I’ve been spending a few days at my son’s house to help with a few house projects: repairing some bathroom tile, replacing baseboards, and some painting. My six-year-old grandson has been there every step of the way to keep me company and help out a little. He’s good at measuring and getting me tools. And he loves going to Home Depot.
Our first shopping trip was for for the bathroom: tile, thin set, grout, trowel, and some backer board. He got to push the cart with everything else in it so I could load up the heavy board. The guy at the cash register let him scan all the items. He loaded everything in the van and brought everything in when we got home.
Today, we went back to get baseboard. I had to cut up some of the 16-foot boards so I could get them home. He was right there to hold the ends for me.
He really wanted to paint with me, but everything I had to do was up on the ladder today. I’ll save him a few spots to roll at his height tomorrow.
My wife sent him a tool belt and a few tools. He was outfitted and ready to go this morning. I asked, “Hey, you have a screwdriver there?”
“Which kind?” He held out a regular and Phillips.
“Can you measure along that wall for me?” He used his tape measure for that and a lot of other measurements throughout the day.
The airport (Orlando) was packed with travelers yesterday. I left extra early, never sure what traffic will be like. I got there two hours early, didn’t check a bag, and sailed through security. Plenty of time for a cup of coffee and maybe a snack.
Starbucks line
Never mind. Eighty people were lined up at the Starbucks. I’ll just sit and read a little. I walked down to Gate 7, found a seat, and felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. Gate change. Gate 84.
<Sigh.> I walked back to the tram, got back to terminal A, and discovered I needed to go to B terminal. So I had to leave the secure area and go through security a second time. Give me a break.
The security going into terminal B was jam packed. Estimated wait time: one hour. I could still make the flight. I took a deep breath, picked a line, and prepared myself to wait.
And wait I did. The lines barely moved for the next 45 minutes. TSA must have been understaffed. Only three agents were checking IDs for about 500 people in line. Beyond them only one scanner was being used.
The lady ahead of me had a flight leaving about the same time as mine. She said, “There’s no way we’re going to make it.”
I said, “I think we’ve got time. Let’s be glass half-full. We could be those folks” and I nodded towards the lines that stretched a hundred feet back.
Well, we didn’t have time. I finally got through and onto the tram with five minutes to go. I don’t know how she made out, but I made it before the door closed. I put my belt back on after I sat down, grateful to be on board.
Actually, the plane waited another half-hour for passengers because of the gate change and very slow security.
Maybe that’s what hell is like. You just keep going through security over and over and over again.
As the pilot announced, “We’re starting our initial descent,” the mother in the row ahead of me explodes at her daughter, “I’m gonna bust your butt when we get off this plane!”
Giggling, her little girl kept poking her mom’s ear, pinching her cheek, and grabbing her hair. “You’re gonna get an ass busting. Right in the bathroom. I’m serious. You’re getting a spanking.”
It was like no one was on the plane except this seven year old by the window and her middle seat momma. I’ll bet they’ve had this conversation before. At home, in a car, or while shopping. I’ll bet few butts had ever been beaten. These were empty threats. The kid knew it. She was running the show here.
I know it’s harder to travel with kids. You’re not going to be reading a book or snoozing. They’re going to need extra attention. And you better be prepared with snacks, games, movies, more snacks, and drinks.
Traveling with children is special. They’re excited. They’re in awe of huge planes, real pilots, views out the window, the roar of engines, and going someplace new. They remind us that it’s an adventure!
Keep your sense of adventure. Be in awe. And bring lots of snacks!
When I arrived at the gym on Saturday, I got there just as a man about my age was fumbling for his key fob to get in. I said, “I got it,” and swiped mine for the both of us.
He then signed in on the same clipboard as I do, a Silver and Fit membership that I get free through my insurance. I said, “Oh, so you’re the other old guy.” He didn’t answer.
