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Oh Well

Oh Well

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I can’t help about the shape I’m in
I can’t sing, I ain’t pretty and my legs are thin
But don’t ask me what I think of you
I might not give the answer that you want me to
Oh well

(From Oh Well, written by Peter Green)

 

Peter Green.

Born Peter Greenbaum October 29, 1946.

Many of you are familiar with Fleetwood Mac.  I have confessed to my being a rather big Fleetwood Mac fan before.

What you may not be familiar with is that originally Fleetwood Mac was called Peter Green’s Fleetwood Mac. The Fleetwood Mac years that included Peter Green was the Fleetwood Mac I remember liking most.

A pretty good guitarist, Peter actually replaced another pretty good guitarist named Eric Clapton when Clapton left John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers.

In 1967 Peter left the Bluesbreakers to start his own band that included other former members of the Bluesbreakers, Mick Fleetwood and John McVie.

 

I have a calendar hanging in my office.

It’s a guitar calendar.

Each month it features a cool photo of a famous or unique guitar and its history.  It also lists birthdays of notable guitar players for that month.

Peter Green was on that birthday list for the month of October,  October 29th  to be exact.

 

You can probably imagine hearing a conversation like this:

Joe: “Hey man how is it going how are you feeling?”

Jack: “Ah man you know I am not really feeling very well, I got this cough that I can’t kick, headaches, a fever that just won’t go away and the doctors can’t seem to figure how to make me well again.”

Joe: Wow that’s too bad, listen get plenty of rest, drink lots of water, and you know I am sure everything is going to work out.  And I will be thinking about you. Be sure to let me know if there is anything I can do for you. I will keep you in my prayers.”

And you can probably also imagine hearing one like this:

Joe: “Hey man how is it going how are you feeling?”

Jack:  “Ah man, you know I am not really feeling very well, I can’t sleep, my heart is racing, I am depressed, I don’t have any appetite, I feel like I am going to lose it at any time  and the doctors can’t seem to figure how to make me feel good again.”

Joe: “Wow man, I am sorry to hear that, that’s too bad, yeah I got an uncle like that too, hey about those Nats huh?”

 

Oh well.

Joe just might not give the answer that you want him to, huh?

 

Due to his mental illness, Peter Green would fall out of the music scene in the mid 70’s.  He would eventually undergo therapy for schizophrenia.   Thankfully he would come back and be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1998 and tour as late as 2010.

 

As is often the case with me, a song sticks in my head for a day and gets me thinking and then you poor folks have to hear about it.   That is what happened when Oh Well played in my head recently and Peter Green’s birthday was listed on my office wall.

 

And I am reminded by how I feel this is the time of the year when the daylight ends sooner, that many people are struggling.  And not just from the touch of seasonal affective disorder (SAD) that plagues me to some minor degree, but many more to a much more serious degree from a multitude of reasons or causes.

But whether its schizophrenia, or seasonal affective disorder, or post-traumatic stress disorder, or anxiety, or depression, or grief, or some other behavioral disorder or life situation that causes unbearable stress, we need to be attentive and sympathetic to the needs of those folks too.

 

You may have people in your life who are struggling with something.

Actually, let me say that a different way.

You do have people in your life who are struggling with something.  A person that you love, a person that you work with, a person who is your friend, the person waiting on you in a restaurant.

You may not realize it.

Or, you may prefer to avoid it.

You may prefer to say, “Oh well, how about those Nats?”

I have written before, that those brothers and sisters need our help too.

And if we don’t know how to help them, which may often be the case, we just need to pray about it.

Pray for them.

And maybe just listen.

And maybe not say anything.

Maybe just be there.

 

And it could be me, and it could be you.

And if it is, we need to tell somebody.

 

Now, when I talked to God I knew he’d understand
He said, “Stick by my side and I’ll be your guiding hand
But don’t ask me what I think of you
I might not give the answer that you want me to
Oh well

(From Oh Well, by Peter Green)

 

 

Plant Camp

Plant Camp

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Thursday evening I was thanking God for the fact that it wasn’t Monday when The Voice would be on, and it was a travel day for the Nationals so there was no late-night baseball to watch and keep me up.

Nope, it was just a beautiful evening to end a beautiful day.  And a perfect excuse to plop myself just one more time in the chair and enjoy some time outside.

Last week we cut down the banana trees and got what was left bedded down for winter, and we carefully wrapped the four palm trees I had in the ground in hopes they would make it through until spring.

