Finding your voice

English professors, even some high school teachers, talk about "finding your voice". What this is, I guess, is a now-cliche way of saying that when you write, you write in a way which is unique to you and is interesting to the reader. Of course, it is questionable as to whether that last part is as important as the first part. I am not sure how you can avoid being unique, since we all have unique experience from which to draw from when we write. However, I suppose that many writers start off attempting to copy someone they respect or enjoy.

Most of my favorite writers started off by attempting to imitate the great writers of the past. I think of John Keats. He set out to imitate all the great writers of English Literature like Shakespeare and Milton and Spenser. After imitating the greats for some time, finally his poetry took on a life of its own.

I don't know how you write without being unique to yourself and your style. Certainly many writers are very similar and there are always trends in literature which grab the attention of writers in that time. I have always enjoyed the writers who set the trends which lead to big changes in literature. Wordsworth and Hardy and Yeats and Eliot and Miller spring to mind. Wordsworth and Coleridge created a mighty change from the poetry of old to what we now have. Hardy created the modern novel. Yeats and Eliot took poetry out of the Victorian Age into modern times and Miller worked to create modern American drama.

Its not that the writers that came along before or after these writers pale in comparison, but when you can take a genre and shake it loose of the status quo and create something completely new, it really is remarkable.

I submitted some poems to a poetry journal in Birmingham when I was in college. The editor read them and critiqued them for me. He basically didn't like my poetry, with the exception of one of them. He told me that my poetry would be better if I read some of the modern poets. At the time I was a little irritated with his criticism. I knew that my poetry was a bit old fashioned in style. It followed the poetic patterns of the poets I appreciated at the time. But the irritating factor in his criticism was that he wanted me to emulate the modern poets. In effect, he wanted me to copy what was current, rather than what was old fashioned.

I didn't really like that because I wanted to create my own voice. I didn't want to be told that I should emulate someone I didn't really like. That seemed to defeat the purpose of the poetry. I guess I wanted to write like I wanted to write and not like what everyone else was writing. I didn't want to follow the herd.

Perhaps the most important thing I have been told is that I need to grasp the emotional response to what I am writing about and show that on the page. I suppose that if I can't do that then perhaps it is not important that I write about it.

The elements of poetry that are important to me; however, involve the truth of the sentiment and expression. If the words don't depict what is in my head and in my heart then they need to be changed or excised. I like Keats and his concept of "negative capability". The art involves removing what does not belong. It is part of what I liked about Hemingway. At his best, nothing was unneccessary in his prose. I think Cormac McCarthy follows this in his writing.

Of course, once you glean the truth and cut away the chaff, then the appeal of the piece becomes important. The work can be as true and economical as you can get it, but if no one wants to read it, where are you?

That is the part I don't understand. I can make an interesting story. But I also know that sometimes my stories are boring. Are they interesting in the beginning and then pale by the retelling? Or are they boring from the beginning. Not too long ago it occurred to me that it would be difficult to come up with a subject about which no one else had written in the past. It seemed hopeless to try to write a novel or poem because I didn't really seem to have anything new to offer. If that was true, then what was the point of writing in the first place?

I was like John Stuart Mill and his crisis of conscience. As a young man, John Stuart Mill's father was a proponent or Jeremy Bentham. His father tried to mold John's early life in such a way that everything he learned or participated in had a reason that was beneficial to John's growth and education. The only source of sheer pleasure that Mill was given was music. However, Mill came to the realization that the only thing that he enjoyed, music, was limited because there were only a limited number of combinations of notes which could create his source of enjoyment. So for Mill the only source of pleasure he was allowed was limited.

I remember when I first read about this crisis in Mill's life and thinking that he really needed to loosen up. First of all, he might find something else to gain pleasure from; the great cornucopia of writers seemed to be aiming at luring the opposite sex. He might have tried that. He also could have tried the visual arts. But Mill was stuck on music.

Of course, he survived and he went on to write some amazing essays.

Now I wonder about myself. There are times when I wonder if there is a point to this. Why write if I am not going to write anything of any merit? I am hopeful that if I keep at it, my writing will get better and I will write confidently. I am hopeful that something of value lies at the end. We'll see.

Wednesday

Wednesday. Half way through the week and almost to my hearing in Federal District Court in Atlanta on Monday. This has been a long month, full of excitement and fun. Dealing with the IRS; dealing with strange attorneys who won't answer my calls. Trying to assist clients and getting shut down at every hand. Monday, as I said previously, I have to appear in Federal District Court in Atlanta. Judging from the briefs filed by these attorneys in the opposition, there is quite a lot of power behind this case. I received a pile of briefs from the attorneys yesterday. I have been reading same since yesterday. Interesting reading. These pompous attorneys are selling a deal in which the attorneys for the plaintiffs get 4.1 million in fees and the class ends up getting the ability to check their credit scores for free for three months. Ladeda. That sounds fair. I thought about dressing Kate up as a lawyer and bringing her along as a visual impact statement, but I don't think I have the appropriate costume for the part.

Well, tomorrow is a little hearing in Magistrate Court. I have to get ready for that. I have a ton of little things that I need to finish this week. I would like to have another weekend of rest, but I don't think that is going to happen. We have Trey Jones' wedding and Kate wants to go to Virginia Highlands for the festival on Saturday, to include the concert with Marc Broussard. That would be fun.

Cindy is feeling bad. I wish I could heal her and perk her spirits up. Kate still has a headache. Tex has all those spots on his body which I wish I could eliminate.

If you cannot interpret the sarcasm in this post, you are not reading right. I am losing my desire to write. Just relax and enjoy the homonym.

Simple thoughts of destruction

I am worn out and I feel like I am having a sinus episode which is a combination of a sinus headache and double vision. Joyful. Last night Cindy cut off the airconditioning and I kept waking up and feeling unbelivably hot. I feel out of control. Cindy, never mind. Everyone is selfish, sinful. Kate probably doesn't believe in sin at this point. Maybe the one thing I do believe in all the time. I am on the verge of being out of control again. There is so much to do and everyone wants to blame me for the troubles. Out of control. I can't even make a poem about Molly which works. I wish I could sleep through the night tonight. But I have no control over that. I am afloat on a river covered with efluvia. Like the Tennessee River south of Knoxville. I yearn for Lake Norris, so clean and so cool. Lake Norris in my life.

Molly, my dog

She was orange and white and she fit in Tennessee;
Georgia was too hot but late Autumn was just right
When she would sniff her way intently across the furrowed fields
To catch that touch of bird-scent in the air
To suddenly stop, motionless, tied to some blood calling
Waiting for the Holy Spirit of birddogs to whisper some unspoken word or whistle
Which would break the spell-mandate running through her goosey brain
Goofy was the name we all used with Molly and goofy she was,
But so sweet, and if not for the madness in her eyes
Would have been disarmingly beautiful, for a dog,
With her fancy feathers and soft, silken coat
Never a harsh barked reproach or threatening grrr of noise
Just an unbroken desire to be as close to my side as possible
And a collection of licks of unconditional love on my ears.

Memorial Day Weekend: Sunday

Yesterday ran differently from what we had planned. We ended up leaving later and going all the way to Dunwoody before we ate lunch. We went on to Mom and Dad's house to visit and ended up leaving around 3:00. By the time we headed down to Piedmont Park the traffic was so great and there was no parking. It was a mess and we ended up going over to Decatur to walk around and go to the Decatur Arts Festival. We ended up doing some looking in shops and eating supper in a taqueria. By the time we finished it was around 9:00 and the last show for the music downtown was winding down. We set up our chairs and listened to the last three songs played by the band on the bandstand. So we didn't end up getting to go hear much of anything or participate in anything, but, all in all, it was fun.

Now today the smoke is back. It is 10 after 10 and I don't have much time to get showered, shaved and dressed. Well, I will be back.

Close to the edge

How close are we to the edge? There are a lot of people who leave the everyday lives they live, the habitual rambling day in and day out and walk out into the world to be forgotten in the place of the homeless. The banks take their houses and cars. The personal stuff gets thrown out on the street by the deputy sheriffs to be picked up by people in cars passing by. They might see something that appeals to them, not as a memorial to the person who owned them, but just as something different that catches their eye like a bird looking for something shiny. The spouses go off, collect public assistance or live with a relative or maybe even go on to live by themselves with a bitterness receding or growing, depending on their respective personalities. If there are little children, they go off with the remaining spouse. Or if they are adults, they go off to build their own castles of habituality, wondering what happened to dad or mom. Someday taking a trip on the internet or through the police to try to find connection. To find explanations.

And the person himself? Drifting along with the weather. Living in carboard boxes or on top of discarded paper and trash. Showing up in the morning or evening at a church soup kitchen to eat a peanut butter sandwich and a cup of soup. Their brainpans draining of memory or the ability to do. Depression wasting the ambition away until there is nothing. Just a shuffle and a mumble to a stranger. A mumble returned. An averting of eyes. Is it fear that causes us to turn away? Do we see ourselves in the shadows? How close are we to the edge? How little would it take to place us in that forgotten world?

In search of slumber

I didn't mean to spend $60 tonight. Now I am down to $160 for the weekend. Do I need to get some more cash for the weekend? We won't need any for the concerts in Piedmont Park. By the end of the evening we were paring down what we are planning to do tomorrow. I don't get it. Oh well.

I hope I sleep well tonight. I would like to get good sleep tonight and wake up and eat breakfast on the patio. That would appeal to me right now. A little relaxation and solitude in the morning. Of course, this all depends on the sleep I get tonight.

I would like to get some recreation this weekend and come out of the long weekend ready and refreshed. That is my goal for the weekend. Because right now I feel tired and sore from the stress.

