"Lovely Rita, Meter Maid"

There aren't too many songs about Rita, but there will probably be more after this weekend as Texas and Louisiana pick up the pieces. It's time for the return of the ballad, like "The Ballad of New Orleans II," and "The Ballad of Poor Port Arthur."

Disasters are dominating the news, taking precedence over everything else. Two hurricanes punctuated by a JetBlue landing yesterday and a burning bus today. Colosseum stuff for some. Painful tears of compassion for others. Either way, most of us are addicted to tragedy --- as long as it's someone else's.

Out of the Blue

Of the thousands of lightning strikes here in the valley last night, one of them struck a poor woman going for a walk in Modesto. She's still alive and needs God's mercy as a lightning strike to the head has a way of changing your life forever.

Lightning storms were rare in Paso Robles in the 50's and 60's, I think. Mom would have us kids huddle in the hall until the worst was past. She grew up in Kansas. Thankfully, she didn't have us crawl under the house!

This is turning out to be the weather news year of the 21st century so far. Hold on to your emergency kit and keep that SUV filled with gas!

This Overtime Thing

"In 1967, testimony before a Senate subcommittee claimed that by 1985 people would be working 22 hours a week or 27 weeks a year or retire at age 38. The extra time each week could then be given to church involvement, reading a good book, strengthening the marital relationship, parenting the kids or volunteering for civic organizations. But instead the exact opposite happened. Boredom was predicted, but exhaustion is the reality." Richard A. Swenson, M.D.

This week's whirlwind of overtime, managing a temp worker and driving Barb here and there (Liz had our car while hers was broken down) all add up to that much loved word, 'stress.' Downsizing to skeleton crew status has affected a lot of businesses, including ours. When someone goes on vacation and we're swamped, the hair pulling begins as the more inexperienced goons take up the slack. So I was #1 goon this week, doing my regular job plus another added in for good measure. Sound familiar? They call it 'being flexible.' It's not in your job description, but 'cross training' has been secretly inserted into your contract whether you like it or not.

Am I complaining? Not when so many are out of work and live like peasants around the world compared to me. And God usually plans these times of exhaustion so I can pay for that unexpected and inevitable catastrophe. He gives me the strength (barely, but enough) to do it. It's little wonder everyone died so young 100 years ago. Their 12 hour days plus Saturday killed them early. We're all living on added time in the 21st century, even with the work stress. Quit complaining.

Barnes and Bobo

I dropped Barb off for her class at college before going across the street to our clannish culture center, Barnes and Noble. It's Bobo out of water whenever I enter these halls of hardcore highbrows. It's like going into a bar. People here and there, sipping a few words from a book and glancing around the place to see who's looking at them. "Please don't catch me looking at an art book or making a futile attempt to find a book on Church history or scrounging through the computer and sale books," says Bobo as he lowers his baseball cap. Must be his self-righteous self smelling up the place again.

The parking lot's fresh air and setting sun calmed old Bobo's uneasiness. "Let's not pretend we want to go there for awhile," he offered. "Fine by me, but, man, you're weird," I added as we jumped into the truck and hand signalled all the way home.

Andre the Giant

Jimmy Connors must be loving it as Andre Agassi waltzes his way to the U.S. Open Tennis finals at 35 years old. And that's REALLY old in tennis star years. Here's a picture of the puzzled winner, scratching his head and wondering how he did it.

So how's your tennis game? Are you hanging in there even though you're over the hill and in the bursitis woods? My wicked serve and forehand fossilized some years ago, but it was fun while it lasted. My great regret is not playing more and better, to peak at 35 or 40. The only thing to peak at when you're close to 60 is . . . a . . . let's see . . . oh, I forget!

The Blame Game: In the Crosshairs

As if you didn't have enough to wade through in Katrina's wake, I'll offer a few comments on current blame game. First, like 9/11/2001, this is another perfect opportunity to throw flaming criticisms willy-nilly in the name of political fervor. Poor President George gets the hottest nucular (sic) blast here as commander-in-chief of hurricanes and all other global warming disasters. With his feet to the fire, he is Enemy Numero Uno on the Bush-haters' list of culprits.

