Ok, so Google blogger kinda sucks! I have been trying for days to upload photos to the blog. Today was going to be a fun update on our garden, complete with a picture of our first blueberry and a curry plant...which makes the back yard smell like an indian restaurant. But, alas, thanks to google's cloud picker being unavailable, yet again, I am stuck with no pictures. This brings back something I've been thinking of recently, paying to host a website.
Or more along the lines of paying to have a site, like godaddy.com or another web hosting site to have my own webpage. This is something I think I'm going to do. I think I'm going to merge my blog with this new page. But, here is the problem, what domain name should I use? I've been told to look at it as an investment, meaning something that could be used by someone else...with deep pockets who could eventually purchase the domain name (if only I could have gotten www.mccormick.com, I could have sold it for mucho dinero). A future investment. I pondered some ideas, www.mccormickfamilyblog.com, www.davidmac.com, www.mccormickfamily.com, etc. But, I have yet to decide on anything.
My plan is to have this done sometime by the end of the summer months, that way I can have a little more control and understanding of the medium in which I spew my thoughts. This is where the fun challenge comes in. I am running a contest for the best domain name. I'll leave the running open until May 31st. Best domain name, as voted on by Eliz and me, wins a prize! This prize could be either a $30 gift certificate to your favorite restaurant, with or without me in attendance, or I'll make you a re-purposed bird feeder or flower pot. Either way, this is a good deal.
The way to enter is easy. Come up with the best domain name you can, and put it in the comments section. You can enter as many ideas that you have and if you win, I'll contact you and find out which prize you want. Just think, in as little as four months, you could be the proud idea behind my new domain...no royalties will apply. Happy Thinking!
Friday, April 15, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Pavement Therapy
Pavement Therapy is what I call solo running. No partners, no headphones, just me and the road. It gives me a chance to take in the surroundings and spend time "upstairs" in my mind. I first started this when my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. It proved to be a great way to work out frustration and sadness. I don't need a reason to run, I could be having a perfectly normal day or the weather could be especially nice, and I will hit the pavement for some therapy. It's just a free way to increase my mood, attitude, and body.
Today was an especially good pavement therapy day. Spring is starting to break through, with winter still fighting to hang out as long as possible. This morning the warm sun was dancing with rain clouds and a light breeze, providing almost perfect weather conditions for a run. One moment the sun would shine on me brightening my path only to be pushed aside by a breeze cooling me down. The air was thick with smell of rain complementing the smells of spring. As I ran the smell of honeysuckle, dogwoods, and roses would fill me and seemingly encourage my run. I came across blue jays, brown thrashers, and an odd assortment of people walking there dogs.
I love getting out there to run. Not running for the sake of time, but time for running! It's a great way to just relax.
Today was an especially good pavement therapy day. Spring is starting to break through, with winter still fighting to hang out as long as possible. This morning the warm sun was dancing with rain clouds and a light breeze, providing almost perfect weather conditions for a run. One moment the sun would shine on me brightening my path only to be pushed aside by a breeze cooling me down. The air was thick with smell of rain complementing the smells of spring. As I ran the smell of honeysuckle, dogwoods, and roses would fill me and seemingly encourage my run. I came across blue jays, brown thrashers, and an odd assortment of people walking there dogs.
I love getting out there to run. Not running for the sake of time, but time for running! It's a great way to just relax.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
David's Don'ts...Segement One
Something new I plan to do periodically. David's Don'ts, a little bit of wisdom gleaned from a lot of stupid experiences. Today's focus will be on drive through car washes.
It maybe known out there how I like to mountain bike, camp, hike, run, generally anything that can be done outside, I enjoy. This usually equates to a pretty dirty car. Something I can totally handle. A mud-caked vehicle is a badge of achievement, a banner exclaiming to the world, "This is what I like and I do it!" I've been known to leave dirt and muck on my car for months at a time. Apparently, according to the lovely Mrs. McCormick, a dirty car is not the image of a sound mind. I guess she really does know me. Because of her, uh, encouragements, I get my car washed. However, my company car leasing office only pays for those cheap, drive through washing places, not one of the fancy ones that runs the car through, vacuums the insides, and makes you wait in the heat as a man attacks your car with a dirty rag and what I can only hope is not Gatorade in a spray bottle. No, I am relegated to the washing cave, up to the mercies of the machine with no human operator. Yeah, it's like Irobot every time the machine dings for me to stop my car.
Recently, I arrived at the one wash area in Shreveport (I forgot, the drive through car washes are become obsolete, so I have to drive a great distance to find one, eh). A manager of the convenience store was out there running a report. As I pulled up, she said "Make sure you pull you mirrors in, I don't want it to tear off another car's mirror off today. Hmmmm! This I did, only to have the great big brushes push the driver side one back out. In my fear of losing my mirror, I decided it would behoove me to open my window and push it back out. No, no, not a good idea. Even trying to time it so the big brush was behind me, I still manage a deluge of water in my car. But hey at least with the driver side window open for approx 10 secs, I still managed to get a half shower...which was great, I guess, cause my first one was just not good enough, hrrrmpphh. But I did not loose my mirror. So, David Don't number 1, Don't open you window in a drive through car wash. Mark this as a Bad Idea!