The movie Pirates of the Carribean, part three was good. I did enjoy it. Once you got over the fantasy parts of it it was quite enjoyable. I guess I would like a Pirate movie that was realistic. I remember a movie with Anthony Quinn where he played a pirate which I really enjoyed. The movie seemed realistic and had a central conflict between the pirates and a group of children which they take on board and care for as part of the crew. It ends in hanging of the pirates and is quite interesting. I'll have to do a little research on that and see what the movie was.

Well good night.

The day takes a sunny turn!

And the sun broke through the clouds and everything seemed to break forth from the gloom! To the concept of "its not what you know, but who you know" add dealing with the IRS. Ever since I was made aware of the problem with the IRS tax lien on the property I closed in Spring of 2006, I have been dealing with an awful lot of people to try to get it resolved with as little hoopla as possible. A lot of people have been sympathetic and offered suggestions in dealing with it. However, few have given me a solution which resolves the matter completely without a ton of blood, sweat and tears on my part. This has caused a lot of sleepless moments in my bed at night and in front of the computer screen. The past few weeks, and the past few days in particular have been very uncomfortable for me.

However, at the suggestion of a staff attorney for the title insurance company, I spoke with another attorney on staff about this problem. After hearing my fact situation, she spoke to what could be done through the maze of IRS regulations. As it turns out, our situation may be a whole lot rosier than we expected. As the saying goes, "Every once in awhile, you just have to look up the law." Anyway, under the regulations, it turns out that we should be able to request a certificate of discharge on this property based on the lack of equity at the time of the original foreclosure sale.

Glory days! Glory days! Glory days! Now all I have to do is prepare the petition for a certificate of discharge. At last a solution which simply requires me to prepare a pleading and file it with the IRS. Tada!

Anyway, the day just got a whole lot simpler and enjoyable. I am now looking forward to going to a movie with family and going to the Jazz Festival in Atlanta tomorrow, and maybe even Sunday, depending on what happens. As I allow the optimism to wash over my shoulders, I anticipate a good night's sleep and a fun day tomorrow. How marvelous that it includes a three day weekend. Tada!

Lift me up in the chariot of the sun and let us draw ourselves across the sky like Apollo! The world is ours and those whom we love! Hallelujah! The full growth and bliss of summer is upon us! Let us take off our dust clothes of Winter and shout to the full life of the world!

The meanderings of late night thoughts exposed

Was that last one really worth it? Would anyone other than myself really care about my list of favorite professional sports teams? Does it really matter if anyone else cares about it?Should I write as if anyone else is reading it? I guess it depends on whether or not this is a personal diary or some kind of attempt to write something with merit.

Part of my problem is that I seem to write these entries either early in the morning or late at night. I usually am tired and can't get much other than the top of my brain down on paper. I guess sometimes that is good, but most of the time I end up writing lists of sports teams or my anxiety about whatever I am handling at the office. So I scrape the sludge off the top and leave the deep stuff behind. It is only when I feel compelled to write something in the middle of the morning or late in the afternoon that it is decent. You could probably gauge my entries from an interest factor in direct correlation to the time of day I wrote them. If they are interesting, they were probably written in the late afternoon or morning. If they are stupid they were probably written early in the morning or late at night.

I remember for awhile I kept a notepad next to my bedside. I would have these brainstorms in the middle of the night and wake up to write them down. Unfortunately, the things that occur to us in the middle of the night are usually half-formed pieces of wimsey and fluff which don't really go anywhere. Only Samuel Taylor Coleridge was fortunate enough to grab a piece of his thoughts and turn it into art. I know that most every amazing piece of poetry that occurred to me that was later written down in my notepad usually ended up to be something illegible or incomprehensible when I woke up the next morning.

It is seven in the morning now and I have to move toward getting together for work this morning. I will check with Kate to see if she is coming in with me. I'll continue the data dump later.

My favorite sports lists

The Braves are playing the accursed Mets again and Tom Glavine (my former favorite Brave) is pitching for the other team. I am glad Mr. Glavine is doing well this season, but it is fun he seems to have trouble with the Braves. The Braves need to win tonight to bring it closer in the National League East. Schmoltz is pitching for the Braves. It is a great matchup and both these pitchers are pitching better than their ages, respectively. Its fun to watch them.

When the Braves made their move into the upper tier of Major League Baseball in 1991, I gained an appreciation for pitching. The Braves had Glavine, Schmoltz, Avery and Merker. Glavine started with a series of wins which pushed him into the Cy Young at the end of the season. Avery was the projected phenom and he was amazing that year as well. Of course, Schmoltz was also great that year and Avery and Schmoltz were MVPs in the National League Championship and pitched very well in the First Atlanta World Series. That year was magic and the World Series lived up to it as well.

I remember when Sylvia Hollums had three tickets to a late July or early August doubleheader with the Pirates. Cindy and Bill Day and I went to the game and got there too late to watch the whole first game. But the games were amazing and we swept the Pirates which was the beginning of a surge which overcame the damn Dodgers who for years had led the National League West, the division in which they had unfortunately placed the Braves back in the old days. I still can't understand why the Braves were in the West. I mean, they started out in Boston! Of course, I suppose when they began divisional play they were in Milwaukee. I assume that but I don't really know if that is true; I just assume it. But for years it was really unfortunate that the only team near them in Longitude were the Cincinnati Reds, another team I really don't like. As a matter of fact, I can't say I really like any of the teams in the old National League West. I guess the Giants are the closest team for which I have any appreciation. But they now have Barry Bonds and I didn't like him when he was part of that incredible outfield in Pittsburgh with Andy Van Slyke and Bobby Bonilla.

I like Pittsburgh and the Marlins (marginally) in the East but the rest of them are not liked. I hate the Phillies and never liked the Expos, although I am glad there is a team in DC to replace the old Senators. I like their uniforms and I like the throwback to the old National League. But I do hate the accursed Mets. Any time the Braves can beat the Mets is a premium.

I always liked a lot of the teams in the American League: the Yankees first, then the Detroit Tigers and the Baltimore Orioles, then the A's. I like the Chicago White Sox, but really don't like any of the others, even though at one time I liked the Twins. But after the loss of the Cardinals to them and then the Braves in 1991, I have removed my affection for the Twins. Now after the Yankees beat the Braves several times in the World Series, I don't like them anymore. Although I might change my mind if Steinbrenner sold them to a more likeable or invisible owner.

Anyway, for what its worth, here is my list of favorite baseball teams:

Atlanta Braves
Detroit Tigers
St. Louis Cardinals
Baltimore Orioles
Chicago White Sox
Oakland A's

The rest of them are too removed from the top.

In the NFL, my list is as follows:

Atlanta Falcons
Cleveland Browns
Chicago Bears
New York Jets
New York Giants
New England Patriots
Oakland Raiders

As you can see, most of my favorite teams from the NFL are old rust belt teams or working class teams, like Cleveland, Chicago and Oakland. The affinity for the Falcons is obvious, but my love for the Jets comes from the old Broadway Joe days and the entry of the Patriots comes from when I was in college and we couldn't get any NFC games other than the damned Washington Redskins. None of my roommates was from the DC area. They were so boring and we really didn't like them, so we usually watched the early AFC game, which for some reason was almost always the Boston (then New England) Patriots. This was a time when they were rising in talent and challenging the Dolphins and the Jets for supremacy in the AFC east. We loved them by default.

The Dallas Cowboys were the family team in the Baynham family beginning when they drafted a running back from Georgia Tech named Craig Baynham, a distant cousin. At a time when the Falcons were losing more than they won, it was good to have a team that did the opposite. Of course, I lost my love for the Cowboys when they beat the Falcons in 1982 in the opening round of the NFC championship series. The Falcons had the best record in the NFL that year, had a tough offense and defense and should have won that game. But the Cowboys stole one from them in the end and then got beat by the Eagles, a team that the Falcons had beaten consistently over the years. Of course, the Eagles were later beaten by the Raiders in the Super Bowl, a game which the Falcons would have won if they had made it to the big game. Oh well, some day.

On to the NBA. I used to love professional basketball, when the referees actually called things and the bullies under the boards had to be careful or they would foul out and every one could make a jump shot. Not anymore. The game is so different. All the shooters depend on the easiest shot: the dunk, and the big guys just throw their weight around. Nevertheless, here's the list:

Atlanta Hawks
Boston Celtics
Indiana Pacers
San Antonio Spurs

I really don't like anybody else. I wish the Hawks and the Celtics would rise up again. They used to be so good and consistent. I used to like the Bulls until the Jordan years. They became so obnoxiously, consistently good over those years that Michael Jordan's failure in Minor League Baseball with the Birmingham Barons was welcomed. The Hawks are a given, and it really hurts me that no one remembers when they were really good, year after year. Lou Hudson, Jo Caldwell, Walt Bellamy, Pete Maravich, John Drew, Tree Rollins, Dominique Wilkins and Kevin Willis. The only Hawk anyone seems to remember at all is Dominique, who I thought was incredible when I was a 2nd and 3rd year law student at Georgia. The Celtics were my first love, even though I never saw the old Cousy led Celtics. I remember the Celtics of Russell, Jones, Nelson, Havlichek and Cowens and Byrd and McHale. Really great teams.

I liked the Knicks when they had Bradley and Debuscherre and Walt Frazier and Earl "the Pearl" Monroe and Dick Barnett, with the funky leg kick on his jumper, and Willis Reid. Of course, they lost me when Spike Lee became a fixture on the floor. Even then I liked Patrick Ewing.

Of course, my favorite team from the ABA never made it to the NBA and I have never understood why. Why didn't the NBA allow the Kentucky Colonels to come into the NBA when the rest of the league folded? Dan Issel and Jim McDaniel and Louis Dampier. How fun with the red, white and blue basketballs. My favorite all-time basketball shoes were my red, white and blue ABA Adidas basketball shoes.

