ChoiceisFreedom.com

Two weeks ago I was driving down Cedar Road in Chesapeake taking my typical route to my office. If I remember correctly it was a cool morning perfect for my height weight ratio. With the window down and my voice belting out “Gloria” by Van Morrison, I looked to my left at the cemetary. Typically, I think how valuable the real estate is and would it be possible to remove all the bodies to a new cemetary and develop that land but today was different. My attention was drawn to a bright green tent covering a recently excavated grave. Preparations were complete for a funeral.  What was interesting to me was that there were four construction workers sitting in the first row of chairs set up for the family. They were taking a break and each one was smoking a cigarette looking satisfied with a job complete.  The green chair covers and the bright flowers posed a stark contrast to the dirty jeans and flannel shirts of the workers. I imagined them discussing the football games from the day before or the upcoming election. A flash of, “is that inappropriate? it seems a little disrespectful” went through my mind. Within hours, members of the recently departed would be sitting in the same chairs contemplating life, love and the when the pastor would finish. They might be thinking, “Thank God that miserable human being finally got what he deserved.” The latter seemed more appropriate for me but since I was still alive I thought the former more likely. I realized that for the four construction workers it was a job which held no philosophical or metaphysical meaning.  After work, they needed a place to sit down and take a smoke break.   That is it.  Context is very important. A worker sitting next to a woman dressed in black shaking his head and looking over at her after a long drag on his cigarette and saying, “That was a tough dig. I hope it fits.” Ironic juxtaposition.  The same workers taking the same smoke break along side a grieving family would be inappropriate and disrespectful. During the last verse of “Gloria” I left the cemetary behind with the question, “How many cigarettes are in those graves?” AH 

Good morning everyone. Time has passed and many of you probably thought that I had been kidnapped by aliens and removed from this pulsating orb. I will recount for you my adventures over the past thirty days. First, I was contacted by Sarah Palin’s candidacy to consult on whether 2 inch heels or 3 inch heels would work better for the debate. I argued vociferously for three inch stilettos because I felt that Joe Biden would be distracted. During the consultation, the campaign asked for a catch phrase to be used during the debate. I suggested “This mama ain’t votin for Obama.” Vernacular was not popular and Sarah went in another direction. I did leave a pair of three inch stilleto heels with her oldest daughter advising her that the shoes were for her mom not her. Ironically, the Obama campaign called as I was getting off my snow mobile and I shuttled off to “Obama 1″ to discuss the financial crisis with his team. My policy suggestion was for him to announce that at the beginning of his Presidency he would require the US Mint to begin printing currency in different colors. His presidency would take the ever popular game Monopoly into the main stream.  He understood that making under privileged people feel better about the money they did have in their wallets was more important than the value of the money because in his words “colors make people happy.” While discussing the need for a constitutional amendment allowing animals to vote in presidential elections, Dick Cheney called requesting me to get to the White House as soon as possible.  When I arrived at the White House I was allowed unrestricted access to the President and Vice President. They were both so busy with phone calls and meetings with Executives from Texas and Sheiks from Saudi Arabia that  I was allowed to walk the White House without escort. Amazingly, the White House has been turned into a Michael Jacksonesque Neverland complete with Ferris Wheel and jello slide from the Oval Office into the Lincoln Bedroom. Very Cool. Another interesting addition is the music that is played throughout the White House. It took me some time to catch the tune but if I am not mistaken it was Perry Como singing ”We did not start the fire” by Billy Joel.  As I inspected the jello slide I saw the phrase, “This slid thingamajiggy is mine - you know Georges - DO NT TCH - W” scribbled in red crayon on the side of the slide.  Strolling  downstairs I discovered a door slightly ajar. Curious, I pushed open the door and followed faint laughter (more like a cackle) down a dark staircase. As I approached a large room I stumbled upon VP Cheney wearing red and white and blue boxer shorts with the phrase “I PUT THE VICE IN VICE PRESIDENT” on the backside. Looking in disbelief, I saw the VP smoking something that looked like a cigar but upon closer look it was a rolled up a stock certificate for Lehman Brothers.  Piles of stock certificates  for Lehman Brothers, Bear Stearns, Wachovia, Washington Mutual and AIG were mixed in with tubs of riyals.  When I turned around to leave he asked me not to use the entrance but the exit which was located on the other side of the room. Stepping over and falling into huge mounds of cash and stocks, I put my hand on a door made of gold and silver.  On the bottom right hand part of the door the words “THIS DOOR PROVIDED TO THE VP WITH PRIDE AND HOPE. THANKS FOR ALL YOU HAVE DONE - REX TILLERSON.” When I went through the door I was transported magically to David Lesar’s hot tub.  I had a busy and weird thirty days.AH