Number 2
As some of you may be aware, I have a Saris Bones 3 bike rack on the back of my car. As far as a bike rack goes, I give it a 6 to 7 out of 10. If you look at the back of my car, with no bike on it, the rack looks like the dual pronged fangs of an odd looking bug. I took my car through the car wash, with no bike on the back, but with the rack pointing towards the rear. I paid my money, I drove through till it said stop and I turned off my engine and settled in to wait for the beating and soaping to be done. As the large brushes that surround the car begin to float from front to back a thought enters my mind. On it's return trip, will it get hung up on the rack? I do a good job at making sure the rack is secured tightly to my car, so I was a bit concerned In a last bit of precautions, I start my car, put it in gear and stomp on the brake. Waiting to see what will happen. I have running through my mind the news article that states "Two die in a drive through car wash as the Nomination for the Darwin Awards comes to an close, with these two as winners." Didn't know how I could face the afterlife, I think St Peter would re-die laughing as we hit the pearly gates.
Sure enough as the brushes loudly clang indicating the front to back path is complete and gear up for the back to front wiping of the car we hit a snag. Or I should said the top brush snags on the bike rack. Then the car begins to lift, my eyes get big, Eliz's eyes are wide and an image of the car stuck vertically in the car wash floats in my mind. I ease of the break and the car lurches forward freeing itself from the hook of the top brush. Here's the best part. I don't leave there, I can't I have soap still on my car. I simple back up and let it try again. Same result, I back up again, same result. Einstein said "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." Color me insane.
Not only did I have to eventually leave the car wash, with my car covered with soap and a new dent in my rear hatch, I took the lady's, who was in line behind me, car wash too. Needless to say she flew around in her Jeep Wrangler with a look of disgust and accusatory idiocy and proceeded to lay into me. I apologized and reimbursed her for her measly $5 car wash, at which point she drove away. But not before telling me I almost ripped the brush off it's track. We drove home, soap caked to the doors and windows, pitied glances from passer-bys, and thankful we weren't hurt...well no more than our pride.
Lesson #2 at the car wash, no bike racks...I know what you're thinking, "well, duh." Now I can confirm it for all. I've since been back, but I play it safe and smart, and I always keep my hand near the gear shift, cause I just can't trust that fully motorized beast that traps me in it's belly under the guise of making things better for me. Learn from my mistakes.
It maybe known out there how I like to mountain bike, camp, hike, run, generally anything that can be done outside, I enjoy. This usually equates to a pretty dirty car. Something I can totally handle. A mud-caked vehicle is a badge of achievement, a banner exclaiming to the world, "This is what I like and I do it!" I've been known to leave dirt and muck on my car for months at a time. Apparently, according to the lovely Mrs. McCormick, a dirty car is not the image of a sound mind. I guess she really does know me. Because of her, uh, encouragements, I get my car washed. However, my company car leasing office only pays for those cheap, drive through washing places, not one of the fancy ones that runs the car through, vacuums the insides, and makes you wait in the heat as a man attacks your car with a dirty rag and what I can only hope is not Gatorade in a spray bottle. No, I am relegated to the washing cave, up to the mercies of the machine with no human operator. Yeah, it's like Irobot every time the machine dings for me to stop my car.
Recently, I arrived at the one wash area in Shreveport (I forgot, the drive through car washes are become obsolete, so I have to drive a great distance to find one, eh). A manager of the convenience store was out there running a report. As I pulled up, she said "Make sure you pull you mirrors in, I don't want it to tear off another car's mirror off today. Hmmmm! This I did, only to have the great big brushes push the driver side one back out. In my fear of losing my mirror, I decided it would behoove me to open my window and push it back out. No, no, not a good idea. Even trying to time it so the big brush was behind me, I still manage a deluge of water in my car. But hey at least with the driver side window open for approx 10 secs, I still managed to get a half shower...which was great, I guess, cause my first one was just not good enough, hrrrmpphh. But I did not loose my mirror. So, David Don't number 1, Don't open you window in a drive through car wash. Mark this as a Bad Idea!
Number 2
As some of you may be aware, I have a Saris Bones 3 bike rack on the back of my car. As far as a bike rack goes, I give it a 6 to 7 out of 10. If you look at the back of my car, with no bike on it, the rack looks like the dual pronged fangs of an odd looking bug. I took my car through the car wash, with no bike on the back, but with the rack pointing towards the rear. I paid my money, I drove through till it said stop and I turned off my engine and settled in to wait for the beating and soaping to be done. As the large brushes that surround the car begin to float from front to back a thought enters my mind. On it's return trip, will it get hung up on the rack? I do a good job at making sure the rack is secured tightly to my car, so I was a bit concerned In a last bit of precautions, I start my car, put it in gear and stomp on the brake. Waiting to see what will happen. I have running through my mind the news article that states "Two die in a drive through car wash as the Nomination for the Darwin Awards comes to an close, with these two as winners." Didn't know how I could face the afterlife, I think St Peter would re-die laughing as we hit the pearly gates.