I guess I should mention the NHL. My list:

Atlanta Thrashers
Montreal Canadiens
Calgary Flames

The Flames are a given. If they were still Atlanta's team I would have them at the top. The Canadiens are the original favorite. I use to watch their games on UHF channels broadcast in Atlanta. Hockey on television is hard to handle. Hockey really needs to be seen in person. Hockey on radio really requires imagination. It is almost so difficult to listen to that it has an unusual charm. I really thought the Thrashers had a chance this year. For the most part, they really handled the other teams in their division and they made some amazing trades at the end. That organization probably cost the Thrashers some early success. It is hard to beat the quickness in which the Flames rose in the ranks. Their coaches and players were amazing. Plett and Vail and Bennett. And of course, when they drafted Jim Craig to play in goal immediately after he seemingly won the Olympic Gold medal in 1980 all by himself.

Well that's the list for anyone who cares. Maybe I'll list my favorite movies next time. Listing my favorite songs would be impossible.

Holy Communion

I was reading last night's blog about the time last Saturday when Cindy, Kate and Cindy's Dad and I shared some time at the Red Brick Pub. It makes me think about a connection between family and breaking bread together.

When I was growing up we ate together at the dinner table. We didn't eat at different times. We didn't eat in front of the television. As a matter of fact, we didn't eat outside of the kitchen or dining room. It still makes me nervous when I am at home in Dunwoody and Cindy or Kate take something into the den. I can't remember there ever being a specific proscription against it, but it just wasn't done.

But the beauty of sharing meals together is something different, higher. We were called to the table for meals by our parents. We were always invited. Meals were the time when we shared communion with each other, sharing our days and our thoughts and concerns. In a family which wasn't really expressive a lot of times, mealtime was the time when that sharing occurred. It created a stronger connection between the family members.

And it makes me think about Christianity and the centrality of the Lord's Supper as ritual. When the Lord decided to share the mystery of spirit and life, he shared it in the form of a meal. Of course, this ritual comes as an extension of Passover, another ritual involving a meal. Why do the central rituals of both of these religions involve a meal? In Judiasm, the meal involves rememberance of historical deliverance by God, the gift of physical salvation from slavery in Egypt. In Christianity; however, the celebration of the Lord's Supper involves the gift of spiritual salvation and a connection with the divine through ingestion of same. I know this sounds strange, but the ingestion of the elements signifies the ingestion of the spirit into ourselves, the intaking of the Holy Spirit as exemplified through the physical ingestion of the bread and wine.

What did we take away from the dinner table when I was a child in my parent's house? A connection was created or enhanced. A relationship was built between us. I think the essence of the Lord's Supper is the same. We seek a closer relationship with each other and with God. The physical relationship between the congregation is built by a communal taking of the elements. The spiritual relationship is built by an acknowledgement that God is present in the elements and that he is present when we celebrate the ritual. It is rememberance as in the Passover Feast, but it is also a rational acknowledgement that God gave us salvation from death and our former lives of selfishness and self-ruin and that God is here with us, through his Holy Spirit.

So the meal takes on a higher significance, for God was there before we were born, working his action of universal salvation offered to all and God is here with us in the gathering.

The beauty of a good beer shared

A thought came to me. Saturday afternoon at the Red Brick Pub was odd. It was fun, but odd. We went to the bar at the pub. Cindy's mom had gone off to Starbucks to get a cup of coffee. Cindy's dad and Kate and Cindy and I sat at the bar and ordered different beers off their extensive beer list. The sentimental sweetness of the three generations sitting at a bar sharing a beer was augmented by the swapping of the beers we ordered when we found that the beers we ordered were not exactly what we wanted. So the four of us, three generations, sat there and swapped the beers in front of us for others that the others had ordered and stole sips from the glasses of the others. It was collegial and chummy and sentimental and I hope I remember it forever. It ranks up there with when I turned 18 and went out with my buddies to go get a beer at the local tavern. As we teenaged buddies ordered libations from the bartender, my dad suddenly showed up to share a beer with us. It was the same feeling. Good memories.

Rootless, feckless and sleepless

It is the end of the day. Actually near the end of the day. I wanted to take time to record some words, but I am running into the law of diminishing returns. It is the end of the day and it has been a long one. I drove with Kate to McDonough and back and on to Monticello and back and then to choir. We had a nice time at ElToro Loco out on the deck they have built on the side of the building. We saw David and Betsy Hitson and had a nice conversation. We saw Terry and Bunny Wynne and I had a nice time talking to them. We saw Randy and Tina Greene and had a nice conversation. I hate seeing another kid going to a Baptist College like Berry. We even saw the Flynts and the Jones through the glass behind our table.

I then went to choir to try to hold up the tenor line all by myself. If I can get the note sequence, I can do it. But if I get off the sequence of notes, I will murder it. Fortunately, Sylvia is patient. I had worn my voice almost out by singing with the music on the stereo in my car. I could tell that when I was coming back from Monticello. I was just burning it out with Brewer & Shipley. Only my love of the music kept me going.

PBS on Channel 30 is doing a biography of Dean Martin. He was kind of fun. He had a good voice for someone with kind of a purple delivery. I liked him. He was also funny.

He was from Ohio, Steubenville, to be exact. It is hard to imagine someone with that kind of city style being from a little town in Ohio. I guess there were more of those types back in those days before everyone seemed to move away from the center of the country for NY and LA. I guess that is just the way it seems sometimes.

It reminds me of times when I would listen to the AM radio stations from all over the country on the car radio. I loved that. It seemed like visiting a lot of places which were foreign to me as a young guy. New Orleans, Chicago, Fort Wayne, Cincinnati, Indianapolis, Nashville, Des Moines and St. Paul. I heard radio stations from all those places and everywhere in between. I remember listening to the dixieland from New Orleans and basketball from Cincinnati and hockey from Fort Wayne. I remember hearing traffic from Chicago and news from Indianapolis. I remember hearing pop music from Minnesota and country from the Grand Old Opry in Nashville. I also remember how hard it was to feel proud to know that I was from that Nashville area where those goofy comedians like Stringbean and Minnie Pearl (Mrs. Cannon, if you please) came from. I remember listening intently to try to grasp a kinship to the musicians and the singers and cringing at how corny it was.

You see, I came from Indianapolis and Huntsville, Alabama (Rocket City, USA) and Atlanta. Surely that was much more important than that country town in Middle Tennessee. It was only later that I really fell for it and loved the music and the people and "claimed kin." After all, it was the Dixie Dewdrop, Uncle Dave Macon, from Murfeesboro, who had been the first star of the Grand Old Opry. And my grandfather Gary, who I had never met, had loved him. He was a tie between the times of Mule Skinners and Tinkers and Medicine Shows and modern days. And his music and the music of others like him became the tie between the relatives I had never met and the ones I loved to visit when we left the big city to drive to the farm or Hoptown.

Of course, there was that Christmas at the farm when I was 13. I got a stereo and a Nitty Gritty Dirt Band album. I can remember like it was yesterday, sitting under the stairs behind the television in the hall, listening in my pajamas to the American music, the traditional music, played by young long-haired guys from Southern California, like their progenitors from the hills of Tennessee and Kentucky and North Carolina and Virginia. I remember sitting there as my dad and his dad sat with me and listened to the music and creating a generational bond that never diminished.

Things fade naturally like the blue of your jeans. All those relatives, all those places have passed away and changed until I have no physical connection to them. I remember taking Kate to the Western Kentucky State Fair in Hopkinsville. I was trying to recreate times when we visited relatives during the fair. I specifically remember watching harness racing when I was a child and seeing the contests and the dunking tanks and the wild miniature roller coaster. Ending it with fireworks in the warm Summer evening. But so much was changed when Kate and I went to the fair. The horses were replaced by tractor pulls, an enterprise I still don't understand. It may be the lower class American contender to Cricket. Both incomprehensible to the unitiated, or even the partially initiated.

But Kate was on a ride and I sat and watched from a bench. Some guy came up to me and asked me if he knew me. He was trying to create a connection. But I couldn't say I knew him, and my connection to the area was tenuous at best. And I knew it and I couldn't pretend, even by asking the guy if he knew anybody I might be related to. Sure, there was a physical resemblance. After all, we were from the same area, we shared the same gene pool. But there was no real connection, even when I tried.

And now it all seems gone except the memories and the family connections. Does it really matter? I wonder.

Black Tuesday and a ray of light

Today was the day in which I was to contend with lawyers and the IRS and try to get a closing completed and get ready for a number of other closings and matters. I took Kate with me to work and she helped me with a lot of matters. I closed her up in Bridgett's old office and she worked quite well. Of course, she wasn't just Repunzel in her tower. I sent her to the Clerk's Office and to United Bank. I even took her home to lunch.

I had a fairly productive day in which I got advice from an IRS man and no support from one of my fellow Griffin lawyers.

Tonight I feel like Kate. Three times tonight the computer has erased about half of what I had written. I hate this computer, but not as much as Kate's computer. It does things to my posts about which I am not very pleased.

I took Kate up to North Spalding County to show her the new development. She was amazed and appalled.

Tonight we had planned to go eat wings at Charles Heggies' new chicken place in Stockbridge. Cindy didn't want to go, so I called Charles and made arrangements for later and went to MoJo's instead. Kate and I had cheap beers and shared some stories and waited for our wings. We brought them home and watched a little bit of baseball until the television took over and prevented us from watching the Braves.

Of course, I have outsmarted the television. I am watching the Braves on the television in the den. The Braves' pitcher Kyle Davies from Stockbridge just hit a three run homer to run the score up to 8-1. Then Kelly Johnson hit a triple. He is now on third with two outs.

The Braves are behind the Mets. They need to win all three if possible. I don't think it will happen, but it would be nice. I hate the Mets. I hate the Mets. I hate the Mets. I hate the accursed Mets. Yaaaaaaaa!

Well the end of the inning. The beginning of the 7th and the Braves look to win this one easily.