Wall Street is a mess. Bear Stearns, Lehman Brothers, Merrill Lynch are just a few of the disasters. However, the Walmart of the financial industry is rising like the armies of Alexander the Great to gobble up the failing players. Bank of America’s purchase of Countrywide mortgages months ago was a strong positioning of a top five Bank into the residential mortgage market. Now, BofA is sucking up the stock brokerage abilities of one of our nation’s most successful investment houses. Merrill Lynch’s stock brokers will ultimately be absorbed into BofA’ s massive branch locations. For you Star Trek fans you can understand Bank of America’s manuevers if you have seen the episodes about the Borg. For failing investment banks and failing national banks resistance is futile. Bank of America is emerging as the only sound financial institution in the marketplace. Watch, listen and learn. This drama is going to provide a lot of lessons on how 21st century American capitalism works.AH 

• Let us continue from yesterday. Feel free to leave your comments.

1. Taking the last of the sheets of toilet paper and not replacing it. If you don’t check before you are sitting down you have some choices to make. Some of these choices are as follows:

a. can I reach under the cabinet from the toilet?  

b. if  I reach too far will I fall off the toilet?

c. can I run into the hallway sans pants to retrieve the toilet paper without anyone seeing me?

d. how many rolls of toilet paper are in the house?

e. can I yell at someone from inside the bathroom to retrieve the toilet paper or are they too far away to hear me?

f. finally, can I risk not even using toilet paper? (I know but we must look at the option)

 2 . People who get out of the shower or tub tracking water on the floor so when you walk in with your socks on the socks get wet thereby dominating your freewill by forcing you to change them when you are already late for work. Even my description is annoying. I am annoyed at myself for even writing about this annoyance. 3.  Planning to get a late night bowl of cereal or a morning bowl of cereal only to realize that some milk thief has used the last of it and returned the container. The agony of pouring nothing into your bowl of frosted flakes is nothing short of a snack tragedy. Yes, you do look in the container as if the milk is hiding and you are going to see it and scream, “There you are now get out of there and into my bowl.”  I probably get angrier at this than anything in the world because I love cereal. The anticipation of sneaking downstairs wearing only my underwear in the middle of the night to molest a bowl of frosted flakes in the dark while I am watching Conan Obrien or the colon detox infomercial is dashed against the rocks of the empty carton. 4. I will refer to them as soap thieves and/or shampoo thieves. These are the people that use the bathroom before you and take your soap or shampoo because they are out but do not return it to your shower.  Thus, you are standing under the shower head ready to wash your hair and you turn to discover empty fiberglass staring at you. Then you have to get out of the shower like a naked Indiana Jones searching for your shampoo artifact unwittingly creating annoyance number 2. Therefore annoyance number 4 creates annoyance number 2 and ironically you have contributed to your own annoyances and because of this cruel Waiting for Godot moment you decide to kill yourself in the bathroom wearing only knee high black dress socks and an ill-fitting towel.  5. Taking one bite out of a doughnut and putting the defiled doughnut back in the box. I will confess my guilt of doing this. My reasoning is simply I want the pride of saying I did not eat another doughnut. Now that I write about it, I realize this egregious act is extremely annoying especially if it is the last doughnut. My wife and girls discovered this recently and they blamed each other. I eventually confessed but the whole scene was so Machiavellian that I relished in my secret doughnut sniper hit. You should also know that my wife’s keen desire for chocolate doughnuts was not deterred by the bite. She quickly deduced that it must have been one of the other three people in the house and she was willing to take the germ risk for that succulent treat. 6. Bloggers who write about annoyances on the blog.AH 

Every person gets annoyed by things. Human beings have expectations about the way things should be and the things ought to be. Most of these things are opinion but some are universal. I observed a couple of these this week and I wanted to share them.