We can next blame the Army Corps of Engineers, the governors of Louisianna, Mississippi and Alabama, then the mayor of New Orleans, then the people who were unwilling to leave their homes, then the looters and killers, then the local dog catchers. And let's not forget to blame an American population that has rejected its Godly heritage. And speaking of God, shouldn't we add Him to the list? Isn't he the ultimate reason for these disasters in the first place?

"Then they shall know that I am the LORD, when I have laid the land most desolate because of all their abominations which they have committed." Ezekiel 39:29

"I am the LORD, and there is no other. I form light and create darkness. I make peace and create calamity. I am the LORD who does all these things." Isaiah 45:6b,7

"When he utters his voice, there is a tumult of waters in the heavens, and he makes the mist rise from the ends of the earth. He makes lightning for the rain and he brings forth the wind from his storehouses." Jeremiah 10:13

"And when [Jesus] got into the boat, his disciples followed him. And, behold, there arose a great storm on the sea, so that the boat was being swamped by the waves; but he was asleep. And they went and woke him, saying, 'Save us, Lord; we are perishing.' And he said to them, 'Why are you afraid, O you of little faith?' Then he rose and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm. And the men marveled, saying, 'What sort of man is this, that even the winds and sea obey him?'" Matthew 8:23-27

Leave sin and God out of the equation and your answers are just "blowin' in the wind."

Deja Varoom!

Okay, let's get this straight. You were making about $3.00 an hour in 1963, maybe a little more. I was making $1.00 an hour when I pumped gas in 1966. We payed about 35 to 40 cents per gallon for gas, maybe a bit less or more. Our cars got maybe 15 (my Mustang) to 22 miles per gallon on the highway.

Now most breadwinners are making from $15.00 to $20.00 an hour and paying $3.00 for a gallon of gas. For families with two incomes, that's $25.00 to $30.00 an hour or more.

The math is pretty clear. Gas is still pretty reasonable and we've been getting a free ride for a long time. The big problem now is owning two or more vehicles. One of them (that SUV tank) still gets about 22 miles per gallon and our houses are filled with ten times more 'toys' than our parents had. Oh, a lot of us drive over 10 miles one way to work.

The moral: We spoiled brats and fat cats need to start a starvation diet. Simplify your life and the necessities of life will take care of themselves.

That Brave Old World

Not too far down the road Americans will wonder what it was like to fill up the car at a gas station. The kids in the back seat will see abandoned pumps and ask, "Daddy, what in the world is that!?" Then Dad will launch into an extended story about the cost of gas in the 'last gas days' before the Oil Wars, and how his grandfather died in South America somewhere.

"Yeah, didn't they make a movie about that?" little Jetson will say. And his littler sister will reply with, "What's a movie?"

. . . And God Created Cats

"The cat with eyne of burning coal. . ." says Shakespeare in the third act of
Pericles. No burning coals for Jack. His are a more the bard's "green and yellow melancholy" (to match his tepid temper and white goatee). But Angel dotes on him --- has to hug and love him far beyond his worth. Jack is the dog she never had --- he is pawed, played with, poked and provoked without one mild meow. At most, he'll slink away in disgust.

I told Angel yesterday, "Jack's an old man now. His play days are over. You need a puppy." To be continued . . .

Every Good Gift

Milene sent me this photo of her and Darrell in the Winner's Circle at a car show in Louisville, Kentucky. This is after they drove to Oshkosh, Wisconsin to see a fly-in. The award was for being brave enough to travel the farthest for the event --- all the way from little 'ol Paso Robles. Their only problem was a pesky fuel pump. Congratulations to you both!

And three safe weeks of travel is indeed a wonderful gift, Milene. Thanks for reminding me of those simple blessings that fall out to us from above.

Dancing With the Big Boys

What do you think? A no-nothing, nondescript website like mine ranks with other first pagers after mousing a Google search. Must be something wrong with their algorithms and other secret formulas. The annual Google Dance attempts to help webmasters find the best ways to get their fare higher in the rankings.

Google says the key is creating a "user-friendly" site - simplicity must be that one critical component for success. Thank you, Google, for awarding PasoRobles-USA.com such high honors.

Unfortunately, you have to key in more than just Paso Robles for our page to get first in line. Add 'USA' or 'history' and that's where you'll find us. I remember not too long ago that a Paso Robles search yielded about 2500 page references. Today it's about 793,000. Yes, Paso is 'dad-blamed cultured. Yesiree!'