I need to get on my pajamas. Cindy's cousin, Debbie, seems to have taken control of some of the responsibility for this wild Sicard gathering. I know that McComb Mississippi seemed like a good deal in the beginning, but they don't have much in the way of amenities. They do have water moccasins and gators, though. That will put a crimp in the fun, or not.

I think I need catfish. Perhaps they will have that. Time to get ready for bed. Goodnight, gentle readers.

Long Hunters at Rest

I want a long rifle of honey chesnut or striped tiger maple
With a long, long barrel of Pennsylvania iron, shiny like a nickle
And brass mounts to accompany me like a hounddog
As I run away, west from Virginia, to breathe again and discover,
Along the thinning ribs of the Blue Ridge
And across the forbidden lines of paternal denial
The narrowing path set out for me
Towards the fat bluegrass meadows of Kentucky
Where redbirds flit across the blue patches
And bluebirds wear their purity on their wings
Tucked among the ruffled quilt of bends and hollers
To trace the tracks of bears and wild pigs and deer among the green leaves
And the welcoming darkness of the undergrowth, hiding red-skinned hunters
With long knives and broken arrows cutting through the limestone cliffs
To split the forested mountains from the meadows to the black rivers below
And on to the westward to the falls of Louisville and down the Ohio
And on down the Cumberland and up the Red River to Christian Counties
Where grey limestone provides markers to Cadiz and Clarksville and Murray and Mayfield
And Radfords and Stubblefields and McKays and Garys,
Our mothers and fathers and uncles and aunts,
The great and the lesser, remembered, forgot
Who lie beneath the sod and take time to dose in the sleepy hills
The limestone thin markers standing as mileposts for time
And the chesnut and tiger maple long rifles hung above the stonemason's pride.

The ends replace the middle

I enjoy the ends of the day better than the middle
Because the middle is the time for accomplishment
And the flowing of the synapses, left and right,
Running, running, running
And the loss of direction for the multiplicity
Of directions and I am spinning again
Toward the flattening end
Of this day, when the afternoon colors will diffract
And diffuse and multiply
Towards a purple end
Tattered with starlight
Where I will stop again and rest

To rise again to another gathering of the colors
And light, golden light, streaming through the pine trees
And the quietness of early solitude, punctuated by the song of birds
And the coming of Summer or Spring or Fall or Winter;
It matters not because it is the beginning of another day.

Monday, May 21, 2007

Today started off with a deficit of sleep. I got to sleep late and woke up early and tried to resolve it without much ultimate resolution. I didn't feel like making myself breakfast this morning so I took the easy way out and ate a blueberry muffin. I guess I poured the orange juice. What a man!

When I got to the office, I prepared for State Court this morning. I do enjoy being in court like that. The interaction and stories are superb. We all tell the same stories over and over again but the stories are so good. If someone followed me around he or she would truly be amused by the stories we tell each other. Its the best part of the process. And then I picked up a new client. Tada!

I returned to the office and left for Cumberland Mall and the closing for the Cox's. I made some phone calls on the way and felt like I was accomplishing something. I got to Cumberland, despite the winding of the roads and the fact that the whole area around Cumberland is a civil engineer's dream or nightmare, depending on which way you look at it. I know it used to be so simple. There was a road, a large road in front of Cumberland. It was generally known as Highway 41 (Lord, I was born a Ramblin Man!) and there was a road that ran behind the mall. It was fairly simple and hard to get lost. They also had a nice restaurant called Cashins' which had a specialty of adult milkshakes. The best was a frozen White Russian. Most people who know me very well would be shocked to find out I really liked a frozen White Russian since it has coffee in it. This had coffee ice cream and was superb. One night when I was a young college student I went to the Cashins' in Cumberland and the female bartender made a ton of these frozen adult milk shakes and gave me the overflow (basically consisting of the balance of the milk shake left in the blender after she poured the majority in the glass for service on the floor). I got really drunk in a post-adolescent thrill way for about $3.0o. It was fun. Of course, I was clueless as to the motivations of the female bartender. I wonder if Cindy is glad that I was clueless?

Anyway, I met with the Cox's for their closing. We sat down in the food court and I could sense a little unease. I think Mr. Cox wanted a little more privacy. But it was relatively comfortable and we got through the process fairly quickly. After the closing I went to the Ted's Montana Grill to eat lunch. While I was there, Otis Nixon, former Centerfielder for the good old Atlanta Braves of the early years, before they started changing players around. I remember when Otis was a player and he was in his 30's but he looked like he might be in his 50's. Now he is in his 50's and he seems to be in his 50's again. Maybe he has finally grown into his face.

Afterward, I returned to the office and got to talk with John Newton about our mutual problem. Tomorrow I will get with Stephanie Windham to discuss a resolution. I feel better. I'm not sure how it will last. I may miss sleep tonight as well. We'll see.

Tonight I was able to get in position on a closing on Wednesday and a closing on Tuesday. I also had an out of the office closing at Turtle Cove on Jackson Lake. That was fun. There is a lot of beauty around there. I had a nice talk with the Sikes' at their house. I also got to blow a lot of gravel dust on folks. Nothing is paved around or at least consistently paved.

Tonight I got home with about three of my buffalo chicken wings from KFC. I like driving through Butts County in the late afternoon/early evening. I like driving toward the sunset in East Spalding County. I enjoy driving west in the early evening. It would be perfect if I could continually drive west and never catch the sunset. Of course, I enjoy driving to the sunset at the beach too. I also enjoy driving down the coast (north and south) at sunset. But sunsets are cool almost no matter where they are located.

Sunrises are good as well. I like to sit at breakfast on our patio and watch the world come up. The quiet and the birds are grand. If I could keep the other noises away for a longer period of time.

Well, that has been my day today. A mixed blessing and postponement of resolution. One beer is not enough.

Doubts continuing

Well, today was Sunday. According to Christopher Hitchens the day in which billions of people delude themselves for fun and profit. Unlike Mr. Hitchens, I woke up this morning and opened up my Bible and read from Proverbs for clues to what God might want of me today. The passage was the end of the proverbs about integrity and purity and the end of those who do not try to live a righteous life. I worry about what God is trying to tell me. If Martin Luther King, Jr. was correct in his statements about the true measure of the character of a man, then I am really being tested right now. I received very little recreation this weekend. The museum and the time in Decatur was fun, but I needed something different.

When you are trying to support your family and your employees, it causes you to look at everything differently. You are always measuring the way you should against the way you must. Do you go on with the way you feel compelled to act and ask forgiveness later? Or do you alter your acts to match the measurement of your heart? I am not pleased with the choices I make and I do not like the progress of my life. I am trying so hard, but it is a struggle so often.

How much of this is luck and how much perseverance? I see many times when I could have charged more for my services. I know that I often leave money "on the table" when I charge for my services. I am trying to be fair and I am trying to make this work for the benefit of my family. Cindy and I have almost got Kate educated and that is an accomplishment. I am generally pleased with the product, but Kate can be rather lazy when it comes to things she doesn't really want to do. I am sure she can handle what life places in her path, but I am afraid that when she is tested she gets too anxious and worries about being able to handle the pressure. She has always had a hard time with that. She needs confidence. I wish she had the confidence in herself that her mother and I have in her abilities.

Perhaps my mother and father could say the same thing about me.


The up and down of this path
Will test my legs and wind
Along the turns of my life
There will be many bends
That will make me wonder
About the goal
But I am certain
There is rest at the end
And I will continue
Despite the deficit
Of faith in my abilities.

Toward the inevitable cold
And darkening, swirling
Clouds, curling, lifting
Before me and around me
I will keep my eyes on the path
For it is laid before me
For a reason I cannot see
But I have faith in its truth.

A lost day

Saturday came yesterday and we spent the first few hours completing the clean-up of the house. We finally got Kate downstairs, dressed and showered and composed and got in the car to go to Atlanta to meet Cindy's parents at the High Museum.

When we got to the High Museum we found out that Cindy's parents were stuck in traffic on I-75 somewhere around Kennessaw. So Cindy, Kate and I went inside and toured the Annie Liebowitz exhibit and the Cecilia Beaux exhibit. They were very good exhibits. Then we went downstairs to meet Cindy's parents. After we got into the museum we toured around the different exhibits and finally ended up eating lunch at the cafe attached to the campus there at the High. I was afraid to run out of money so ate a salad and drank water (the only relatively inexpensive things on the menu), as did Cindy and Kate. They were fine. Of course, I seemed to have the smallest salad. The ironic thing was that Cindy's parents ended up paying for lunch. Oh well, we went back into the museum and toured the rest of the exhibits.

At this time, I got in mom and dad's car and navigated through the city streets to downtown Decatur. When we got there we finally had to park in the parking lot behind Decatur Presbyterian Church, leaving Cindy and her mom to wander around the Decatur MARTA station until we got back from the parking lot. We finally rejoined them and walked up to the center of town to go eat at the Red Brick pub. Cindy's mom went off to Starbucks down the street to get herself a coffee and we sat down to order a beer. The Red Brick has a serious beer menu, including quite a few Belgian ales, now that the State Legislature has allowed that kind of beer. Anyway, we sat down at the bar and ordered quite a variety of beers. Oddly, we ended up swapping beers after receiving our glasses. It was quite a communal sharing of hops and grain.

When Cindy's mom got back from Starbucks, we all found a place to sit down in a booth. At this point, it got kind of funny as more beers were brought and finally our supper was brought to us. The food was good and relatively inexpensive and it was a nice time. Our waiter was from Croatia. Decatur is quite a corncucopia of life. There was a concert in the square and we walked down to a store to look around.

Finally, we ended up at the Dekalb Farmer's Market to get things for Sunday's dinner. We finally drove home and Cindy shared her pictures from Prague and Kate share her caramel cake (now that she is a baker). The day ended and everyone went to their respective corners for a cool Spring sleep (hopefully).