Sure enough as the brushes loudly clang indicating the front to back path is complete and gear up for the back to front wiping of the car we hit a snag. Or I should said the top brush snags on the bike rack. Then the car begins to lift, my eyes get big, Eliz's eyes are wide and an image of the car stuck vertically in the car wash floats in my mind. I ease of the break and the car lurches forward freeing itself from the hook of the top brush. Here's the best part. I don't leave there, I can't I have soap still on my car. I simple back up and let it try again. Same result, I back up again, same result. Einstein said "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." Color me insane.
Not only did I have to eventually leave the car wash, with my car covered with soap and a new dent in my rear hatch, I took the lady's, who was in line behind me, car wash too. Needless to say she flew around in her Jeep Wrangler with a look of disgust and accusatory idiocy and proceeded to lay into me. I apologized and reimbursed her for her measly $5 car wash, at which point she drove away. But not before telling me I almost ripped the brush off it's track. We drove home, soap caked to the doors and windows, pitied glances from passer-bys, and thankful we weren't hurt...well no more than our pride.
Lesson #2 at the car wash, no bike racks...I know what you're thinking, "well, duh." Now I can confirm it for all. I've since been back, but I play it safe and smart, and I always keep my hand near the gear shift, cause I just can't trust that fully motorized beast that traps me in it's belly under the guise of making things better for me. Learn from my mistakes.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Shreveport, Yay!
Yesterday was a big "civic" day for me. I spoke in front of the City Council and attended a Shreveport Park fundraiser. Each of these was in an attempt to make Shreveport a better place.
Speaking to the City Council, mayor included, was to show support for a bike and pedestrian plan for the future of the city. I got connected with an urban planner who moved here from New Orleans. She and her organization has big plans for a bike path and Greenways which would make it easier to navigate Shreveport by foot and bike. And speaking as someone who tries to commute as much as possible by bike, this is needed. I have been yelled at, honked at, passed by way too close, and almost scared off the road by vehicles as I commute/travel. It's scary and I take the needed precautions, wear bright colors and follow the laws, but both the majority of vehicle operators and bikers don't know the laws and regulations. This lack of knowledge leads to increased accidents and angry folks.
One of the best commuting articles I've read came from this months Outside Magazine . The article, entitled Rage Against Your Machine, talks of a Manhattan Psychotherapist who commutes from his upper New York Suburb to his office, a 3 hour tour. He does this only twice a week and has a place in the city he sleeps between rides, but still, that's some biking! The author of the story had a great statistic, "65% of trips in a car are less than 1 mile." Less than a Mile! For lots of people, car is the only way to travel, but for many of us...a bike or our own two feet would suffice. More than that, it would affect our mood, our pocketbook, our fitness, our earth...I'm trying to find the negative aspect of this, but I can't. So my challenge to you all is a small, simple one. Twice a week, for a trip you would make by car that would fall into this category, don't drive. Walk, Ride a Bike, take the bus, do it for two months and see for yourself the benefits of your new "green" travel. I'm betting the extra time you take for yourself to do this, will be worth it alone. Also, check out this site for reference WalkScore.org
The Fund Raiser I attended was for the Shreveport Dog Park Alliance. This ongoing project to bring/build Shreveport's first ever off-leash, dog park has been in some sort of phase, conceptual or theoretic, for 4 years now. I believe there was some miscommunication and some confusion on some of the ideas at the beginning, which accounts for the dragging of the feet. But, now we are in the "FUNd raising" portion!
The park is currently planned to be built and established at Hamels Memorial Park, at the most southern end of Clyde Fant Park Way...HERE. The park will be 8.7 acress with both a small dog and a large dog area. There will be a 1.7 acre pond (on the current plan) for dogs to swim and play. It's being touted as the "Central Park" of Dog Parks. Personally, I'll take a "Highland Park" of Dog parks, over no park at all. But, you do what you can.
The cost of constructing this park is...take a breath....$250,000.00. Yeah, that's a big doggy butt load. I'm not too sure why it will cost that amount, but I know I'm going to try and raise as much as possible so we can at least get some of this going. This would be a great addition to Shreveport both for current residents and as an allure to bring in new people. Louisiana has dog parks in cities not as large and not as capable as Shreveport, what they have that we don't is more support from citizens and government...for now.
Sometimes I'll be walking around at the trails next to downtown, or sitting outside and listening to some live music at the riverfront, or even enjoying a movie at the Robinson and I think to myself, "Shreveport really has some good things going for it." This is a change from where I use to be, and I'm happy with my attitude towards my place of residence, but it could always be better. If you wanna donate to the park, let me know. It you wanna get involved with the bike plan, let me know. I can get you connected. As Gandhi says "you must be the change you wish to see in the world." This is my way of trying.
