nothing. They are excited about the tour of Glacier Bay National Park. But if it is foggy and rainy, they may see nothing. I think I’ll hide when they return until I know if they had a good time.

I'M BACK AND I'M NERVOUS

I have been off line for so longI’m sure a couple of you have wandered away or wondered what happened to me. IfI were you I would have abandoned me by now. I understand it has been 12 days. If the truth were to be known (and its going to be rightnow) I seriously considered writing one last posting to tell you I was givingup my blog. I am aware there are times I have very little to say — especiallysince so many tenants have calmed way down.

I have had no energy for the pastcouple of weeks (excuse #2, #1 was that I have nothing to say). I get up, eatbreakfast and want to go back to sleep right after. My doctor is quit sure Ihave sleep apnea. He wants to schedule me for a test. I resent that option. Ican’t sleep the first couple of nights in a strange bed and the thought ofsomeone watching me while I have cords attached to my head is a sure way tokeep me awake all night. Take all the junk off and sent me home and I will fallasleep almost right away. Of course, I will be wide away in an hour or twoanyway. That was excuse #3 — poor sleep.

I have been sitting here trying tothink of more excuses, but decided to tell you I will be back for 3-4 writing aweek. It just dawned on me that I will be preaching next Sunday. I will keepyou up to date on my daily fears and trepidation.

When asked to speak a few weeks inadvance, I have never had trouble saying yes. However, during the last few saysrunning up to the event I regret I said yes ever. You would think I would havelearned.

It’s time to confess that evenafter 37 years of ministry, I was never the top man or the one in charge. I wassecond or third or even so far down the list you could not figure out where Iwas in the ascension list should the top man be offed. My training was inChristian Education, a field that no longer exists. Christian Education wasfirst replaced by the study of Church Growth. When that discipline came ontothe scene, they used all the same terms CE did, but were wearing a differentovercoat. I often felt like we were saying the same thing. That discipline wasimportant because it studied how to make your church bigger and better so youcould be successful. CE was not really about bigger, just better teaching. Forthe Church Growth perspective CE apparently was about taking care of kids andkeeping youth off the streets. Hear the cynicism. If not, read that paragraphagain. Solomon was right — there is nothing new under the sun.

Now you know what I preached tothe choir for years. We were replaced. That’s OK. Even the church mustcontinually reinvent itself. Not to change the message, but update the deliverysystem. I really wish I were a video man. Alas, I can only use the overhead(that’s an old machine that set by my desk on which I laid “transparencies”that would that be projected —Huh! What are transparencies? Forget it. Read ahistory book).

All that to say, I wish I had saidno! Unlike most times past, I have plenty of time. I’m not sure if that is goodor bad. It doesn’t matter, I am still nervous. When I was first asked I wastold I would speak on the last Sunday of September. Today is only the 18^th.How can next Sunday be the last of the month? I thought I had two weeks. I feellike I’m the student in school who wants to ask for an extension. I can’tremember if it is 12 or 15 years since I have done this. All I know is that Ithought it was over.

I never gave a single speech in myhigh school communications class. I passed because of paper work. In BibleCollege I got one B and the rest were lower. The first Sunday I preached inUniversity Drive Alliance I sat on the platform staring out at the 600 peopleand making myself sweat. When I got up to preach, I was so dry and nervous thatI reached under the pulpit for the glass of water and said in my deepest most seriouspastoral voice “Let us pray” then reached for the water, needed two hands tohold it steady, then took a quick drink only the see the ushers nearly rollingon the floor in laugher out in the foyer. I’m surprised I could even speakafter that.

I always liked teaching andusually sat on a table or walked around. I’m going to ask for a table. I can’twalk. They have a live pod cast of their service with a cameraman who sleepsduring the message. It can be found at Living Word Christian Center,Silverdale, WA. Live pod casts are at 7:00 p.m. Saturdays and 930 and 11:00Sunday mornings. I’m told the services are archived, but I went to the site andcouldn’t see where they were. I’ll ask around. Someone may know. Chas just camein. The archived messages are under “Media” then “Sermon Archive.”

It’s only Sunday with a week to go.My knees are not knocking yet, but the blood pressure is rising. I’m glad Idon’t have a doctor’s appointment this week.