The Road Goes Forward, Only

I slept through the time when I was supposed to be walking for a cure for cancer. The truth be told, I am kind of glad. I didn't really want to face anyone tonight. I feel like I am on a tightwire and everyone is trying to push me off, even the breeze.

I went to bed for awhile and picked up the daily reading Bible under my bedside table. I turned to the passage for reading for May 18th and found a series of proverbs mainly dealing with discipline and the difference between the wicked and the righteous. Do I flatter myself by thinking that the righteous apply to me? Am I the man of integrity? Cindy would say so.

I think the ones about discipline apply. I am being disciplined by God to return to Him. I really think he is trying to move me toward Him. I feel the push. And now this need for correction.

I have to look at this as a time of correction. Otherwise, I feel like I am falling away. There are other proverbs which talk about the end of the wicked. I feel like I am being pushed away, separated from others. I can't continue to think this way. I have to deal with these mistakes and the consequences and learn from my mistakes. There is no other way to respond to these mountains upon which the trail winds. You can't stop and you can't go back. You have to keep on because there is no other way to traverse the trail.

I spend so much of my time in the past. I have always enjoyed looking backward. But the trail winds forward. And you can't go back. No matter how hard you try or want or yearn.

Standing in the need of prayer: a fragment

I started this this morning and had to erase it. The information about which I was writing was information I didn't need to share in the form of a blog. This is one of the privileges or responsiblities of being an attorney. You just can't write about everything.

I have been running around like a chicken with my head cut off today. I couldn't get any cooperation with anyone and I have had to redo things over and over in order to make them work. Now I am waiting for more information so I can close a couple loans this weekend.

This is really turning into a bad next couple of days. I think I am going to be on my knees a lot for the next couple of days. Oh well. More later.

A random blog entry, now completed.

November 13, 2007

Sometimes when I drift along and look at what I have written I find odd little entries which don't amount to anything and don't give me a clue as to what I was thinking at the time. This particular entry was saved as a draft entry and really didn't say anything which would have allowed me to figure out what was going through my mind at the time in which I wrote it. This particular draft was virtually empty, although it did include some computer barf that didn't mean anything to me, but looke like I was trying to incorporate a picture or something external into the blog. My blogging skills and my skills with a computer, vis-a-vis actually using the tools available are reasonable but somewhat poor. Needless to say, I would need to look at what day this blog entry was created and try to figure out where I was, both physically and metaphysically, in order to try to complete the thought. Unfortunately, the thought was so partially baked (not even half baked) that I can't really tell where I was at the time. Nevertheless, I can go on and on rambling like this virtually forever. You know that. Sometimes it gets interesting; other times it just rambles. Call this my picaresque blog. Just a journey through the muck and mud. Not really leading me anywhere.

At the end of a day

This morning began in an unbelievable state of control. I was able to go to the office first thing and make copies of the discovery documents for the criminal case in Lamar County. I drove very leisurely down to Barnesville and got into the courtroom about twenty minutes before court was scheduled to begin. There were very few people in the courtroom. I was the only one with any official capacity until the assistant clerk arrived.

When I arrived for court, I had forgotten what my client looked like. I don't know if this is pathological but it happens from time to time to me. I have had several occurrences of going into court and not remembering what my client looked like. I don't know if this is normal or not. There are so many clients and they tend to run together unless there is something remarkable about the client or his or her situation. When I got to court this morning the only thing I had was a remark that Lisa had made in which she opined that my client looked like Patti's oldest son.

As I waited for court to begin, I kept looking at everyone who entered the courtroom, looking for someone who looked like Dillon Clark. Oddly, it was relatively easy since my client looked amazingly like DJ. They could be brother and sister. Later, before court began in earnest, my client motioned for my attention and I went back to speak with her. She was clearly nervous and wanted to know what was going to happen and what was going to happen to her that day. Despite what the constitutional law cases say about an arraignment being an "important" phase in the criminal process, the arraignment is really no sweat. Everyone but the actual accuseds are relaxed and even celebratory in the way they react to one another.

I was feeling no anxiety and the whole experience was so nonchalant. Even when my client's case was called there was no anticipation or stress. I just went up to the front and entered a plea to the judge. Later when they had handed me a copy of the discovery for the case, everyone was so cordial and friendly. I left the courtroom with my client and just told her we would take care of the situation. Everything was so controlled, quiet and in hand.

From there, my day unravelled. Every hour added another bit of stress as people would call me to get things down now. I had my share of upset people and my equal share of the satisfied and happy. I held the hands of the upset and shook the hands of the others. By the end of the day, I took a file with me intending to work on it tonight, but there was an equal share of stress at home and I ended up going to the grocery several times and trying to get supper for everyone (not really), but mainly watching television a bit to relax.

In the morning, I need to be able to jump on it early and get things done. I have two real closings, one probate report and one set of divorce pleadings to prepare for tomorrow. I also have to get ready for two other closings at the beginning of the next week.

I bought breakfast items for tomorrow. I am actually looking forward to breakfast tomorrow. Odd.

It is so odd when I consider how sweet my growing up was for me. I look at programs on television where people reveal how bleak their lives were. I wonder. I remember Don Crossley talking about life being like a soap opera. Was he referring to his own life? Was that his frame of reference? How sad. I think he was estranged from his parents in the end and divorced and blustery. How strange that so many of my friends in college are divorced, some for multiple marriages. How sad. Was there something about the environment or the people who found their way to the environment? So few of these guys are married to the same person they married in the first place. George Ballantyne and George Berry are two that I can think of. But there are so many who aren't. What is the common thread? Are the divorced ones guys who were ego-centric? Are the married ones balanced? It would be interesting to do a psychological study of them to determine the differences and the common threads.

I treasure those years in high school and college. Even law school had its moments. But you can't hold on to those guys. I wish I knew where all those guys were. I wish I had some contact with them.

I found that picture of Eddie Cameron from the College Football Hall of Fame. The All-American from W&L. The picture looks like somebody I could have gone to school with. In some ways I think a lot of the guys who played football at W&L in the scholarship days were more like me. They came from working families and public schools. Some of their lives were pretty rough. But they weren't snooty, rich sobs. There were plenty of those at W&L; something tells me its still the same there.

This is rambling a bit too much for my taste. I'm afraid my original prediction is coming to fruition. Maybe I should have cut this loose and killed it at the beginning. Maybe I should try for quality rather than quantity. Well, tomorrow is another day.

A little walk down the way

Tonight Cindy and I came home after church and sat out on the patio in the cool of the evening and watched God walking around the backyard. Cindy was reading a big print book by Anne Rivers Siddons. I read an Anne Rivers Siddons book earlier. It was her first book. I really did enjoy it. It took her from high school in North Alabama to college at Auburn. I can't remember if it was autobiographical in the telling or if it was historical fiction. But I liked it and I think it was the best thing she wrote although a lot of people would argue with me.

Before we came home after church we went to Eckards. Cindy and Kate were discussing the relative merits of the various female antiperspirants and whiffing them like there was some remnant of cocaine on the bottles. They were so wrapped up in this that they completely ignored me and anything I said. And I was stuck smelling aftershave. The aftershave that they sell at Eckards are the remnants of high school in the 70's. Brut (for Joe Willie Namath) and English Leather and British Sterling. I tried to get Kate to appreciate the smells but she is beyond that. Heaven knows what high school boys were wearing on their faces in the 90's when she was there. I guess they probably wore the son of Brut and English Leather and British Sterling. That changes so fast. I know that the aftershave smells were so much different between my high school years and my younger brother's years. And that was only three years apart. I know Frank and Mike used to gag me with how much they wore and the sheer smell of it.

I just heard the beginning strains of "Coming around the bend" by Creedence Clearwater Revival. Their music was so good. I had to turn the sound up. It pops me back to a house on Lake Lanier with so many sweet friends from the past. What a great time to live it was in 1973. I can't hear "American Woman" by the Guess Who without thinking of that day at the Schwammle's lake house. All the rising junior football players were there with a lot of the cheerleaders. What a wonderful memory. I water skiied and sailed around the lake and listened to the music of my youth and spent time with friends and just had a grand time.

I also remember laying in my bunkbed at camp in North Georgia listening to music from my counselor's record player and feeling the mountain breeze keep me cool in the cabin. I remember he had Johnny Cash's "Live at Folsom Prison" and he had a 45 of Cream's "Sunshine of your Love" and "Love Potion No. 9" by somebody. I don't remember any other music at camp that summer. We didn't really need anything else. Terry Fritts and I came back from Rabun County singing "Love Potion No. 9" to our dads and eating barbecue at a place in North Gwinnett County that burned down and never was rebuilt in Duluth or the country between Buford and Duluth or whereever, before they became the parking lot/shopping mall/suburban sprawl that they are.

This is the music of my youth. Jim Croce and Cream and Creedence Clearwater Revival. Did I ever notice before now that they all began with the letter "C"? How weird.

How strange that you don't notice this stuff when it's actually happening. When Susan was five, the Allman Brothers were playing free concerts in Piedmont Park. I vaguely remember them playing at a place called "Richards" on Cheshire Bridge in Atlanta. How about REM playing at night in little places in downtown Athens when I was in law school? Did I stop to listen? No.

But I knew the countryside in Christian County, Kentucky was beautiful. The electric green grass and the blue sky so pure and clear. The fences painted white. And all the relations who lived in their parts of the Pennyroyal, too numerous to count, in so many places. I remember a wonderful supper in my Cousin Betsy's house in Princeton with Momma and Frank and Susan. I remember eating dinner in an old Victorian house in Cadiz which had been turned into a restaurant and finding out, through Grandmommie, that the hostess was my cousin. It is wonderful to visit a place like that where everybody has a connection.

When I find myself among strangers, more strange than normal, I need to remember that once there were places where everyone seemed to be my cousin or aunt or uncle and everyone valued me as part of themselves. If I can remember that, then I need to remember that that connectiveness never changes. Just the ages and the faces change. The connections and the relations never change. Even when they are not our actual blood relations.