Speaking to the City Council, mayor included, was to show support for a bike and pedestrian plan for the future of the city. I got connected with an urban planner who moved here from New Orleans. She and her organization has big plans for a bike path and Greenways which would make it easier to navigate Shreveport by foot and bike. And speaking as someone who tries to commute as much as possible by bike, this is needed. I have been yelled at, honked at, passed by way too close, and almost scared off the road by vehicles as I commute/travel. It's scary and I take the needed precautions, wear bright colors and follow the laws, but both the majority of vehicle operators and bikers don't know the laws and regulations. This lack of knowledge leads to increased accidents and angry folks.
One of the best commuting articles I've read came from this months Outside Magazine . The article, entitled Rage Against Your Machine, talks of a Manhattan Psychotherapist who commutes from his upper New York Suburb to his office, a 3 hour tour. He does this only twice a week and has a place in the city he sleeps between rides, but still, that's some biking! The author of the story had a great statistic, "65% of trips in a car are less than 1 mile." Less than a Mile! For lots of people, car is the only way to travel, but for many of us...a bike or our own two feet would suffice. More than that, it would affect our mood, our pocketbook, our fitness, our earth...I'm trying to find the negative aspect of this, but I can't. So my challenge to you all is a small, simple one. Twice a week, for a trip you would make by car that would fall into this category, don't drive. Walk, Ride a Bike, take the bus, do it for two months and see for yourself the benefits of your new "green" travel. I'm betting the extra time you take for yourself to do this, will be worth it alone. Also, check out this site for reference WalkScore.org
The Fund Raiser I attended was for the Shreveport Dog Park Alliance. This ongoing project to bring/build Shreveport's first ever off-leash, dog park has been in some sort of phase, conceptual or theoretic, for 4 years now. I believe there was some miscommunication and some confusion on some of the ideas at the beginning, which accounts for the dragging of the feet. But, now we are in the "FUNd raising" portion!
The park is currently planned to be built and established at Hamels Memorial Park, at the most southern end of Clyde Fant Park Way...HERE. The park will be 8.7 acress with both a small dog and a large dog area. There will be a 1.7 acre pond (on the current plan) for dogs to swim and play. It's being touted as the "Central Park" of Dog Parks. Personally, I'll take a "Highland Park" of Dog parks, over no park at all. But, you do what you can.
The cost of constructing this park is...take a breath....$250,000.00. Yeah, that's a big doggy butt load. I'm not too sure why it will cost that amount, but I know I'm going to try and raise as much as possible so we can at least get some of this going. This would be a great addition to Shreveport both for current residents and as an allure to bring in new people. Louisiana has dog parks in cities not as large and not as capable as Shreveport, what they have that we don't is more support from citizens and government...for now.
Sometimes I'll be walking around at the trails next to downtown, or sitting outside and listening to some live music at the riverfront, or even enjoying a movie at the Robinson and I think to myself, "Shreveport really has some good things going for it." This is a change from where I use to be, and I'm happy with my attitude towards my place of residence, but it could always be better. If you wanna donate to the park, let me know. It you wanna get involved with the bike plan, let me know. I can get you connected. As Gandhi says "you must be the change you wish to see in the world." This is my way of trying.
Monday, April 11, 2011
A Rose by ALMOST Any Other Name
I was a bit of a handful as a child. I guess you could say I had the tendency find myself in situations that would usually have my parents staring at me wondering from which section of hell did I hatch. I'm not saying I wasn't awesome, but what 2 to 5 year old doesn't have you wishing you could run for the hills at least a few times.
Your identity is important as you grow and find yourself. You find out what you like, what you love, what you hate, and what vegetables you are willing to spend all night staring at and even risk seeing the next morning for breakfast as you dig-in to your obstinacy of Not Eating them. Nicknames are also instrumental in conditioning who your are. Given to you early, they can both describe and shape hobbies, looks, attitudes, and the general foundations of your childhood. I always thought I had a nickname, or more accurately, I thought I had an added exclamation to my name.
Until I was 4 I thought my first name was Damnit David! Making my full name Damnit David Patrick McCormick. Imagine my shock, neigh, my consternation when I found out that not only was Damnit not written on my birth certificate, but it was word not used in "pleasant conversations." It was not until much later, around 7th grade, when I really understood the name and the impact on my life.
I mean yeah, I may have eaten some dog's heart worm medicine when I was young. And yeah, I may have covertly given my brussel sprouts to the dog under the dinner table (which he sold me out when he merely chewed them up and the spit them out on the floor). And, ok yes, I did call some of our older car pool mates "Super Assholes" when I was three, but I was cute, so I could get away with. There are many more supporting examples of how I achieved my nickname. But do you know how embarrasing it is to stand up on your first day of school, 1st grade, and announce this. You have your new shirt, your new shoes, and your shiney new backpack and penicls, all sharped to a fine point, only to stand up and say "Hello, my name is Damnit David McCormick." The looks, the gasp of the teacher, the spit balls I had to endure the first few weeks. I think it's a miricle I haven't served time in jail!