GOOD-OLE-DAYS

This morning a group of us were talking about the good-ole-days. In most cases that term is questionable, but, but it worked today — childhood memories — especially those of our neighborhoods.

Most had neighbors, but a few lived in the country, but we shared a few common experiences. It seems kick-the-can was a favorite game. Warm summer nights with fireflies blinking the light of their existence and parents often sitting on the swing on their front porches sipping whatever cool refreshment fit their life styles was prime time for that and hide-go-seek.

In my neighborhood the middle of the street was home to the can. The grade school basketball court was the starting place for the counter. It was surprising how many-played kick-the-can in the street. What, where there no cars? Maybe not! The horses avoided you.

Laughter was a common element as was stealing fruit from neighbor’s yards. I guess as nice as we want people to believe we are, we were really a bunch of little thieves. Apples were at the top of the steal list. Most are from Washington (or should I say Warshington like so many locals). My parents always said Warshington. It was so bad that when I learned to spell the word I wondered why there was no “R”. I should have known there would not be an “R” since there wasn’t one in “Warshing Machine.”

Strawberries were a big second. No one stole my dad’s strawberries, not even me. That would have been a dangerous undertaking. In my neighborhood we were always trying to get Mrs. Shindorf’s cherries. Sadly the tree was in the middle of the yard along the school fence which was twelve feet high, or maybe even as high as the sky — who knows. When Mrs. Shindorf caught us she never ever came outside and yelled or chased us away or seemed to do anything. We found out about it when we got home. She simply called our parents and let them punish us. I would rather she just yelled at us.

No one played war games, but we did play white hat and black hat guys. Good guys and bad guys and sometime cowboys and Indians. It is no wonder “A Christmas Story” is one of the favorite Christmas stories of our generation. Who didn’t want a Red Rider BB gun and all our mothers told us no because we would shoot our eye out. My younger brother still has a scar between his eyes were a neighbor almost shot Dean’s eye out. Talk about panic. It happened in the alley behind our house. He got in a fight with a neighbor boy and the kid hauled off and shot his BB gun from his waist and dented his head good.

We had not got BB guns yet and because of t hat, never did. Our lives were ruined.

“Out Gang” films were popular in TV and we all had clubs. Most excluded girls. The farm ones seemed more inclusive. Fewer kids, I guess. No one can remember trying to put on shows and few could remember what was the point of the clubs. Most had a president. I have no idea who was the club leader in my area, but the neighbor leader for trouble was always Bobby Cummings. He did his dead level best to teach us all to be little thugs. Bobby was considered to be the most likely to be incarcerated for life, but the rest of up were just too frightened of getting caught and going to jail. We had Boys Town at the edge of Omaha and we all knew that bad boys ended up there. We didn’t know what happened there or ever know, at the time, that there was no fence around the place. No wonder Mickey Rooney kept running away.

So why do some of the bad things we do slip into conversations about the good-ole-days? Jail doesn’t sound like it would have been fun. Of course, we were invincible back then. Only now do we know what idiots we really were.

THERE WERE LINES - UNFORTUNATELY

I’ve mentioned before that I love movies, and that I love books. You can’t really compare the two. The richness and power of a book far out shines even the best Academy Award winning film. I’m not taking anything away from a great movie, but they are just too short.

I have seen the film “The Help.” Loved it. Viola Davis should be nominated for an Academy Award as best actress for her role as a maid. Her movements and face convey so much more than just her words. It is a powerful performance.

I am now reading the book, “The Film.” The movie missed some terrific scenes. There is on about Skeeter leaving her satchel in a place where Hilly found it. Her had all her notes for the book in the outside flap and all her notes for women’s meeting in the center. Another great scene involves Skeeter and her parents going to her boyfriend’s historic mansion for supper. That’s both funny and sad. Also, a naked man in the back yard, very funny, attacks Minny, and her boss Celia.

None of these scenes are in the film. I am aware it would have been way longer than an American audience would tolerate. That’s why you must read the book.