1. Check writing in the check out line. Completely and utterly annoying. My wife still does this and I can only imagine the annoyance of a long line at the grocery store when she writes a 1.35 check for gum.

2. Cell phone usage in public places. I am guilty of this more than anyone so in the hopes of being fair I thought I would include this in the list. Now I don’t see anything wrong with speaking to someone who is with in public but for some reason if I am speaking to someone telephonically that breaches social etiquette.

3. Public Restroom conversation. I am fairly unsure about the rules around this for the ladies restroom but I know I am completely annoyed when I am standing at a urinal and some creepy old man starts discussing something with me.

4. Fireman filling boots in the intersection. I mean come on, your trapped in your car and although you have given money the past thirty times you went through that intersection you have no way to avoid looking like a completely jerk if you don’t give money everytime.

AH

Thursday morning at 8:37am, I was sitting in the parking lot with my daughters. We were waiting for the time to go into school listening to This American Life. Their school is located in a retail shopping area. A strip mall yet the retail development has a large walkway in front of each store so the walkway is about 8 feet in front of the store fronts. While we were waiting, a man approximately 65 years of age was walking west to east on the sidewalk in front of the stores. No big deal right? From about 100 feet away I could determine that he was walking with a cane in his left hand yet he did not walk with any type of limp or impediment. Curious. He was wearing navy blue jeans, brown birckenstocks with white socks. His brown belt had a silver clasp disguised under a protruding beer belly. His dark navy blue t-shirt was tucked in neatly. No blousing needed because his center girth filled the front of the t-shirt into the shape of an 9 month mother to be. Everything seemed in order and I assumed that he was waiting for the LabCorp to open for obvious blood work for some type of circulatory or heart condition. At first I thought he was lost because he kept looking up at the signs. He passed the Royal Thai Bangkok Restaurant, Copeland Christian Bookstore and as he came near I noted that there was writing on the front of his t-shirt. I non-chalantly read the shirt which was quite easy to read because his girth allowed the maximum pressure on the shirt to provide a panel almost like one of those sandwich boards from a 1930’s movie. The following is an exact quote of what was printed on this proudly displayed t-shirt worn by this 65 year old caucasion male: “DIP ME IN HONEY AND THROW ME TO THE LESBIANS.” Unfortunately I am not making this up. This is a true story.  As a protective father of two and a father concerned with my daughters innate curiosity, I attempted to distract them while mentally shooing this individual into a quick u-turn. Two things were thrust to the front of my mind. Why honey? and Was this person for real? I quickly performed the equation to obtain the honey answer. I had to laugh because I thought about the absurdity of this individual. Maybe he was blind and someone gave him this shirt as a joke witholding the printed information or telling him that it said something like, “BREAK GLASS IN CASE OF EMERGENCY.” Thinking it through I determine that is something I would do to my wife if she lost her sight. I would give her all of these inappriopriate t-shirts to wear and then tell her that they said something completely different just so I could shrug my shoulders at the scowling pedestrians reading her shirt. While they were reading, I would yell at them and say, “hey why don’t you take a picture it lasts longer, she is blind isn’t that enough or do you have to stare at her too!!!” When my wife asked what was happening I would say nothing just some ignorant person who has never seen someone with a disability. I would tell her that the Virginia Beach boardwalk is very crowded and we should leave laughing under my breath. She would feel like I was her knight in shining armor protecting her from the hurt of the world while she wore a shirt that said, “I danced my way through college. JB’s Gallery of Girls” or something similarly innappropriate. She would sit in the car none the wiser that the public was creating a mental images of her dancing to Aerosmith music in some creepy bar off of George Washington Highway. Back to the story. The man turned around and waltzed into Labcorp to get his blood drawn. Luckily, my daughters were still waking up for school or day dreaming but they missed the Dateline Chris Hansen contestant. I don’t want to sound old fashion but let me sound old fashion. That is completely inappropriate for a 65 year old or a 25 year old. Parents should not be forced to breach subjects with their kids that they are not ready to breach. Innocence should not be shattered by some old guy with a honey fetish. Frankly I don’t know what bothered me more the printing on the t shirt or the fact that he was wearing sandals with white socks and his t shirt was tucked in. Either way, I was certain that later in the day he would be sitting at a counter looking at a plate of cookies while Chris Hansen introduced himself as a reporter from Dateline’s show to catch a predator. After my girls were safely in the school I went to work thinking about the different shirts I could get my wife to wear if she was blind. The last phrase I came up with before my ADHD took over was, “This Cougar is on the Prowl!” I thought that was funny.AH 

