Hall of Famer Rogers Hornsby once said, “People ask me what I do in winter when there’s no baseball. I’ll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.”
And here’s the rest.
I’m going to go ahead and lower expectations for my community column which will appear in this Sunday’s Huntsville Times. I know that many will be expecting a Mother’s Day Special, but it ain’t happening. Sorry.
Here’s the truth: When I was coming up with a topic for this month, I completely forgot that my column would appear on Mother’s Day. In fact, I didn’t realize it was this Sunday until, oh, about 3 days ago (and my deadline was a week ago Thursday).
If you’re looking for an ode to get you in the mood for honoring your favorite mama, then you’re barking up the wrong tree, my precious coon dogs. I suggest you check out Garrison Keillor instead. Someday, when I grow up, I want to write like that man.
So what did I write about? I’ll give you a hint:
And they’ll watch the game and it’ll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they’ll have to brush them away from their faces.
If you remember where that line came from, then you’ll be one step closer to figuring it out.
Boom-de-yada, baby. And have a great weekend.
Earnest is better than hip.
I’ll take an earnest person over a hip person every time, because hip is short-term. Earnest is long-term.
Earnestness is highly underestimated. It comes from the core, while hip is trying to impress you with the surface.
“Hip” people love parodies. But there’s no such thing as a timeless parody, is there? I have more respect for the earnest guy who does something that can last for generations, and that hip people feel the need to parody.
–Randy Pausch in The Last Lecture
What would you do if your doctor told you that you only had a few months to live?
I heard that question posed to an audience recently, and the questioner went ahead and answered it for everyone present: “Well, I’m sure that we would all spend the remaining time telling everyone about Jesus and how much he has done for us.”
The question was a good one. The answer? Well, it seemed a little odd and incongruent to me at the time. I recognized it as “Church of Christese,” code for “get out and door knock or go on a mission trip.” Maybe that’s not what he meant, but since the question and answer were left hanging with little clarification and practically no meat to the bones, that was the impression that was left with me.
It was as if a “proper” preordained answer had been shoehorned to fit into the sacred space reserved for very private reflections on a matter of utmost, even ultimate, importance. In fact, knowing how staged and managed everything is these days, I think the shoehorn analogy works quite well.
Our friend Barbara died recently of a brain tumor. She had been battling bravely for two years, and in keeping with the openness and sharing that characterized her charismatic Christian faith, there was not a single health care provider or fellow patient who had not had Barbara grab them by the lapels at some point during that journey and have her ask pleadingly, “Is there anything that I can pray for in your life?”
And she stayed that way all the way to the end. But when she was told in mid-March that all options were exhausted, that the tumors were growing uncontrollably and that this time she really, really did only have a few weeks left, you know what she did?
She gathered up her family from far and wide and they all went to Disneyworld.
An image of Barbara in her Mickey Mouse ears popped into my mind when the speaker asked that question, and I thought: I would do what Barbara did. Or maybe Rome and Florence (never been to either but want to go badly) with a side trip to Lausanne, Switzerland to meet Brady and his family.
Or maybe I would do a spin off of Randy Pausch’s “Last Lecture” and try to come up with a “Last Blog.” Randy is the Carnegie Mellon professor who is dying of pancreatic cancer, and I had heard about his lecture last fall but had never listened to it until I was browsing in Barnes and Noble recently and happened upon his recently released book.
I sat down in one those comfortable chairs with a cup of coffee (half high test, half decaff–it was afternoon after all), and started reading some excerpts. It seemed to me that Randy was probably a Christian (he is) but didn’t spend a lot of time using “Jesus-speak” to describe his experiences. In his own words, this is what he was trying to do:
I was raised by parents who believed that faith was something very personal. I didn’t discuss my specific religion in my lecture because I wanted to talk about universal principles that apply to all faiths–to share things I had learned through my relationships with people.
The result is a lecture and book that are infused with love and wisdom and give sound, practical advice on how to live a full life, chasing and fulfilling your dreams and loving the people you encounter. It’s more about creating a “little heaven on earth” now than it is about “saving souls” for some distant and ethereal heaven down the road.
I can feel my life changing for the better as I have come to know Randy this week. His book and lecture are focusing my eyes in a way that no overtly “Christian” book, sermon or church service have in a long, long time.
I think sometimes we feel pressure to say the all the right things at the appropriate times when our hearts may be telling us something entirely different. Randy’s work these past few months is evidence of a heart touched by God, and the result is a both a reliable guide to living life now, and when our time is up, laying it down with grace, humor and class.
It may very well be that the best way to live a life of faith is not to spend as much time yapping in a language and dialect that many will not understand, but instead to live well-grounded and lovingly–speaking a more universal tongue–and letting those around us draw their own conclusions.
Actions really do speak louder than words.
While the main attractions on the Huntsville Pilgrimage Association Home Tour this past Saturday were the collection of historical houses and the beautiful Episcopal church downtown (be sure to click on “Home Tour”), there were some other interesting sights as well:
Bill Gnade, are you responsible for this?
Well, you know what they say: It all begins in New Hampshire.
Or maybe down if you’re a Tarheel fan.