In honor of connections past and present, I have to give plaudits to Larry Jones and Hand Spun for this weekend's Preakness. Got to do it for Hoptown and Christian County and Golddust Messenger.

Another day of woe

Wednesday, May 16, 2007. Today started poorly. I woke up at around 4:00 o'clock a.m. and went upstairs. I finally fell back asleep for an hour or so. When I came downstairs and let Tex out, Cindy was in a cheerful mood but wanted to ask me a bunch of questions. Unfortunately, I was not in the mood for questions, so it didn't go well between us. We had a little tiff but make up before I left.

I went into the office and overstayed before I left to go to the hearing in Warner Robins. I had hoped I would be able continue the hearing, but when the hearing officer/judge arrived, I spoke with him and he called for an officer from Robins Air Force Base. There not being anyone from Robins present, he dismissed the administrative suspension of my client's driver's license. I am still working trying to make my client understand the difference between the administrative suspension process and the prosecution of the two criminal charges in Federal District Court. Everytime I think I'm getting close to explaining it to him, he asks a question and seems to be back where we started. Anyway, he understood that what this hearing meant was that they were not going to suspend his driver's license. That made him happy.

I stopped on the way back to Griffin and put some cheap (Hah!) gas in the car and bought a sandwich and a drink for lunch. I then continued on to Griffin and waited for Kate to come downstairs. She drove me to Griffin Tech where I took Cindy's car and she drove on to Fayetteville to return a dress and supposedly buy me a Father's Day present. When I spoke with Cindy later she asked me why Kate was driving to Fayetteville for that. I told her and she asked why she was buying me a Father's Day present and hadn't bought her a Mother's Day present which, of course, was last Sunday. I had no response to give.

When I got to the office, it was time for Mrs. Kennedy to come to see me and bring a cashier's check for $10,000.00 for her closing. Of course, I am still waiting on her visit. I called her place of business and they told me she had left to go see her attorney. I assume they are referring to me. Hope springs eternal, etc.

Well, I got two new title requests and one closing was set up for Friday. I will travel to Clayton County tomorrow after Court in Lamar County to do one of the titles and hopefully return in the afternoon to do the title in Spalding County. This is all to the good.

My calendar says that today is Rogation Wednesday, which apparently was a day in Saxon times when the village elders took the children out to mark the boundaries of the homeplaces and lands. The elders apparently used this "holiday" as an excuse to get inebriated and abuse the children. Sounds like a whole lot of fun. In Scotland they call this "riding the marches."

Well as much as I would like to take Kate out and walk around the boundaries of our homeplace and pour water on her whenever we got to a boundary or landmark, there are way too many trees to do it effectively and I just don't have the energy to want to do it. I am sure Kate would agree with that as a concept.

The fun we had in old days has long gone past and we just don't have as much of it as we used to.

Inadequacies

Am I half way to the grave? Or closer? Have I accomplished everything I can in my life, or did it happen ten years ago? I skirt the edge of disaster with a will to keep my head above the water while the waves lap at the side of my head. A lot of people would simply give up. Am I better for trying to persevere or am I just stupid? In the face of creditors and auditors and clients and judges and opponents, I smile weakly and try. It is so frustrating and so much of a struggle.

I want to be a writer. I want people to read my writing and be inspired to whatever emotion the words might lead them to. I want to shake tears from their eyes and laughter from their bellies, from the depths of their bellies. Shake, shake, shake.

I am writing this piece in an effort to shake loose some drippings from the top to flavor the everyday with a little bit of bacon grease and significance. cracklins in the cornbread. Tomatoes on the sandwich. Tomatoes are so pedestrian sometimes, pink, mealy and acidic. But sometimes they overwhelm the meat to the point where the tomatoes are the reason for the sandwich. A tomato is a tomato, except when it is nurtured in a sufficient amount of manure and comes from ancient seeds. Then a tomato is special and says something to you. I want to grow those kinds of tomatoes. And let the seeds and the grease from the bacon run down my chin and forearms. Special because of its simplicity and unexpected goodness. That is my need to express.

I don't know, just a brain blurb

I thought I had got out of driving to Warner Robins in the morning. It didn't make sense to have a hearing on something which will become moot after the sentencing hearing on June 18th. But the Judge wanted my client to be there so I had the uncomfortable task of trying to convince my client that he should appear before the judge without his lawyer. Fat chance! So I get to travel to Warner Robins tomorrow morning. I hope I can get things resolved to everyone's satisfaction.

Well I finally told Lisa she is out. She took it pretty well even though she had to give me a few digs in the process. That's just the way it had to be. She showed no respect for me during her tenure here. She has a mouth on her, no doubt. In many ways I liked her and she could work some times when the thought crossed her mind. But she was not even close to a self-starter and she had to be told to do her work in order to do it. And you had to continually tell her how to do what she had been doing all along. And don't critique her work unless you want criticism of your job.

Now I have to get Patti on board with the process. I almost feel like I need to get rid of everybody and start over. The possibility is there.

Well something to think about. Actually, a lot to think about.

Preakness 2007 and Big Red, the W&L horse

Saturday is the third Saturday in May. That means the Preakness Stakes will be run in Maryland (my Maryland!). The only time I went to Maryland was when we travelled from W&L to College Park to see a lacrosse game. It rained like Hell all through the game and we didn't get much satisfaction out of the game or the weather. Nevertheless, I wouldn't mind eating some crab cakes along the eastern shore. Twould be nice.

I watched some footage on youtube from the 1973 Kentucky Derby and Belmont. I forgot how amazing it was to see Secretariat run. In the Derby, he started off dead last then progressively got faster in each quarter until he finally caught Sham on the final turn and blew past him to win by two lengths. What a race. Oddly, Sham had set the course record in his run only to be beaten by Secretariat by two lengths. If not for Secretariat we all might be talking about Sham as some wonder horse.

The win at the Belmont was even more amazing. Much fewer horses and Secretariat on the inside lane. He blew past everyone and at the end won by thirty one lengths! Thirty one lengths! The other horses were just rounding the last turn when Ron Turcotte craned his neck back to see where they were at the end.

What a combination. A big red horse with powerful frame and legs. He was quite the thoroughbred. A Canadian jockey and trainer. And then the horse born on a farm in Caroline County, Virginia wore the royal blue and white of Washington and Lee for his owner's alma mater. What a great combination. He was the first Triple Crown winner in twenty five years. What a horse.

Well, anyway. I look forward to the possibility of Hand Spun winning for his trainer, Larry Jones of Hopkinsville, Kentucky. He trains nearby in Delaware and his jockey is the winningest jockey in Maryland. I think the odds should be pretty good. We'll see. Go horse go!

Happy Farmer's Day!

Here I am. This morning was a near disaster. I was toodling along waiting for Lisa to show up. When she got here she informed me that the phone was disconnected. I checked into it and found that the same old problem with our billing was causing the problem. So I spent several hours this morning trying to get someone at ATT to cooperate with me. Good Luck!

I finally had to plunk down a little over $800.00 in order to get them to turn the phone back on. Then I spoke with another person about my problem with their failure to bundle my services back in Fall, 2006. I need to get them to adjust the billing to reflect the savings I have supposedly been getting since October. The real problem, as I explained to three or four people at ATT this morning is that they tell me they wouldn't have processed the bundling until they sent me a contract to sign. Well, I never got anything like that until late March so they have not given me any price break prior to March 28, 2007. As I told them, if I didn't know that I was supposed to get a faxed agreement I would have called them and told them so. But it was their responsibility to send me the agreement. I can't be held responsible for something their customer service person didn't handle at the time. Every time I mention this to someone they always commiserate with me. Why must we all have problems with utility companies?

That was the first half of the day. Now I am trying to work on the other things I have been trying to accomplish this day. Most of it would have been finished this morning if not for my problem with Ma Bell.

I wish all of these matters would resolve themselves. I feel like I am dangling here waiting for a cool breeze to blow through and blow the detrius away. It would be nice.

Today is the Feast Day of St. Isidore the Husbandman, the patron saint of farmers. Today is Farmer's Day in parts of England. I guess we should all get a six pack of hard cider and blow a toast in the face of a beef cow. That is what they do in Yorkshire on Christmas Eve. Bring in the new by blowing cider into the face of a cow. Odd tradition.

Well for all those farmers in my lineage, both grandfathers, and beyond, Happy Farmer's Day. I guess I even have to include Dad in that group. It would be nice if the farmers could make a good living without making the cost of food more expensive. Its a losing proposition any way you look at it.

Ancient History

I drove to downtown Atlanta today. It was strange and I didn't like it. I searched a title in Fulton County but spent too much time in the record room. I wish I could have had a day off today. We had a nice evening with mojitos and hamburgers and sausage. It was a typical Summer evening. Cindy sprayed for mosquitoes which was nice, even though I have a bite on my leg.

Now I am watching a television program about Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr. It was an interesting time in American History. The American press and the middling desires of the American public to run over the problems of the high and mighty of society. What we take for granted these days was brand new in these times of the early Republic. Perhaps John Adams was the best of them all. He had the ability to see everything as it was and to see everyone for who they were. Even in the end, the ability to reclaim his friendship with Jefferson shows a certain amount of clarity of vision. I think Adams's only real problem was his inability to understand why others did not agree with him. But Adams was brilliant and gifted with a wonderful partner for a wife and a genius for a son.

Today is the 400th anniversary of the founding of the Commonwealth of Virginia. Hooray! I should have had some oysters to celebrate, instead of roasted beef and sausage. A good English beer. I guess I still have time for that. This republic was founded on good English ale. It was only later when we passed over the boundary of the Blue Ridge that our good Scots-Irish citizens could stop and build a still and find the first landmark use for corn. Genius! Take a grain which can get wet or dry and turn bad with time and grind it and blend it with native water and let it sit until it turns into something easily stored and transported. The shelf life alone is remarkable.