Now some of what I've said is a bit of a stretch on the truth, actually, only the last three sentences...and sometimes with the stupid things I've done, I actually am surprised I have never been fingerprinted and booked. But, I know it has been the love and support of my parents which has kept me out of trouble and really allowed me to find my own identity. So thanks guys...I won't hold the Damnit David thing against you!
Your identity is important as you grow and find yourself. You find out what you like, what you love, what you hate, and what vegetables you are willing to spend all night staring at and even risk seeing the next morning for breakfast as you dig-in to your obstinacy of Not Eating them. Nicknames are also instrumental in conditioning who your are. Given to you early, they can both describe and shape hobbies, looks, attitudes, and the general foundations of your childhood. I always thought I had a nickname, or more accurately, I thought I had an added exclamation to my name.
Until I was 4 I thought my first name was Damnit David! Making my full name Damnit David Patrick McCormick. Imagine my shock, neigh, my consternation when I found out that not only was Damnit not written on my birth certificate, but it was word not used in "pleasant conversations." It was not until much later, around 7th grade, when I really understood the name and the impact on my life.
I mean yeah, I may have eaten some dog's heart worm medicine when I was young. And yeah, I may have covertly given my brussel sprouts to the dog under the dinner table (which he sold me out when he merely chewed them up and the spit them out on the floor). And, ok yes, I did call some of our older car pool mates "Super Assholes" when I was three, but I was cute, so I could get away with. There are many more supporting examples of how I achieved my nickname. But do you know how embarrasing it is to stand up on your first day of school, 1st grade, and announce this. You have your new shirt, your new shoes, and your shiney new backpack and penicls, all sharped to a fine point, only to stand up and say "Hello, my name is Damnit David McCormick." The looks, the gasp of the teacher, the spit balls I had to endure the first few weeks. I think it's a miricle I haven't served time in jail!
Now some of what I've said is a bit of a stretch on the truth, actually, only the last three sentences...and sometimes with the stupid things I've done, I actually am surprised I have never been fingerprinted and booked. But, I know it has been the love and support of my parents which has kept me out of trouble and really allowed me to find my own identity. So thanks guys...I won't hold the Damnit David thing against you!
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Patron Saint of My Homeland
And bright G'morning to ye All! Happy St. Paddy's Day. Tis the day we honor our Irish heritage...and drink beer. Today we remember the benefits of being Irish...and drink beer. We give thanks for all the Irish influences ( like Colin Farrel)...and Drink beer! right? Well, I think there could be more to it.
Not only do I blog, but I read blogs. It's a vicious circle I know, one fraught with misguided opinions and oft incorrect information, and that's just what I write...not to mention the extremely opinionated advice I receive from other blogs. But, I found one that is quite good and can shed some light on the incipience of Saint Patrick's Day. This is from Donald Miller's Blog ( He wrote Blue Like Jazz, Into Painted Desserts, and his latest book A Million Miles In a Thousand Years):
Saint Patrick, for whom todays Catholic holiday is named, was not born Irish. His parents were Romano-British and deacons at the local church. At sixteen Patrick was kidnapped by Irish raiders and taken to Ireland as a slave. He escaped his captives, snuck aboard a ship and made his way back to Britain. When he returned to Britain he studied to be a priest, after which he decided to return to Ireland to preach the gospel to what was then a polytheistic culture.
Saint Patrick was said to have used the shamrock to explain to the Irish people the doctrine of the Trinity. He spent thirty more years in Ireland and died on the 17th of March, 461. He is considered the principal missionary from Rome to the Irish and is celebrated as such on this day.
Today Saint Patricks day is celebrated around the world as a sort of tribute to the Irish and the culture of Ireland, a relatively small Island with a storied past and perhaps more storied characters within. It is, of course, widely known for its association with the drinking of beer. Saint Patricks day is the day in which the most alcohol is consumed by Americans. You can just see Saint Patrick now, can’t you, wandering into an American bar well after midnight, laying down on the floor next to a passed out college student, pointing at the paper shamrocks stapled to the ceiling, and explaining how much the Father loves the Son, and the Son loves the Father, and how the Holy Ghost is with us always, even on the floor of a pub.
Pretty Interseting Stuff, huh? The link to his blog can be found HERE!
So when you see the Shamrock today, don't think Guinness, Jamison, and Harp, but rather think Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Keep those "Irish Eye's a Smiling."