But today we had to deal with those plants that weren’t in the ground.  The many (and I mean many) plants of all shapes, sizes, and varieties that were growing in pots and would have to go somewhere warm for the winter.

And preferably not in my house.

And that is not because I don’t like plants, I do, but my house already looks like a Meadows Farms franchise location.

In case you haven’t figured this out by now, my wife has this really serious plant jones.  She is constantly bringing home plants or starting something from a seed.  My house is loaded with olive trees, fig-trees, money trees, avocado trees, and on and on and on.

At one point this summer I told my wife I was going to attach leaves to my body so she would pay more attention to me.

I was feeling neglected (she doesn’t pour water on me like that).

But I have grown used to it.

Anyway today was the day we had to pack up the big yucca plant, the jasmine, the lemon trees, and the citrus bush, the indoor palm, and the rest of the ten palm trees I haven’t put in the ground yet and take them to plant camp…that is anyone, anywhere that we can find willing to plant sit for the winter.

The decks are bare now.  Whatever is left, mostly ferns, will die off and be replaced in the spring.  There is only so much you can do.

And I guess if your wife is going to have an urge to bring things home, there are worse things than plants.

I should be thankful it’s not cats.

Well, it is almost time for the game to start.

Time to plop down for another night in front of the TV for some local World Series excitement.

Go Nats!

Loading up the truck for Plant Camp
To Every Thing There Is a Season

To Every Thing There Is a Season

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To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

(Ecclesiastes 3:1-2)

 

This is a bittersweet time of the year for me.

Trying to hold on to the last hint of summer, we spent a long weekend at the beach last week fishing, biking, and getting some rest.

This morning however the temperature was 34 degrees, signaling that it was the time of the year to give up the sanctuary of our back yard that we worked so hard in the spring to build, and begin to get ready for winter.

The time to pluck up that which was planted.

The first time I held my wife’s hand early in our courtship I remember saying to myself, “man, this girl has some rough hands!”

A farmer’s daughter, growing up working on the farm, created those tough hands.

And on a day like this, the time for plucking, that kind of wife comes in real handy.

So this morning the annual ritual of taking down the banana trees began.  This was the most prolific year we have had with our banana trees, and they produced many “pups.”  They also grew bigger than they ever had before.

One by one we dropped them down leaving about four to six inches of the plant above the ground.

We collected the leaves of the hardwood trees that had fallen, having served their purpose now laying in colors of red, orange, yellow, and brown in our yard.  These leaves will serve a different purpose now, to try to preserve the life of what was left of the banana in the ground as winter sets in.

So we covered the short stumps of the banana trees with the dead leaves.  On top of the leaves we laid the clippings of the tall grasses from our yard leaving some of the grasses up for the birds and as protection for the fish in the koi pond.  Then finally on top of the dead leaves and the tall grasses, we made a thick layer using the leaf of the banana trees themselves.  Some of these leaves were over six feet long.

Once the banana trees were tended to we dug up the bulbs to be brought inside for the winter and wrapped the palm trees with bubble wrap and a bed of pine needles.  This will be my first experience with trying to get a palm tree through a winter.  With bubble wrap and duct tape, the four trees I planted this year in the yard were ready.

It was a good day, and now as I sit on my deck without the privacy of my banana trees, I realize they had served their purpose all summer long, and today we served ours, working hard all day to hopefully bring them back again in the spring.

 

Yesterday our mail contained an envelope addressed to Donny from the Franklin Mint.  After seventeen years to get a piece of mail addressed to Donny caused a bit of a pause.

Because I guess I realize that to every thing there is a season.

And I understand a time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted.

But sometimes it’s hard to understand why that to those who are born, the time to die could come so quickly.

Couldn’t we have just wrapped them in bubble wrap and duct tape just that one time and protected them?

I don’t suppose.

I guess there is a time to every purpose under heaven, even if we don’t understand.

The Harvest, We Reap What We Sow

The Harvest, We Reap What We Sow

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Observe them carefully, for this will show your wisdom and understanding to the nations, who will hear about all the decrees and say, “Surely this great nation is a wise and understanding people.” What other nation is so great as to have their gods near them the way the Lord our God is near us whenever we pray to him? And what other nation is so great as to have such righteous decrees and laws as this body of laws I am setting before you today?  Deuteronomy 4:6-8

 

The laws, the rules we live by.