Jump, Tyler, jump!! And everyone knows a returning Player of the Year senior like you deserves a nice, fast Harley Davidson too. Go ahead, splurge!
Good thing his Daddy’s an orthopedic surgeon. Of course, there’s another reason he may have stayed too. (h/t Greg)
And if all that doesn’t make you smile, them maybe this will. (h/t ME)
Boom-de-yada everyone! And have a great weekend.
Once upon a time, just like the cell phone commercial, I fretted over how much time my kids spent text messaging their friends.
Then I tried it. And like Mikey, I liked it! There were many occasions and situations when a short text made more sense than calling. So we got an unlimited text message package and we all lived happily ever after.
But before the other night, I had never texted anyone except family members. But someone Lindsay changed all that…
Lindsay (texting from a number not in my address book): Hey its lindsay! Hope you guys are prepared to kick some neighbor in the a$#!
I started to ignore it and let it go, but then I thought, hey this could be interesting, so I replied…
Me: Lindsay, I think you have the wrong number
A minute passes, and then…
Lindsay: This isn’t frog?
I’ve answered to a lot of things in my day, but “frog” is not one of them. So, I responded…
Me: Nope, this is the eyeguy
There is now a very long pause during which time Lindsay is no doubt texting some other friend to check “frog’s” number and to reconsider just what kind of weirdo she has stumbled into. But, ultimately, she does the right thing…
Lindsay: Sorry eyeguy
I’m starting to like Lindsay more and more by now, so I took a chance…
Me: Its aight. But don’t kick your neighbor in the a$#. K?
This time there is a quicker reply…
Lindsay: K
While much of the country’s attention is focused on Jeremiah’s Wright’s racial diatribes, Cindy McCain’s bank account, Hillary’s choice of liquor, Obama’s alleged Muslim-ness and Miley Cyrus’ bare back, the REAL STORY has slipped beneath the radar and been suppressed by the MSM:
Barack Hussein DEAN SMITH Obama is a TARHEEL!!!
Yes, I’m afraid it’s true. He was recently seen schmoozing with their prickly, thin-skinned HC Roy Williams and his gang of underachieving, powder blue cream puffs at the UNC basketball complex. This sick and galling display of political pandering can be seen here.
WARNING: The one of him posing with Psycho T, Williams and a very flabby Sam Perkins is NSFW!!!
As you can see, the fix is on as Obama appears to be keeping up with the much younger, taller and faster Tar Heels. But sources tell me that he made at most 2-3 trips up and down the floor before his Secret Service detail intervened and pulled the heaving, gasping Presidential wannabe to the sideline where he was administered oxygen, IV fluids and a massage. That’s right—a massage. Oh, and a PEDICURE TOO!!!
Another photo shows Obama driving the lane with Psycho T pretending to try to pack his shot while the rest of the Heels part like the Red Sea and let him through.
And get this: HE MISSED!!! I don’t know about you, but I want a president who can hit a layup, especially when it’s a blasted gimme, for Pete’s sake.
Barack Hussein DEAN SMITH Obama’s flirtation with the Heels clearly demonstrates that the million dollars he has illegally funneled to his East German-trained Marxist cousin in Kenya who is behind the latest uprisings there is the LEAST of our worries. The man doesn’t even have enough love of country to recognize who America’s team REALLY IS!!!
So, if you are a TRUE PATRIOT who loves God, country, CHRISTian Laettner and the American Flag all rolled into one, PLEASE FORWARD this email to your entire address book IMMEDIATELY!!!
The fate of our way of life hangs in the balance. May God help us all.
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UPDATE: This is the video that Barack Hussein DEAN SMITH Obama does NOT want you to see!!!
Ladies and gentleman, I present to you the The Duke of Corley, Sir Harrison Hairbrane of Hockenspeil and the lovely Princess Diehard Batterea of Gobamastein:
Well, no, actually it’s Number Two Son and his girlfriend E. just prior to the prom on Saturday night.
But we sure thought they looked like royalty.
Each year between late March and early June is table tennis season at our house. Or, for the unwashed masses, “ping pong” season. During those months, the temperature in the garage is just right, so out comes the table and out go the cars to sit for a short while in the driveway, exposed to the elements.
It is a season when a 46-year-old man with a bad back and a nagging case of turf toe can shine. Cocky young men from near and far flock to the garage, gird their loins (what little they have), and try in vain to knock off the “old man.”
There is only one caveat: They must serve correctly, or I will not play them. Ball held in the flat of the palm, above the table, tossed at least 6 inches without spin, contact made on the way down behind the endline. None of this cheesy, hitting-the-ball-out-of-your-hand crap. This is my house, my rules (which happen to be International Table Tennis Federation approved).
But they cannot beat me because I am The Spin Doctor. I Am Legend (sorry, Will). I have a headband and a set of vintage 1970s wrist bands. They have no chance.
Sidespin, topspin, underspin, knuckling no-spin, you name it, I have it. I have more spin than a Hillary Clinton press conference. I have more patience than Job. That is something that cocky young men do not have at all.
This spring is no different. They come, they play me, they lose, they cannot believe it, they sulk.
I am the Spin Doctor–look upon my wicked, diving topspin smash, ye mighty, and despair.