Not only do I blog, but I read blogs. It's a vicious circle I know, one fraught with misguided opinions and oft incorrect information, and that's just what I write...not to mention the extremely opinionated advice I receive from other blogs. But, I found one that is quite good and can shed some light on the incipience of Saint Patrick's Day. This is from Donald Miller's Blog ( He wrote Blue Like Jazz, Into Painted Desserts, and his latest book A Million Miles In a Thousand Years):
Saint Patrick was said to have used the shamrock to explain to the Irish people the doctrine of the Trinity. He spent thirty more years in Ireland and died on the 17th of March, 461. He is considered the principal missionary from Rome to the Irish and is celebrated as such on this day.
Today Saint Patricks day is celebrated around the world as a sort of tribute to the Irish and the culture of Ireland, a relatively small Island with a storied past and perhaps more storied characters within. It is, of course, widely known for its association with the drinking of beer. Saint Patricks day is the day in which the most alcohol is consumed by Americans. You can just see Saint Patrick now, can’t you, wandering into an American bar well after midnight, laying down on the floor next to a passed out college student, pointing at the paper shamrocks stapled to the ceiling, and explaining how much the Father loves the Son, and the Son loves the Father, and how the Holy Ghost is with us always, even on the floor of a pub.
Pretty Interseting Stuff, huh? The link to his blog can be found HERE!
So when you see the Shamrock today, don't think Guinness, Jamison, and Harp, but rather think Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Keep those "Irish Eye's a Smiling."
Friday, March 11, 2011
Regular Unleaded
I wonder if a lot of people loath stopping at the sketchy gas stations as they travel. You never quite know what you are going to get. It's almost a gamble Will it smell like smoke, will they have more selections of beer than soft drinks, will the bathrooms be the kind that you are afraid to touch anything and feel it's safer to not wash your hands when you done "visiting." (you know those kind of places) It's almost a mini-adventure in and of itself.
I love stopping at these stations. It's almost always a story, whether it's the attendant who was too busy to get off her cell phone that you didn't say one word to her as she rung you up and watched you leave, or the odd "Davenport" family with no less than 8 kids and two tired, frazzled looking parents trying to decide what chips and drinks are acceptable, mom screaming across the store for order and calm. A circus of possibilities, not to mention the fun and state specific Chinese, mass produced crap that serves as a souvenir or a last minute forgotten present for that younger son/daughter. And in Louisiana, be it north or south, the trinkets are always more interesting than normal.
I remember, as a kid, always wanting and begging and pleading for my mom to stop at the Stuckeys between Monroe and Shreveport. I mean it was less than a two hour drive and I was so allured with the gifts, souvenirs, burgers, and over all fun atmosphere I was always crushed when we had to hurry and get home. My sisters and I would play with the toys, which evidently ended in one of them crying because of something I did (I was a bit sinister then). But fun was always had and Stuckeys was always what we cried as we came near that stop on the highway.
That place has long since closed down, and I rarely stop at the stations anymore. I'm always trying to get to my destination as quickly as possible, ready to get the adventure on. But traveling with a wife means I can't just pull over on the side of the road to pee anymore. Now it means a 15 to 20 minutes stop, sometimes multiple to find the cleanest bathroom in that particular run-down gas station grouping. We browse, we buy, we embrace the mini-adventure and the wonderful subculture of gas station patrons. So, next time you are traveling, and nearest tree is not an options, take heart and patience in being able to interact with those you wouldn't normally get the opportunity to visit with. Smile, breath, and enjoy the wonders that society provide...our own, free urban zoo!
I love stopping at these stations. It's almost always a story, whether it's the attendant who was too busy to get off her cell phone that you didn't say one word to her as she rung you up and watched you leave, or the odd "Davenport" family with no less than 8 kids and two tired, frazzled looking parents trying to decide what chips and drinks are acceptable, mom screaming across the store for order and calm. A circus of possibilities, not to mention the fun and state specific Chinese, mass produced crap that serves as a souvenir or a last minute forgotten present for that younger son/daughter. And in Louisiana, be it north or south, the trinkets are always more interesting than normal.
I remember, as a kid, always wanting and begging and pleading for my mom to stop at the Stuckeys between Monroe and Shreveport. I mean it was less than a two hour drive and I was so allured with the gifts, souvenirs, burgers, and over all fun atmosphere I was always crushed when we had to hurry and get home. My sisters and I would play with the toys, which evidently ended in one of them crying because of something I did (I was a bit sinister then). But fun was always had and Stuckeys was always what we cried as we came near that stop on the highway.
That place has long since closed down, and I rarely stop at the stations anymore. I'm always trying to get to my destination as quickly as possible, ready to get the adventure on. But traveling with a wife means I can't just pull over on the side of the road to pee anymore. Now it means a 15 to 20 minutes stop, sometimes multiple to find the cleanest bathroom in that particular run-down gas station grouping. We browse, we buy, we embrace the mini-adventure and the wonderful subculture of gas station patrons. So, next time you are traveling, and nearest tree is not an options, take heart and patience in being able to interact with those you wouldn't normally get the opportunity to visit with. Smile, breath, and enjoy the wonders that society provide...our own, free urban zoo!