Today is also the birthday of Meriwether Lewis. Lewis and Clark. This is the part of American History which crosses my family's path. Meriwether Lewis, born in Albemarle County, near Jefferson and Monticello, and educated at Liberty Hall (now Washington and Lee University), and he died in Tennessee. William Clark, born in Caroline County (where my family lived before they moved to Halifax County, the last stop before Western Kentucky), settled in Kentucky and then died in Missouri. They were both Easterners and Westerners and blazed a trail for my family to follow. I have no family connection to either man that I know of but they may have known members of my family. The geographical connections are very close.

I remember travelling to Charlottesville and Monticello. There is an odd familiarity to it I can't deny. It feels like deja vu when I go there. It flows like my blood. It might be illusion, but there is no denying that it is a magnificant place, even though I spent my four years a little bit to the west. I enjoy that part of Virginia also. I remember driving around the country in the Fall, trying to collect my thoughts, there was something comforting about those hills. I still love it so.

Those rolling hills are stately and old and sturdy. They have the feel of something of permanence. Perhaps when we begin to worry about the changing of our world, we should stop and travel to Lexington and remember how unchanging this world can seem. I think the legacy of Washington and Lee are control and honor and will. They both worked hard to be strong and sturdy. Washington was an aristocrat, but worked very hard to get where he was and to stay there when he got there. Lee was trying to replace the emotional fury of his father and its undermining of the family's place in Virginia society with sheer effort of will and a strict sense of honor. Perhaps both of them are allied by that word: honor.

Jefferson was exemplary of creativity, artistic temperment and intelligence. President Kennedy made remarks about a group of artists and musicians convened at the White House and stated that that was greatest example of intelligence and creativity exhibited at a supper in the Executive Mansion since Thomas Jefferson ate alone. However, Jefferson could not live with what he came to understand. The slavery issue ate him up and he couldn't live with his principals. He constantly had to ignore them in order to sustain his lifestyle. He also suffered from his own ambition.

Washington, on the other hand, seemed to be at his greatest when he ignored his own ambition and the ambition of others for him. Perhaps the greatest moment in American History occurred when George Washington turned down a permanent place of leadership and returned to Virginia. Lee, also, showed restraint and control when he turned down a place of leadership in the American army for a tenuous one in the Virginia militia. This self-control was mirrored by his choice to give his final energies to Washington College. As Washington understood that it was essential to the development of this country to turn down a "kingship", Lee understood that education was the fundamental building block of rebuilding a fallen society.

Well, this has been my little tribute to Virginia for the day. My mother had her medical test and there was nothing serious there. So I can end this day with a short little tribute to the birthplace of my ancestors. Sic Semper Tyrannus. Non In Cautus Futuri.

I need a nap

I was reminded today that I am fifty and my place in the family is different now than it was when I was a child, or even a young adult with a child of my own, but still a child. Mom and Dad came to visit for Mother's Day and Kevin and Susan brought the girls. To sit and listen to everybody and have to do what is necessary to deal with the fun of the day. There is Dad who is sitting apart from everyone watching, participating on the perifery. Mom, whose day we celebrate, but who is forced to also sit a little off center because of medical tests tomorrow, and when everyone begins eating goes inside to help the newest member of the family, Katie Scott, get to sleep, which, of course, she doesn't.

So the children are in charge, in an odd uncertain kind of a way and Susan flits around the edges trying to deal with children and Kevin is offering to help but spends most of his time chasing after Becca who is a very active two year old.

And Cindy and Kate are sitting outside trying to hold it together and it seems to be flying past me. I am juggling dishes trying to make it all work so that we can eat something. I am coming up with dishes as we go and trying to figure out if what we have will work together.

And it does. The shrimp are about what I wanted them to be, the crawfish are good but superfluous; the asparagus, corn and the cooked vidalia onion are excellent and the mojitos aren't bad either. Kate's caramel cake is excellent even for someone who doesn't even really like caramel cake, but it took a lot of time and I appreciate the effort on her part.

It was a little bit tough with Becca running around but everything worked alright. Still, this was the first time I really felt awkwardly in charge. I guess I wish it was like it was in the past with my mother worrying about the meals and my only part in finding room in my stomach for whatever is on my plate.

Sundays are tough when they are special and I have so much to do to get them going. I need to take a nap, but it is after seven o'clock and a nap would be counterproductive at this point. For someone whose weekend began with waking up on Friday and thinking it was Saturday to a Sunday afternoon where it seems like it blew right past me, I guess its about the way it should feel under the circumstances.

I think I am aiming for a weekend where my family travels to some place of recreation rather than the things that have to be done.

Mother's Day, 2007

Today is Mother's Day. We have Mom and Dad and Susan and Kevin and the girls coming after church today. We spent a good bit of yesterday working on the house and the back garden. At the end of the day it rained and rained and rained until later in the evening. When we went to bed, Cindy realized that the sprinkler was still working. I guess it had been going, with the rain, from early in the afternoon when we were watering the tomato plants and the basil I had planted. Just as we got to the point where the ground was getting wet, thunder and lightning came and we ran inside just as the rain hit. We sat inside and listened to the storm and wondered if we were getting something other than rain and an electrical storm. At one point, hail started accumulating on the patio. We wondered if we were getting something other than rain, but it finally died down a little to the point where I could take a shower and go to the grocery. I left Kate asleep on the floor.

Later, Cindy and Kate told me they wanted a "good" hamburger and Cindy told me she wanted
to me to get her a hamburger from Applebees. So I drove over only to find that there was a big crowd waiting both inside and out. I considered the possibility of going somewhere else but worried about not being able to get in touch with Cindy and Kate by phone. My cellphone was in the other car and the problem we have with the home phone presented an insurmountable problem. So I returned to Appplebee's and waded through the crowd to get to the front to make a takeout order (or takeaway as they say in Britian). It took a while in which I tried to watch a college baseball game between Florida and LSU, but they finally brought me the food and LSU got beat and I was on my way.

Anyway, today is the day. I need to go to the grocery and vacuum the downstairs before I can shower and go to church. I wish I could take Cindy and Kate and picnic at Dowdell's Knob on top of Pine Mountain. The historic value and the beauty of the area are arresting. I think Cindy would like it despite the FDR statue. Maybe we can do it again some other time.

Well, today will be a long day, so up and at 'em.

Peace and Brotherhood at the Decatur MARTA Station

The Opening ceremonies have arrived and for those of us who couldn't afford the big ticket
To sit amongst the world gathered and collected tightly in that new Olympic Stadium downtown
But still wanted to participate in some way other than pressing a button on the remote control,
We've found a spot in downtown Decatur, close to my growing up place in Dunwoody,
Where even my old high school football coach shows up out of the past to shake hands
And enjoy a smile and a brief moment's return to 1975 and Dunwoody High School,
But here in the present, everything is lively but relaxed among the old buildings and the crowd
And they have tacked a bedsheet on a wall of a bank building downtown
Where everything down there in Atlanta will be broadcast later
But now we are walking around among all the people convened here to enjoy
An unusually cool Summer's evening and touch the world and let the world touch us in return.

Now we know the world is really downtown in Atlanta
And that this is just the sideshow to what is going on
Several miles to the southwest and we are curious, (Could you blame us?)
And Mark and I take a look down into the Decatur station and there's nobody down there
And we wonder how it might be several stops down the line
And we decide to take a chance and walk down to the concourse below,
The emptiness of the station echoing in our ears,
But the train soon comes and we are hurtling westward toward the big show
To see all the people and the smiles and the laughing and feel the touch of happiness,
To see Atlanta shown off to the world,
All gleaming and shining clean, and there's beer and olympic watches and t-shirts and
People from Germany and England and France and China and Japan
And all the countries of Africa and the Middle East and Russia and its neighbors
And music and lights and fireworks and hoopla! The world is here! The world is here!

Until we ultimately decide to return to Decatur where it is more restrained and peaceful,
As an older aunt might be expected to act when you visit on a cool Summer's night,
And we sit down on her frontporch to watch the evening's entertainment.
As we sit, the sheet lights up through the darkness with what is going on in Atlanta
And we see all of the youth and the older athletes and cheer the flash and the color
Until a familiar face comes out of the dark, and infirm, but proud, he takes the torch
From the pretty young American athlete from California, just a few years away from this show
But his hands are shaking from the struggle and the years and the beating of our hearts,
His and mine, nevertheless, he is taking the torch and lighting the flame
And suddenly, the stretch of years are gone for Muhammad Ali and for me, both Kentucky boys, From many years ago,
But now not separated by race or the years or the accomplishments or the years
But together again as proud Americans, enjoying the moment together

And I turn to the stranger next to me and he smiles in return,
Sharing a kinship of country and pride, though his family came from Africa
And mine from Britain, which doesn't really matter now as he says,
"God bless America" to punctuate the evening and share a moment neither of us
Would have expected, but, perhaps, is the reason we are here anyway.

Perimeter Station, early morning, August 2005

At this time of morning, no one is here, even in the vast parking lot behind us
And for most this is the end of the line at this time of day
But we four have other ends in mind, and this is our beginning;
We sit alone and await the quiet silver metal train from the north
Which shows itself suddenly, silently from up the line and swooshes into the station
Slowing, slowing, slowing, stopping and opening herself to our sleepy entry
To be carried gently all the way through the ATL to the airport to a plane to the sky
To Seattle where everyone sells coffee and beer and dampness and planes and on
To Ketchikan, the gateway to the frontier for goldminers and fishermen,
Like us, who fly on to tiny, little Craig to sleep again before the morning comes early
And we speed out into the darkness on fiberglass vessels
Across the silent bay and outward between the forested islands
Seeking schools of pink-striped silver salmon which hide beneath us in the cold black waters
And pull and reel and pull and reel until we are back on the dock again
With boxes of salmon and monstrous halibut from the bottom of the sea
And back again to Ketchikan and Seattle and the sky and the ATL
And another silver train carrying us and our pink and silver fish
Back to the quiet station behind the mall again:
The end of the line.