I get right to work at the gym. My workouts always start with squats, so I find a rack and start doing warmup reps with an empty bar and then increasing weights until I get to my working weight. It only takes me a few minutes and I’m ready to begin my five sets of five reps.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him slowly and deliberately get ready to work out. He sat on a bench and unpacked his duffle, laying out his gear. He took off his sandals, put on socks, and pulled his knee braces up. After he put on his shoes he hung two weight belts over a bar on another squat rack. He certainly was well-equipped.
By this time, I’d finished my squats and moved on to overhead press.
In between sets I watched him set up his phone on tripod and aim it carefully at the squat rack where he would be working. He sat for a few moments, writing in a notebook. He found a few plates and loaded up the bar. Finally, he started doing a few warmup repetitions.
Having finished my presses, I moved on to deadlift, which for me is only a few sets. I was done by the time he began his workout.
I know it’s good to be prepared, safe, and methodical. Take your time, and make sure your form is correct. Everyone has their own style. I just don’t have that much time to be in the gym. I get in and out as quickly as possible.
Some people say they don’t have time to work out. Guess why?
Clockwise from the top: Charlie, Eddie, Fred, James, Jerry, Dick, George, Bob, Mort, Gene, Richard, me, Harvey, Jack, Dale, Gerry, Terry, Kent, Bob.
I scrolled past this picture in my photos today. The moment brought back sweet memories of this faithful group of men who met every Thursday morning for bible study. This picture was taken about twenty years ago (early 2000’s). Since then, thirteen of these nineteen men have gone on ahead of me to heaven. I was privileged to officiate their funerals.
Some of these guys started the Thursday morning meeting several years before I arrived. Most of them were there every single week, rain or shine. We studied just about every book of the bible, prayed for just about everyone, broke in a few pastoral interns (vicars), and ate more than a few mediocre breakfasts at Perkins, a restaurant that would be torn down to make room for the Chick-fil-A.
This group includes two men who helped start the church, a rear admiral, a naval commander, the project manager who oversaw the construction of our new church, numerous elders and church officers, musicians, and one of the youth leaders.
We were blessed to have this room to ourselves each Thursday. That being said, we endured some challenges. The AC either blew arctic cold or barely at all. Water dripped from all the vents. Who knows what we breathed in through the ductwork. The whole building had to be torn down just a few years later.
New managers blew through the restaurant on a regular basis. The only constant was our waitress, Jenny. The rumor was that those on their way out were assigned to this restaurant. Six months later, and they disappeared. One manager was arrested and taken away in handcuffs.
The food? Acceptable. Usually lukewarm. Edible. Always good pie, though. For breakfast? Why not? George would order a piece of pecan pie with a cup of coffee. Life is short; have dessert.
All these years later, I remember so much about these men.
Charlie was a banker who endured the savings and loan crisis of the 1980s and served well as treasurer for many years. My favorite quote of his is: “Figures lie and liars figure.”
Eddie’s wife was my first funeral when I arrived at this church in 1996. He cut the church lawn for many, many years.
Fred had a beautiful tenor voice in the choir and for solos.
James was a navy chief, a neighbor, and close friend of Mort (coming up soon).
Jerry was a church elder for many years.
Dick served as elder and musician.
George was church president, elder, and tireless community volunteer. He ordered the slice of pie for breakfast.
Bob spent half of his year on Stagg Island, Canada, and half in Palm Coast.
Mort was a retired rear admiral. He flew just about every kind of plane off a carrier and had endless stories from World War two and his later job at the Pentagon.
Gene was the comedic relief. He post-humously paid for me to fly to the Bahamas to perform his son’s wedding.
Richard was a founding member of the church and part of the committee who called to come and be pastor.
I’m the guy with the white shirt and tie.
To my left is Harvey, a founding member of the church, a faithful elder, a great golfer, and the other comedic relief of the group.
Jack wasn’t even a member of our church. He was friends with some of the guys and was a faithful attender on Thursdays.
Dale was the construction manager, with plenty experience from building Epcot at Disney World. He was the no-nonsense guy.