The speaker introducing the message at church this Sunday used the analogy of playing with fire.  Our innate insistence on sometimes challenging wisdom, rules, and laws out of a curious need to know more,  or the feeling that we know better maybe. Our inability to trust what we are being told, our need to learn it ourselves… like playing with fire, until we get burned.

 

I am in western Pennsylvania again and this time of year it’s the harvest, the time when you reap what you sow.

It was a good week, the predicted rain held off and “the boys” (Kim’s brothers Kerry and Keith,  and nephew Josh) were able to finish harvesting the soybeans in the fields down by Scullton and return the two large combines back to the farm to be moved to another field when work started again on Monday.

Unlike the last time I shared my harvest experience, a time when there was uncertainty in my life and uncertainty in our country with the upcoming election, I didn’t get to ride in the combine.   But by the end of the weekend I would feel that it was me who was benefiting from the reaping.

Having moved from the intro message delivered in the sanctuary to the basement classroom for Sunday school, we discussed Deuteronomy some more and the laws being passed on to the new nation of Israel.

Later those same rules to live by would be shared to other nations through the life of Jesus and his disciples.

On this Sunday, as we always do when we are at Kim’s home in Somerset, we attended services at the Geiger Church of the Brethren.  I have been to church here many times over the last twenty years, but not until this visit was I ever at the Geiger Church of the Brethren for their communion.

The Brethren have communion only twice per year. That may be because it is different.  Communion for The Church of the Brethren is not just the bread and cup.  It is referred to as the Love Feast.

And the Love Feast does include a meal as you might guess, but more importantly it includes, just as Jesus did for the disciples at the Last Supper, the washing of feet.

Only after they wash each other’s feet, a simple meal is served.  And finally after the meal the bread and the cup, the body and blood of Christ is served.

So just like Jesus did at the last supper, I sat in a chair while another brother washed my feet, then dried my feet with the long apron tied around his waist, then he kissed me on the cheek and blessed me.  When it was my turn, and I received the apron, I washed the feet of the next brother behind me.  I dried his feet with the apron around my waist, kissed him on the cheek and blessed him. Then I untied the apron… and so on and so on.

It’s hard not to be reminded in that moment of what Jesus was reminding the disciples;  take his message, and live by God’s rules as he had lived out for them to see, in the time leading up this last meal of fellowship.  By washing their feet he was demonstrating the ultimate act of love for your brother, in humbleness and service.

 

Now, we have another great nation that seems to be in constant turmoil.  As a nation we may not have our God as close to us as He used to be.

I can’t help imagining our leaders, our members of Congress, experiencing this act of love and service to one another; each taking their turn to have their feet washed, dried by the apron, and finished with a kiss on the cheek and receiving a blessing.   Then turning to the member in the next seat, kneeling with the basin, washing and drying their feet, a kiss on the cheek and a blessing.

And so on and so on.

 

Might be different vibe in the room after that.

You reap what you sow.

 

So he got up from the meal. Took off his outer clothing. And wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with a towel that was wrapped around him.

I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them.

John 13: 4-5, – 15-17

Back Biters and Syndicators, Home Again

Back Biters and Syndicators, Home Again

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Back biters and syndicators
Standing all around the door
An’ it wished ’bout ev’ryday
Hopin’ I’d go way to stay
Ooo-ooo-wee, ooo
Almost ruin my happy home
Ooo-wee-ooo
Almost ruin my happy home

(Al Smith and John Lee Hooker)

 

 

It’s Friday and it is now about 9 PM and I am about to exit on to Route 18 for the last leg of my trip home to New Jersey.  With Little Steven’s Underground Garage set on my XM radio, I hear John Lee Hooker’s Back Biters and Syndicators begin to play.  I grab one of the three harmonicas on the console,  an “A” harp and it blends right in, happy that I got it right the first time.

Six hours earlier I had left work, got gas, and hit the road.

More than two hours later I was just getting off the DC beltway and heading towards Baltimore on I-95.

One hour later I was stopped in gridlock north of Baltimore where the express lanes converged with the four or five normal lanes.

Somewhere in this mess on the overpass above with a chain link fence, climate control advocates were holding a sign and waving their arms trying to get the impatient drivers below to beep their horns in support, or maybe, I thought,  trying to dispel the carbon monoxide being pumped out of the sea of cars below them.