The perception of money

Several months ago I went on a cash only basis for living, at least as much as I could. The immediate result was to require me to draw cash for the expenses of daily living. Once or twice a week, I replace the cash I use with another collection of cash. As the expenses are paid, I replace the cash I use with more cash.

Oddly, there has been a secondary affect on my perception of money. When you put that cash in your moneyclip or wallet, you feel like you have something there. The concept of money is perceptible and tangible. You can count it readily and evaluate it. You are forced to consider it directly when you figure on what you can buy. In some sense it becomes more real than it would be if the only source of money was a checking account. The old saw says: "How can I be out of money if I still have checks?" Your tangible money becomes abstract and intangible when it is represented by a checkbook.

There is nothing really unusual about this. A checking account is created to allow you to represent your wealth with a piece of paper so that you can readily and easily use your wealth to make purchases.

The real problem occurs when you expand this concept with the idea of credit. Credit is a way to expand your spending power by agreement with a third party who extends your buying power on the idea that you will ultimately pay him back for the goods purchased on the agreement.

But see how intangible the idea of your money becomes when it is expanded by an agreement to extend credit. All of a sudden you don't see that money or feel it in your hands. As a matter of fact you can't see credit except by considering the things you buy with it. In addition, you may not even know the true extent of how much credit you do have until its gone completely.

I am afraid that my feeble mind is unable to wrap itself completely around the extent through which credit expands my wealth. I do understand that credit allows me to purchase more in a faster manner. I also realize that ultimately you have to pay the piper for the dance. However, as credit becomes more and more expensive to have and keep, the relative merits of credit become less tangible. Finally, I retreat to my cash. If I earn a dollar, and receive a dollar, I can spend a dollar. If I want to buy more, I need to earn more dollars. If I want to buy something large, I need to save my dollars. How simple.

Credit is good, as far as it goes, and is necessary for the large things, like a house, which we want to purchase in our lives. But credit is bad because it expands our ability to pay beyond our ability to understand what we can pay back. Therefore, our ability to perceive the limits of our buying power are further limited by our inability to perceive where those limits are or where they might lead us. Until we find ourselves in a position where our inability to pay back the credit extended is choking us to death.

Welcome to the American Dream and my place in it.

An exposition of faith.

I need to pray and I need to read my bible. I need to listen to the Lord and find what he has to place on my heart. When I was a child, my idea of God was twofold. There was a historical God who was basically found in the Bible and seemed to end with Paul and Peter in the New Testament. Then there was the living God who was beyond the world I lived in, but was imperceptively within it and around it.

But I have had these moments when the presence of God or at least the existence of God was so palpable and personal. I remember a time when I was in my bedroom at Mom and Dad's house in Dunwoody. I was thinking about the concept of the world being good, as in God created the world and it was good. But so much of the world didn't seem very good. As a matter of fact there was a lot about the world that didn't seem to be very good at all.

As I was mulling over this in my mind, the thought occurred to me that the world was neither good nor bad, but possible. What I meant by that is not that the world that God made was not good. What I meant was that the world contained possibility which could be good or bad depending on how it was used or who it affected or who perceived it. I remember as I thought those words, there was a flash outside my window as if God were punctuating my thought with an affirmation. Now I don't know if that was a flash from Heaven or if that was just someone downstairs flashing the outside lights, but I remember thinking at the time that it was an affirmation from God.

From that thought, or recognition, if you prefer, I have travelled down the path to this: it doesn't really matter if God caused a lightning bolt to light up the night sky outside my window or if God caused someone to flash the outside lights at the time that I came to that thought. Either way it happened, the occurrence can be viewed in the same two ways. First of all, you can say that the light outside my window, no matter from whence came its source, was a coincidence. It just happened to happen at the same time I thought. Secondly, you can posit that the light was a sign given to me by God, whether it came from a flash of electrical charge caused by a weather anamoly or simply from the hand of someone in the house. The practical source was immaterial. The event, happening when it did at the place that it did when I was thinking about this rather theological series of thoughts, can be seen as caused by God.

I remember when I was in college and one of my English professors defined a miracle as the imposition of the supernatural on the natural world. I think this is a rather good definition of a miracle. However, there are also two ways to look at this definition. I'll call these two ways the "Scientific" way to look at a miracle and the "Calvinistic" way to look at a miracle. I call this way "Calvinistic" even though I am not really sure that Calvin would view it in this way, or for that matter, any Reformed theologian or pastor. I call it "Calvinistic" because it proceeds from my perception of how a Calvinistic understanding of the world and the way it works defines or explains the world.

The Scientific way to look at this is to start by acknowledging that there is the natural world in which we live. The natural world developed and operates under certain scientific laws which "Science", over the years, has discovered or demonstrated. Upon this natural world governed by scientific laws, God might choose to interrupt the way things work with a supernatural event, which goes against the natural way of things. In other words, God chooses to suspend or interrupt or causes an event which is against the natural law. This is defined as a miracle because it goes against the natural world from a supernatural source.

But I would posit that the correct way to look at a miracle is to use what I will call the Calvanistic method. To Calvin, everything that occurs in the world occurs at the behest and command of God. This includes the very breath of a sparrow or the beating of the wing of a hummingbird to the grand movement of the oceans and the holding of the mountains in their place. And everything in between. Even all of the natural laws discovered by the Scientist are also the command of God. The occurrence of something that we ignore as normal like the rising of the sun in the east or even the fastness of the mountains or the movement of the earth occur at the command of God. Even the operation of Darwin's laws, if fundamentally or even conceptually true, are seen as the command of God.

When something occurs which we see, in our imperfect perception, as "against" natural law, such as many of the acts of God we find in the Bible, they are not truly against natural law, because they arise from the same source: the command of God. The common tapestry of the world we see, whether it is something we accept as "natural law" or scientific fact or as something we acknowledge as a "miracle", is that each event and each individual part of being is the act of God.

Seeing every act in History, no matter how minute or grand, as the act of God, allows us to look at my situation when I was a young teenager in a very different way. Specifically, we don't have to worry about whether or not the light outside my window was a supernatural bolt of lightening or a flashing of the exterior light by one of the occupants of the house. The Calvinistic way of looking at the situation would be to acknowledge that the light was placed there by God.

There is a deeper way to look at this event which goes beyond even this simplistic way of looking at the event. Even stating that God is the source of the light is a simple statement. It doesn't explain whether or not God meant this light to be an affirmation to me as I pondered the world. It simply says that the light is there because of God. It neither explains anything about the cause of the light or the significance of the light, whether that significance is measured as it pertains to me or to the rest of humanity.

This is the problem which occurred for a lot of scientists when the "big bang" theory was first posited. A lot of scientists thought that this idea of the universe occurring in a large explosion of creation smacked very closely to the description in Genesis. For a lot of scientists this seemed to be an end run for those religious people who wanted to show the theological basis for the beginning of the world. For these scientists, this concept was scientific heresy.

But what has happened since is the general acceptance of the "big bang" theory as the original source of the creation of the universe and the scientific peeling away of the idea that God was the source of that "big bang".

Now the true difference in this is the same true difference in the way that I look at the incident of the light in my bedroom. I have always accepted that God was the source of this light and that he created the light, no matter the source of the light, to provide affirmation to my thought. Another person looking at the situation would say that the light was a coincidental occurrence probably caused by one of the occupants of the house flipping the switch inside the house. There was no affirmation, just a coincidence of occurrence.

But what causes one person to see this collection of events as coincidence and the other person to see it as the affirmation of an interested God. The difference is faith. If one accepts by faith that all events are the working of God, then the light in my window was the act of God, just as the working of my eyes and the electrical synapses in my brain at that moment. But faith takes us further in that moment. For this is not only the simple act of God to create a light as a factual accompaniment to my thought, but this is seen by my mind and my heart as the affirmation of God. Only faith can acknowledge this as the lesson of God.

That significance can not be proven by science. Further, the view of all acts as the acts of God can mean nothing to a scientist per se, because it really doesn't provide anything which the scientist can use in his calling.

Another interesting facet of this faith-based perception, is that it leads to the idea that God is interested in me and what I think. This may be the hardest part of this equation for the non-faithful to understand. Too much bad is present in the world for many people to agree that God is a personal God who is interested in our lives in great detail. But faith tells me otherwise. The event in my bedroom is an example which my faith shows me is the product of God's desires for me.

Fortunately, I have seen other instances of this faith-proven significance in my life. Each event builds on that idea that God values me and leads me to continue the thought that God wants a relationship with me. This is a very different vision of God from the one I had as a small boy. God is seen no longer as a historical God found in the bible or an imperceptible entity. However, in every occurrence, the event can be viewed as coincidence or significant miracle (an act of God). The difference can only be posited by faith or the absence of faith.

This presents a very important facet of this faith-born significance as the relational and personal way in which faith seems to work in one's life. If one has faith that God is working behind and through the events of the world, no matter how deeply or completely, this faithful acknowledgement can affect everything that the faithful sees, hears, feels, and thinks. One's faith informs his understanding and perception in a simple or universal way and in a personal way, as well. The more faithful, the more complete understanding and more complete the relationship between the faithful and the object of the faithful. One's faith causes the faithful to grow to a point where he sees the object of faith and the presence of God all around him.

This is the object and goal of faith. This is how we acknowledge that God works in our lives to perfect our faith and draw us closer to Himself. This is the true end of our being: to know God and enjoy Him forever. Faith is the final tool we have to effectuate this movement toward God.

Where our imperfect understanding takes us in our understanding of God and the world in which we live, faith perfects that understanding and draws us to closer to Him.