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
I'm turning in my card
So many times I sit down at this computer, load this blog template and begin to spew my thoughts. I do this only to completely erase the drivel I've just written. Sometimes three, four, or more times I write a few sentences, a paragraph only to have it line the bottom of the virtual garbage can. Thoughts possess my mind and I want to get them out, but when I do it sounds, to me, like literary "DUH!" At times I fight through the mental block, organize my thoughts, and other times I just give up and walk away with a blank screen silently judging me. And truth be told, I'm ok with that.
Today was one of those days, but I've decided perseverance is the path I will travel. This morning I was listening to NPR's Morning Edition. Nothing uncommon in my life. I was drinking a cup of organic coffee we have delivered, out of a coffee mug specially purchased and painstakingly brought to me, made of fragile clay; I was enjoying the morning. Then the story comes out of a bombing in Pakistan. You think "wow, another bombing in Pakistan, another in the Middle East, another, another, another." This is where my anguish surfaced. 20 dead, by a car bomb. Not directed at soldiers, or those who choose to be in the thick of these political struggles. Civilians, going about their business to school, to work, to the market, to run down to the corner to get a small container of milk so a loved one can have cereal or a perfect cup of coffee.
The sad part about this is no matter what portion of the area you are in, no matter what country of the Middle East you live, the bombings are every day and natural. As natural as us getting angry at the task of facing traffic or because the grocery is out of our favorite vegetable, we have to deal with this. However, these don't end in the senseless death of us, or worse, our loved ones. And it doesn't stop. We seem so distant from it, but we are humans, whether we be Christians, Muslims, Hindu, or Sun Worshipers, we share the bond of being the same.
One thing I've learned from my limited travel and mission work is a big lesson on Love. We can think our love, American love, Christian Love, Whatever love is better because of who we are. We can find ourselves knowing we love our families more because we can allow for them to eat all day every day, for them to wear the latest and greatest. Because of this we obviously love better than any person not like us, right? Love is the same no matter where you go. No matter how much money you make, or the health care you are provided. A mother's love is the same in Shreveport as it is in the mountains of Haiti.
You can look at your Love ones and say no one loves like I do, but we all know that's not true. The ability to love, the common thread that unites us to everyone. The one corner puzzle piece upon which we can find commonality. When I hear of these bombings or disasters ending in the loss of life, I can't help but feel a part of my love has been extinguished. I'll never know these people, I'll never been anything more to them than a random statistic or example of a selfish American, but that doesn't break the connection we all share with each other.
It's been said God is Love. That I can digest, I can believe. Love is everywhere, so God is everywhere, right? In our friends, in our enemies, in our competition? In the faces of those who believe in God and in those who openly deny him. Love abounds.
This drivel doesn't leave us with answers, more than likely more questions and uncertainties. But really, what do we hope to solve by blogging.
Love has a sister (for another day I guess). Love's sister is Peace.
Peace and Love everyone!
Today was one of those days, but I've decided perseverance is the path I will travel. This morning I was listening to NPR's Morning Edition. Nothing uncommon in my life. I was drinking a cup of organic coffee we have delivered, out of a coffee mug specially purchased and painstakingly brought to me, made of fragile clay; I was enjoying the morning. Then the story comes out of a bombing in Pakistan. You think "wow, another bombing in Pakistan, another in the Middle East, another, another, another." This is where my anguish surfaced. 20 dead, by a car bomb. Not directed at soldiers, or those who choose to be in the thick of these political struggles. Civilians, going about their business to school, to work, to the market, to run down to the corner to get a small container of milk so a loved one can have cereal or a perfect cup of coffee.
The sad part about this is no matter what portion of the area you are in, no matter what country of the Middle East you live, the bombings are every day and natural. As natural as us getting angry at the task of facing traffic or because the grocery is out of our favorite vegetable, we have to deal with this. However, these don't end in the senseless death of us, or worse, our loved ones. And it doesn't stop. We seem so distant from it, but we are humans, whether we be Christians, Muslims, Hindu, or Sun Worshipers, we share the bond of being the same.
One thing I've learned from my limited travel and mission work is a big lesson on Love. We can think our love, American love, Christian Love, Whatever love is better because of who we are. We can find ourselves knowing we love our families more because we can allow for them to eat all day every day, for them to wear the latest and greatest. Because of this we obviously love better than any person not like us, right? Love is the same no matter where you go. No matter how much money you make, or the health care you are provided. A mother's love is the same in Shreveport as it is in the mountains of Haiti.
You can look at your Love ones and say no one loves like I do, but we all know that's not true. The ability to love, the common thread that unites us to everyone. The one corner puzzle piece upon which we can find commonality. When I hear of these bombings or disasters ending in the loss of life, I can't help but feel a part of my love has been extinguished. I'll never know these people, I'll never been anything more to them than a random statistic or example of a selfish American, but that doesn't break the connection we all share with each other.