It reminded me of what driving the beltway and interstates in late September of 2001 would have looked like.  You could barely travel under an overpass that didn’t have an American flag on it with people rallying support for our country recently attacked by terrorists.

What a difference eighteen years makes, I thought.  You don’t see too many American flags anymore.  Maybe we have just forgotten, or maybe some are just afraid of being labeled.

When I first moved to the Washington DC area, I used to drive home to Jersey pretty much every weekend.  I had an old 1969 C10 pickup truck and off I would go.  Generally it was a three and one half hour ride.

Now forty years later the trip I started at 3PM doesn’t begin to wind down until six hours later.  Thankfully around 9:30PM I arrive.

 

It’s now Sunday afternoon and I am ready to start my trip back, hoping this time the drive won’t be so long.

But before leaving I decide to take a trip past the stretch of Long Branch beaches I used to hang at.  I passed the Church of the Presidents, now closed for renovation and remember the time when I was twelve or so and spent the day sitting with my grandfather as he displayed his paintings.  He won a gold medal for his portrait of John Kennedy.

Then on down Ocean Avenue to West End, back in the day it was once referred to as the Greenwich Village of the Jersey shore and past the restaurant where I got my first job.

Finally at the North End beach where I spent most of my teenage years, I got out and took a photo.  It has all changed now.

Now ready to start my way back home I hope for swifter travel and line up my harmonicas for this ride.

It was a good trip.

Now I am ready to return to my happy home.
Ooo-wee-ooo

It’s All Over Now

It’s All Over Now

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I am in a funk.

At 3:50 AM this morning, while I was sleeping, my summer officially ended.

Today at 3:50 AM, the first day of fall began.

Summer is over.

My favorite season of the year has ended.

And I slept through it.

 

And then there is the Steelers.

In preparation for the football season in a moment of team spirit, I pushed the send order button on a really cool, somewhat expensive, Hawaiian style Steelers shirt to replace my AB shirt that is now as valuable as koi poo.  I was pumped, I was ready for the new season.

But alas the Steelers are 0 and 3 to start their season and Big Ben is out at least for this year.  I fear that the season is over.

 

And don’t bust out the sweatshirts just yet because then there is Climate Change!

Because,  even though my Steelers Hawaiian shirt is still sitting in the same place I put it the day I received it in the mail, it’s not due to the weather because we have climate change and it’s the first day of fall and its 91 degrees!

 

This climate change movement is really scary.  It’s like something has our young people possessed.

Friday I listened to a young female college student who said she had no reason to finish college because of climate change we were all going to be dead anyway. Still, others said there was no reason to have children.  And one of the signs I saw displayed in D.C. today said: “capitalism kills.”  I am guessing that means socialism doesn’t.

The world as we knew it, is over, we are going to die.

 

Last week my grandson Christian played Jesus in his Chapel skit at his preschool.

Alexa video chatted me to have Christian tell me about this and the dialog went something like this:

 

Alexa: “Christian who were you in chapel today?”

Christian: “Jesus”

Alexa: “Who was Owen?”  (His friend)

Christian: “He was Matthew the cash register.” (I think he meant tax collector)

Alexa: “Who was Royce?”  (Another classmate)

Christian: “He was a fisher of men.”  (Fisherman probably…Simon Peter I am guessing)

 

In another video Alexa sent the next day,  Christian was singing “I will make you fishers of men…fishers of men…if you follow me…”

Experiencing this, I am reminded of the reason you have children.  And maybe teaching them about Jesus and why it’s important to be a good steward of the world and how we treat each other may be more effective than promoting socialism, creating severe harmful anxiety in our youth, and living with the expectation we are all going to die before I am going to be able to access my 401K.

 

You know what, it’s probably not worth worrying about anyway.

Because…

I read something recently that our attention span has decreased from 12 seconds in the year 2000, to 8 seconds in 2015.  So do the math and that means that in 2019 we are down to 7 seconds and surely by now none of you who are reading this are paying any attention and are off to something else.

Hello…

But think about it, in 26 years, if we all aren’t dead from climate change we probably won’t care because our attention spans will have been reduced to nothing and we won’t have the ability to focus on or have an opinion about anything. Our ability to think will be over.

 

It won’t be business as usual anymore.

And now this, if any of you are still paying attention…

Is over.

 

 

 

Awesome…I Have Plenty of Time

Awesome…I Have Plenty of Time

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The clock above my kitchen window says it is 7:00 o’clock.

“Awesome,” I think to myself, “I have plenty of time.”