I’m at a point where Aibileen is telling Minny that there are no lines between the races. They are all made up and some whites are trying to push them into subservience. This reminded me of my relationship with Austin. He and I were in school together from kindergarten through eighth grade. We attended high school together also, but things changed that I regret. A third of my grade school was black. They were just kids I went to school with. There were no black or white kids there were just kinds. I didn’t even know there were issues until we were in the eighth grade. While on Safety patrol at our very quiet corner we were pretending to fight. The fake punched the rolling on the ground, the falls, it was so much fun. One day a car screeched to a halt and a white man came and pulled Austin off me threatening him to leave the white boy alone or he would beat him to a pulp. Frankly, I didn’t know what was happening. Austin did and he went home sheepishly and quietly. The next day Austin schooled me on lines I never knew existed. I felt them more in high school and the blacks and whites were more separate. Blacks were in all the sports and some music activities but not in any of the other clubs. I recently checked my yearbooks. The teen focus on me, my fears, my bashfulness, loneliness and fight for acceptance blinded me to their lack of acceptance. We gradually steered clear of one another with ever having a discussion as to why.

That was my failure, my mistake, and my sin. I never reached out to Austin. We reconnected at an eighth grade reunion the year after high school graduation. We talked like we had never been apart. It was catching up time, then I left for college in Canada and I lost track of him. A year or two later I learned that he was down south preparing for the ministry. Fascinating, as I went north for the same reason. And here we both wanted to be Hollywood stunt men.

I have tried again is recent years to find him. I found a New Jersey article about him fighting the legalization of gay marriage. The photo showed him in clerical robes. However, I never found him. I owe him an apology and need his forgiveness. As much as I love him in out childhood, I failed him as an adult.

UPCHUCK AND MORE

Every once-in-a-while I get hit in the stomach with whatever and it begins to leak out of both ends. I start with the runs that seem more like a sudden explosion. I did manage to get to sleep and at 2:30 I began the upper volcanic explosion that felt like it might last as long at Mount St. Helens. It kept coming and coming and coming and — have you had enough yet. Just one more, the next day I had the runs all day. Enough said.

That was yesterday. I did get a good jump on reading The Help. Since I have already seen the movie I am delighted about how closely the movie follows the book. This is only the second time a movie has motivated me to get the book. My neighbor across the hall loaned me her copy. There are three descriptions of people in the book that are physically dramatically different than their movie counter parts. However, I will give the actors credit, they certainly convey the right spirit and attitude.

So today is my first day I sorta fell like myself. That is if I have any idea what it means to feel like myself. Would that be my 16-year-old-self, my 24-year-old self, my 35-year-old self, or my 50-year-old self? I remember each of these phases and that is not what I felt like. I think I feel lie my 80-year-old-self. I’m not that old yet, but went the way of the missing cat. Gone, but where?

Work has been piling up. I have a terrible habit to pile my dishes in the sink until I have no clean ones. I managed to get a few done today so I could survive the weekend. I had no clothes for Sunday so I had to do laundry. But my book was calling. When I get hooked on a book I like that will consume me. I argue that I am retired, no one visits my apartment, my family is across the water for the weekend, and I can do all this later. When my eyes gat tired I watched a Netflix rental called John Rabe. In German, Chinese and English. You have to keep your eye3s open and read quickly. I missed some, but not much. Maybe I will be able to read faster when my hearing aids arrive.

John Rabe is a terrific true story of a German in Nanking, China, in 1937 when the Japanese were attacking China. He had been sent by Germany 27 years earlier to bui8ld a power plant. He had done a terrific job and was set to go home when the Japanese began the attacks. Stuck in Nanking negotiated a safe zone and saved over 200,000 Chinese from certain death. There’s a lot more, but this isn’t a movie review — is it?

I spend some time on the porch with the Precious Ladies of The Front Porch.  Chas is usually there but he goes to church on Saturday night. My laundry was drying so I joined them until the crowd got so large I could not hear everything. I am now very aware of my lass of hearing. I now realize how often I say “pardon.” I talked to my daughter on the phone today and just skipped over something she said that I did not understand. I wondered how often I did that. Pretending! Takes me back to acting days — I guess I’m still in those. Also, the larger the group, the less interested I am in hanging out. I suppose I’m frustrated by the lack of my ability to focus.

I guess that will all change. I will either be like my brother David who is glad to have his hearing aids, or like my oldest brother Harlow who hated them and refused to wear them. His children hated visiting him since he could not hear them and gave up trying. I don’t want that.