Jerry was an elder for many years and a great friend. He always took me out for my birthday.
Terry was a youth group leader for a number of years. An ex-prison guard and ex-biker, we all felt a little safer with him around.
Kent was a World War two vet who looked out for the “old” guy, Bob, sitting next to him. Bob was a naval commander and one of those who welcomed me to the church when I first arrived. He didn’t make it to 100, but Kent will this spring.
I remember all these guys like it was yesterday. Their names and lives are imprinted in my mind. There’s a moral there. Most of the time, all you have to do is show up. You’ll make a difference. Your presence will encourage others in their walk with the Lord. You won’t be forgotten.
They were my last two plants. Crotons. Each was marked six dollars. I had been out there all morning, so I was ready to call it a day. I said, “Sure,” stuffed the ten in my pocked, folded up the table and headed inside.
I wish I had thought of this before. Just piggyback on the neighbor’s yard sale. Every one walked by the table on the way to their cars, and many stopped to look – and buy. Plus, it was nearly pure profit. I propagated plants in pots I already had. Some I grew from seeds. A few had blossoms on them. Those always go first.
But that’s not the best part.
A few hours later, I opened up my laptop to see where the plants had ended up. The map was speckled with green dots. Some were still. Others were moving quickly on highways. Each nanobot, absorbed from the soil through the roots, gave me real time GPS locations.
I clicked on one about a mile from my house, opening up a small window on my screen. Another click, and I had access to the home wifi. I only had to run the password generator for a few second, and then I could login. Sweet. Someone was streaming a movie. Another was playing an online game. A voice asked “What’s the temperature outside?” Of course, someone was shopping. Someone is always shopping.
Must be a do-it-yourselfer. They had a nail gun and a miter saw in their shopping cart. Just before they clicked Buy Now, I changed the shipping address. In a few days, the box would arrive at my Amazon pickup location. Sweet.
I closed that window and clicked another green spot on the map. This time I caught a login and password for a streaming service I’ve wanted to try. Finally, something different to watch tonight.
Okay, one more. Wow, that one’s about twenty-five miles away. I’m just going to have fun with this one. I turned up the wifi thermostat. They’ll be sweating pretty soon.
Each nanobot has enough power for a single task. I’ll look at some more tomorrow.
Roasting Peeps over a fire seemed like a good idea. It was an exciting idea. As soon as my grandsons came in the door late Easter afternoon, they wanted to know when we were roasting Peeps. “Not till after supper.”
The whole project was almost derailed when Consumer Reports announced that Peeps colored with red dye #3 could cause cancer. Disaster. Fortunately, we purchased traditional yellow Peeps. Whew. We were good to go.
After an Easter egg hunt and ziti supper, I got a nice hot fire going in the pit and we were ready to roll. We got out the Peeps and loaded up the marshmallow roasting sticks. It didn’t take long to realize this wasn’t the same as roasting a marshmallow. It should be. After all, what’s a Peep? In our case, a yellow chick-shaped marshmallow. A few seconds over the fire and the sugar coating Peep number one burned and the chick began to drip into the fire. As long as it doesn’t catch on fire, a marshmallow will firm up as it turns brown. The Peep mostly just melted and turned black. Yuk.
But hey, no way I’m wasting a good Peep. We put it between graham crackers with a piece of chocolate to make a tasty Peep S’more. Didn’t look nice but tasted great. A fun way to wash down all that Easter candy. Lol. Next time we stick with marshmallows.
“We worry too much about what others think, when the reality is they’re thinking about themselves, not us.”
I believe those words, or something close to it, are from an interview with graphic novelist Leanne Shapton. Those words contrast with most of us who are hyper-sensitive to who’s watching us, who’s sizing us up, and who likes us. Are people paying attention and forming judgments about us? Or are they self-absorbed and oblivious?
I’ve been paying attention to who’s paying attention to me. There’s much wisdom in those words. Few if any are paying attention.