The problem is the clock above my kitchen window reads 7:00 o’clock all the time lately.

That is because the battery is dead.

But most mornings, even if it just for the briefest moment, I forget, and out of habit I look up at that clock and think:

“Awesome, I have plenty of time.”

 

The last couple of weeks our attention has been on Hurricane Dorian and chicken sandwiches.

Because of my little guys, I was selfishly relieved that the hurricane didn’t impact south Florida as initially predicted. But I can’t help feeling a little ashamed of that selfishness after viewing what happened to the Bahamas.

Then to make it even worse the total anarchy of the situation led to the desperation of looting by armed residents.

While on the flip side of that dose of reality, we had the unreality of desperation with Popeye’s Chicken sandwiches.

Chicken sandwiches that caused chaos and disorder with disgruntled customers, threatening lawsuits; a group rushing the restaurant with at least one brandishing a weapon just to name a couple.

I don’t even eat chicken.

But if I did I wouldn’t want to have to carry a weapon to go buy a sandwich.

I can’t imagine walking into a Burger King brandishing a weapon and rushing the counter for their veggie burger.

Truth is I am not against owning a gun; in fact, the situation that presented itself in the Bahamas, in my opinion, is exactly why you should own a gun.

Who knows when you and your family may find yourselves in these desperate conditions where lawlessness prevails?

 

But this is not about guns.

It’s about time.

The unpredictability of it.

And running out of it.

 

This has been a different summer for Kim and me.

Unlike last year when we got out on our bikes four or five times week, this year we simply got out on our bikes four or five times.

And the excitement and the anticipation of spending time on the kayaks we got for Christmas has so far resulted in only two trips.

All that said we wouldn’t change the summer we had if we had the chance to.

Our parents are in their late 80’s and even 90 in my dad’s case.

Time with our parents we may not have plenty of.

That clock hasn’t stopped.

And that has been our priority and our pleasure this year as I have written before.

Today we remember that eighteen years ago 2,977 of our brothers and sisters boarded planes and went to work all with their own excitement and anticipation of whatever it was they were looking forward to in their lives.  And just recently the husband of a friend of Kim’s drowned off of Cape Hatteras while on vacation with his family. He was just 61, and no doubt had plenty of plans for the future.

 

 

But I am 63.

And the clock above my kitchen window says it is 7:00 o’clock.

Awesome…I have plenty of time.

 

Post Script:

Prayers go out to Frankie Chuday and family, the people of the Bahamas and others affected by Hurricane Dorian, and the individuals and families of those still suffering from the attack on September 11, 2001.

Three Days of Peace, Love, and The Wheels on the Bus

Three Days of Peace, Love, and The Wheels on the Bus

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When the truth is found
To be lies
And all the joy
Within you dies

Don’t you want somebody to love
Don’t you need somebody to love
Wouldn’t you love somebody to love
You better find somebody to love, love

(from Somebody To Love, written by Darby Slick, recorded by the Jefferson Airplane)

 

According to the Woodstock Wiki the band Jefferson Airplane was scheduled to be the headliner on Saturday evening but actually hit the stage on Sunday morning around 8 am.  Somebody to Love was the second song of their set list that morning.

Rolling Stone magazine ranked Jefferson Airplane’s version No. 274 on their list of the 500 Greatest Songs of All Time.  It’s also one of my all time favorites.

We were traveling this weekend.

My “This Day in History” email that I received the day we left, August 15 from the History Channel, reminded me that in 1969 on this day the Woodstock Music Festival opened. Three days of peace, love, and music.

I was not at Woodstock.

I was only 13 years old.

I recalled part of my experiences from that summer of ‘69 in my post Bell Bottom Blues Revisited.

 

But now it is fifty years later and 2019.

And the other This Day in History for me this weekend was that it was on this same weekend of the month in February that I last saw my two little guys in Florida.  Six months is way too long to not see your grandchildren.

And I was reminded of that very clearly.

“Pop Pop I haven’t seen you in years and years,”  said Christian very dramatically on Friday on our way to a park.

Christian is my four year old grandson, and man he is killing me…

“It’s been forever!” he said, rubbing it in a little more.

 

He was right, it did seem like forever.

 

Our Woodstock anniversary weekend didn’t include anything even close to Jefferson Airplane or Jimi Hendrix playing the Star Spangled Banner.  It was Wheels on the Bus on You Tube, water slides, playgrounds at the park, ice cream, swinging in the back yard, cookies, and walks to Publix for Lunchables, and playing Disney Bus.