It's been said God is Love. That I can digest, I can believe. Love is everywhere, so God is everywhere, right? In our friends, in our enemies, in our competition? In the faces of those who believe in God and in those who openly deny him. Love abounds.
This drivel doesn't leave us with answers, more than likely more questions and uncertainties. But really, what do we hope to solve by blogging.
Love has a sister (for another day I guess). Love's sister is Peace.
Peace and Love everyone!
Thursday, February 24, 2011
385 Yards
385 Yards. Two-tenths of a mile. The last hurdle between finishing the race and falling short. A mere 385 yards. The most glorious .2 mile there every is, was, and will be...for me at least. I can safely say I have completed the marathon, and I am done with them. One and Done! But, I can confidently join the ranks of the less than 1% of the Population that has completed the full 26.2 miles!
Two weekends ago, Feb 13th, I and a friend ran the Rock N Roll, Mardi Gras Marathon in New Orleans, LA. We had been training since October for this one day, this one race. Elizabeth and another friend were running the half-marathon too. The day had arrived, and we woke up early, ate our meager race breakfast and walked the mile and a half to the race start. I was nervous, I had been nervous all weekend, all week actually. I was afraid of how my body would hold up to running for that distance, that amount of time. However, I didn't have time to worry, because, before I knew it, the race had begun and we were on our way!
The first five miles were a breeze, the Core four, all of us that trained hard together, got to run together. The four of us were Haley Young, Emily Bankston, Elizabeth, and Me. We chatted we looked around at the houses and the people, and we generally had a great time. Just another run like we had done at home, but flat and people cheering us on. So, easier, more energy, lots of fun. At mile 5 the half marathons split off and the marathons were on our own. Haley and I and a much, much thinner crowd, turned off for 21.2 more miles. I was doing great, still excited, still in good shape, just peachy. At mile 8 we saw Sarah, Mom, and an Anna Lynn. There were in Audubon Park. A lovely place to run and even better with family cheering us on. That was one of the highlights of the race for me. By mile 14 we were heading into the French Quarter. I was trucking along just fine, good pace, good attitude, good run. We take a turn, North, to run up Esplanade St. This street marks the Eastern border of the Quarter. This long, bumpy, potholey, street, takes us up to the park where the end is located. I'm running fine, Haley has pushed through her wall and is running fine. We pass mile 18 and we see him.Well, we see his feet and his legs, and the 7 people around him administering CPR and call for the police. A runner had collapse, obviously a man, in the middle of this road and was fighting for his life. This took the wind out of me. This got in my head and made the next 8 miles crazy hard. Thankfully Haley was there to push me through my wall and help me finish. At mile 22 we ran up on the Lake Ponchatoula. This was beautiful and for about two miles we ran beside this gorgeous lake.
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| Core 4 Before the Race |
After I crossed the finish line, the next few minutes were a blur, water was thrust into my hand, a medal was thrown on my neck, a piece of foil/space blanket was wrapped around me. Fruit and snacks were stuffed in my hands and pocket. I went to a lady at a table of orange fruit cups. She handed me one. I looked at it, looked at her and asked if she could open it. When she did I took the whole cup down like a shot of liquor, fruit and juice all. Tunnel vision had set in and I was just walking it off. Fortunately my buddy Josh was there to guide me to my friends and family. I was able to hug Eliz and finally settle in to the realization of my accomplishment. I was very proud of all of us. We spent the afternoon and evening "enjoying" ourselves in New Orleans. There is so much more that could be said, so much more that can be told, but some things are best told in person. I will say, my legs hurt for four days afterward, and the day after it took me more than one try to get up from a seated position. Would I do it again? I don't know, probably not. Was it Worth it? Absolutely!
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| The Core Four, "David and The Divas" |
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| Precious Eliz after she Finished |
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| All of us who ran the race that day. |
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Bound for the Mother Land
Well, it's official. Eliz and I accepted and offer to go to South Africa to take part in Double S Ministries, "Fill the Container" project for Phumzille Park! It's pretty exciting knowing that in June, we will be Leaving on a Jet Plane bound for Africa, the dark Continent. I haven't told my family, so them reading this will be the confirmation that we are going...Surprise!
We are excited about it, but now comes the task of buying airfare. So if you know anyone who has an extra 4 grand lying around, send them my way. I'm sure God will provide. This is the same group/people Eliz went with back in '08 when we were married. She talks fondly of the trip and I've had the opportunity to meet the people who live in Africa, so I'm really excited to go and experience this with her and my new friends.
Just about a week longer of gathering stuff for the container. You can still get you goodies in the box, just let me know.
We are excited about it, but now comes the task of buying airfare. So if you know anyone who has an extra 4 grand lying around, send them my way. I'm sure God will provide. This is the same group/people Eliz went with back in '08 when we were married. She talks fondly of the trip and I've had the opportunity to meet the people who live in Africa, so I'm really excited to go and experience this with her and my new friends.
Just about a week longer of gathering stuff for the container. You can still get you goodies in the box, just let me know.
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