Behind the Lens

It was off to an early start. Oak Park days on the north circle when I was about nine or ten. We were suddenly dadless, dirt poor and didn't have a car for awhile. Mom had to walk to work and bum a ride home, she said. So who paid for the film and processing?

Here I've captured my first 'action' shot of Marty kicking off while Mom holds the ol' football. This must have been around 1956 or so. She waitressed at Wilson's Restaurant and also picked up parcels at the airport for the Conrad's Greyhound Bus business. We kids were treated to huge cartons of baby chicks to keep warm on the space heater overnight or live minks in cages. Very odd indeed.

Seems everyone took pictures in those days in my family, especially Grandma Skinner in San Luis Obispo. The kid and grandkid thing. Some of us started looking through viewfinders early, got hooked and entered that creative space called point and shoot. I wouldn't have missed it for the world.

That Other Life

As the years stretch behind us, we forget the pain of adolescence amd wonder about those we've left behind.

Nancy snagged me when I transferred from CCSF to UTEP in 1965. She was in her junior year. The bubbly type. The straight A type. The social type. Why she wanted me to traipse behind her is beyond my pea-brained understanding. We weren't more than good friends and confidants who liked to touch each other. There were no head-over-heels butterfly feelings between us. But we did like to do bird counts together at the local lakes.

The attraction wore off after a few years (she graduated). Then I came back to California. I saw her again after some months in El Paso. She had married a guy in the Air Force and had a baby. End of story.

You've doubtless had a similar disappearance in your life. Someone you'd like to 'get caught up' with. Someone whose smile you miss. Such are broken old relationships. Just be thankful for the memories, forgive the faults, and enjoy the present. All things are meant to be.

Breakfast . . . And Beyond

A Monday off during a very slow work week. We'll drop in on the "non-legendary" Tom Cruise [Lauren Bacall's estimation] and War of the Worlds after choring around the house.

It begins with breakfast only dreamed of when I was a kid. Starbuck's coffee, 7-Grain toast and imported German strawberry preserves. Wow! Thank you, Lord, for tastebuds that still work! I eat alone while Barb finishes her sawing in the bedroom. After a bit of world news and entrance of the sleepy half, it's time to tackle that short to-do list.

Yeah, let's shorten those two old 2 x 8 pieces of framed lath to 2 x 6 and mount them behind some new climbing vines I put in awhile ago. Have you ever tried this? A tedious and precarious endeavor to say the least. Strips fall off as you hand saw. Remove the old nails and straight piece from the 2 footer and go to it with those new nails that are 1/2" too long. Lay it on the lawn so you can pound those 6-pennies all the way through! That's it. Now turn it over and bend over all the points. Hey, no one is going to see the backside! It didn't take too long and were easy to mount, so job numero uno is finished.

Poor Dave hates to throw anything away, so what does he do with the leftover pieces?
They find their way to the backyard to enhance some fence-art faces, what else?!

Then it was time to clean off the work bench, cut down computer stuff cartons and finish painting a handmade Indian motif wood roadrunner for Eliz and Gary's newly spruced-up duplex. Another knick knack, but at least it's signed by the artist. No pictures cause it's already gift wrapped.

Now it's your turn. Oh, Happy Birthday, baby brother Kenny.

Window Dressing

There are no more beautiful people than those at a wedding. After the extreme efforts to dress, primp, apply makeup and get your hair done, the show begins. And that's just the guys!

God's crown of created pulchritude belongs to the fairer sex, of course. We can only imagine Adam's reaction to a perfect Eve. There is a hint of it in those 'love at first sight' experiences. It is wonderfully shown in Solomon's Song in the Bible.

John Piper's new book, The Pleasures of God, lists those things and beings God delights in, such as His creation, His Son and His people. In the New Testament, Jesus is called the Bridegroom and believers are called His Bride. He delights in her. He lays down His life for her. He loves her unconditionally. Sinfully unattractive in herself, she is redeemed and made beautiful by her new true love, the Lord Jesus Christ. Even the apostle Paul calls it a great mystery.

God created beauty. He enjoys it. And because we are created in His image, we can delight in it, too. It's His gift to us.