 

And now that our three days of peace, love, Wheels on the Bus, and grandchildren are over and Mimi and Pop Pop are waiting at the airport to return to Virginia, it’s nice that we had somebody to love.

The next time though we can’t wait “years and years.”

 

Apotheosis

Apotheosis

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My word of the day, that arrives in my email each day,  on Monday was apotheosis.

It means the best point in something’s development or a perfect example.

The sample sentence was “He is the apotheosis of kindness, treating everyone with dignity and respect.”

A good word, I thought, one I will try to remember.

 

Robert (not his real name) had given up.

After years on the waiting list for a liver, he decided to take his name off.

According to the United Network for Organ Sharing the Model for End-Stage Liver Disease (MELD) is a numerical scale, ranging from 6 to 40 (gravely ill), used for liver transplant candidates age 12 and older. It gives each person a ‘score’ (number) based on how urgently he or she needs a liver transplant within the next three months.

Now at his appointment, Robert learned his number was going up, and according to his physician he had about six weeks to live.

Robert’s first shot at getting a liver was foiled by an unrelated infection somewhere else in his body that  was enough to make the transplant procedure too risky.  For Robert now, lightning needed to strike twice, and that didn’t seem likely.

So at that moment in the doctor’s office with just weeks left, it seemed hopeless.  “Take me off the list,” he said.  He had some work being done on his house and figured he would just spend these final weeks making sure that got done right.

On his way back to his North Carolina home however, Robert had second thoughts.  He called his doctor back to say he wanted to stay on the list.

 

Lee Dingle, a 37-year-old engineer from Raleigh, North Carolina was playing with his kids in shallow waters on Oak Island, south of Wilmington.  Lee Dingle was married and had six kids. Four of those six kids were adopted.

“My partner, my love, and my home died today after a freak accident. Lee was playing on the beach with three of our kids yesterday, and an intense wave hit him just right to slam his head into the sand and break his neck,” his wife, Shannon Dingle, wrote on Twitter on Friday, July 19.

It has been reported that 55 people in need of transplants received Lee Dingle’s organs.

Shannon Dingle also advised people to “make sure your loved ones know your wishes,” because even though her husband was a registered organ donor, the consent still needs to come from next of kin.

 

Ironically, Mr. Dingle passed away from his injuries on the same day that we lost Donny, also an organ donor, 17 years ago.  It was also a Friday.

We will never understand why God’s plan for Donny and Lee Dingle was not what was to be expected.

We don’t know either why God’s plan for Robert included a slowly failing organ.

 

We push back when we read in the Bible that we are to give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.

Because that’s not always easy.

Yet we remain faithful.

 

And as for Robert, the weekend following his doctor’s appointment, the appointment he when he almost gave up, he received his second chance.

We will pray for Robert and his family for healing and the fulfillment of what it is that God has planned for him.

 

And my family will also pray for the Dingle family, as we know there are no words at a time like this, except prayer that make any sense.

 

Apotheosis…it seems to work for Donny and Lee Dingle.  “They were the apotheosis of kindness, treating everyone with dignity and respect.”

Yup, a good word I think.

 

A Go Fund Me account has been set up to assist the family of Lee Dingle.  If you would like to donate here is the link. The photo of the Dingle family is from the Go Fund Me page.

 

Feet Faddish

Feet Faddish

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I see people posting these photos of their legs and feet on social media all the time.

I don’t really understand why anyone would want to see a photo of my feet but I thought it might be fun to participate in this social media fad.

 

Finally.

A day on a weekend that I am home.

A day on a weekend that I am home and it is not raining.

Can you believe it is the 13th of July and I am just opening up the pool?

Crazy right?

 

Kim wanted me to clean the garage today.

But I thought nah…

 

Take it easy.

Sit by the pool, under the palm tree, and relax.

Well, I am not quite sitting under the palm tree yet.

That is the palm tree to the left of my feet.

Maybe in 10 or 12 years if I am still here, I will actually be sitting under the palm tree.

 

Cameron told me this morning that when I am not alive anymore, he wants my truck.

That caught me off guard a little but hey you never know.

You never know what God’s plan is.

 

So today, I think I will just sit by the pool, next to my little palm tree, and look at my feet.

The garage will be there tomorrow.

Me, and days like this, may not.