How about at the gym? Is anyone watching to see if my squats go past horizontal? Or if I’m lifting more weight now than I did a month ago? Does anyone notice if I re-rack my weights or not? (Besides the owner who spends a lot of time putting things away.) Does anyone know if I’ve skipped a week? Probably not.
I like to watch people at the gym. I recognize the ones who are there every week. I watch in awe as some lift a whole lot more weight than I do. I notice how many people have earbuds and are texting on their phones in between every set. I wonder what they’re listening to or who they are talking to.
How about at the store? No one notices me in the car behind them as they slowly walk down the middle of a parking lane. Few notice that I am trying to get past them as they park in the center of an aisle to ponder the choices of cereal on the shelves. One lady didn’t notice as she took off with my shopping cart. An attendant is there at the self-checkout lanes, but I don’t know if they are watching that closely to make sure I scan every item in my basket. (For the record, I do.)
I like to watch people at the store. I watch them as they stroll the aisles, glancing side to side, deciding what they might want to buy that day. So different than me. I have a list. I’m on a mission. I get in and out as efficiently as possible.
How about at the coffee shop? Does anyone know or care that I can hear their conversation? Or see what they are studying? Or notice that I am watching them?
I look to watch people at coffee shops. I look to see what the baristas have set out in the pickup area. What’s in that food bag? What is that pink drink? I like to peek at what someone is studying or reading. I like to listen in on interviews and conversations.
In many of the mystery books I’ve been reading lately, the protagonist spends a lot of time watching body language and facial expressions. Detectives, spies, and intelligence types notice a lot about the people around them. I’m inspired. The more I read, the more I watch. I want to notice, too.
They are bite-sized. They are delicious. They can be eaten in so many ways. They are good for you. And they are the closest thing we have to blue food. Yep, the miraculous blueberry!
April is blueberry season in Florida, and that’s when I start checking the local you-pick farms. The one we go to each year only advertises at most a week at a time on Facebook (HNH Blueberry Farm). Their hours vary with the weather, the number of berries in the field, and how many folks showed up to pick the day before.
We don’t have to drive very far to get into the undeveloped agricultural areas of north central Florida. Fields full of cabbage, potatoes, and corn line the roads just miles from our house. Small church buildings, farm supply stores, and transmission shops dot the landscape. Cows and horses fill the front yards of large homes and single wide trailers.
The GPS says it’s a forty-two mile drive, but it will take us a full hour to get to the blueberry farm. There is no sign on the four lane, so you have to watch for the turn off. A mile down the road we pull into a grassy lot in front of a small building and acres of blueberry bushes.
We always bring our own buckets, but they have plenty there. We walk through a small sheltered area where we will later check out, and then we’re there. Rows and rows of bushes covered with ripe and ripening blueberries. All you have to do is pick them, stuff them in your mouth, and fill your bucket.
The first blueberries I picked were huge. Some were 3/4-inch in diameter. They were so sweet. My grandson and I ate the first dozen or so we picked, and then we began filling up our buckets. The ones that are fully ripe come off the branch with hardly any effort at all. I didn’t have to walk around very much; every bush was speckled with blue. My wife and I spent an hour filling two buckets (a little over six pounds). My grandson only added a few to the harvest. This year the farm charged $5 per pound cash or $5.50 if you pay with a card. If a pint of blueberries weighs 12 ounces, we came home with about 8 pints. $4 a pint at Walmart. You can do the math. All I know is that the ones right off the bush are tastier than the ones that came from who knows where.
As I picked, I had to work around a lot of white and green berries which would ripen in the next few days. Some bushes still had flowers. Their berries wouldn’t be ready for several weeks. It’s a miracle. We can pick pounds of berries one day, and the next day there will be that many more ready to eat.
In addition to eating blueberries at every meal, my next task is baking scones and muffins, some to eat now and some to freeze for later. I’ve got some good recipes for just this occasion. We may use some of these for a pie, too.
Waite for it... 