Political campaigns are shining examples of self-delusion. The phrase keeping “it real” does not apply to political conventions. Most of the time it is spin and advertising, the cultural marketing of an idea of the candidate. Realistically, if the American people were grown ups we would acknowledge that most candidates are flawed because people are flawed. Expecting anything else would be a mystery and a lie. But choosing to believe a lie is a powerful political tool. The hypocrisy that follows conservatives and liberals alike when it comes to engaging in an objective conversation is overwhelming. Conservatives want to embrace the idea that a superwoman is possible even in light of life challenges that require sacrificial energy, time and effort. Liberals want to believe that the candidates are of the people by the people even if the candidate has left behind populace concerns years ago. We want to believe that people can remain rooted and above the influence of money, power and prestige. We want to believe that our system allows people to rise to power purely lacking the stench of special interests and compromise. We want to be blind to the reality that with purity comes sacrifice. We want to sift the circumstances presented hopefully retaining the philosophical agreements and tossing the conflicts.  Reality is different. Our circumstances require sight not blindness. Our future generations will need leadership that looks in the face of circumstances and does the right thing not everything. Let us wake up from the slumber of self-delusion thinking that we can do everything and that our candidates can do everything for everybody.  

I love being at home. My wife is a free spirit. She would love to have adventures everyday go here fly there drink up the experiences around her. I attribute that to her artistic side which repels the harsh reality of finances and pragmatism. She attracts me because I would only live in a world of dreary pragmatism. Her life and smile are lifelines that fish me out of the water of despair and hopelessness that I swim in most of the time. She chides me to get out of the house and drink up life. If it was not for her, I would atrophy amidst books and radio programs fit for someone thirty years older. Many times my desire to be home with everyone is not selfish. I am waiting to hear the joyous sounds of my daughters laughing. Their laughter, unhindered and gutteral, floats throughout the house like emotional cotton candy smelling of hope and freedom. It forms clouds above my dry concerns of life and rains down joy and purpose on my desecated mind.  I think I can remember a time when I lived without them but my mind has removed any empty space where their laughter did not fill up dark corners of my heart and mind. Laugh a little today, love someone today, and birth a new hope that did not exist yesterday. AH 

My wife’s grandfather is fighting for his life in Norfolk’s heart hospital. His heart needs kick starting and on top of that he is fighting cancer that was discovered last month. NICE! Here is the inspirational part. Most people would be, “woe is me! why is this happening to me? I have done the best I can do I don’t deserve this!” Not him. When I saw him on Saturday, he told me that, “God always has a purpose for me when I come into the hospital.” From my vantage point, the machines and monitors hid that purpose from me. He is 89 years old today. He has lived a full and incredible life dedicated to the care and support of less fortunate people. I love him because he loves people. He never tires of giving a kind word of encouragement to one of his family or to a stranger even in the midst of personal struggle. He accepts people as they come to him without judgment or arrogance. His words of advice do not come with the usual side of spiritual “Know it all” common with most preachers. He dispenses the medicine of correction and subtle admonishment like a country doctor slipping you a candy bar hiding the bitter pill of truth.  You willingly accept the medicine even when you don’t want to hear it. I have known him for 21 years and for all intents and purposes he has been my grandfather too! He has run the race, He has kept the faith. In a world filled with spoiled hopes, tainted dreams, and failed aspirations he beckons us to keep our heads up, stay the course and seek the Lord. There is no greater tribute to someone than a life well lived. Thanks Grandaddy for loving us when we did not meet expectations, potential and goals. Your love for us keeps us afloat when our boat is sinking and the world around us tells us to give up.AH   

I went to the Dentist yesterday. Frankly, I hate going to the dentist. My dentist looks at my mouth like a mechanic looks at a beat up 1998 Ford Tempo. The mechanic thinks about funding his retiremement off of that car. My dentist is a super guy, very nice but my mouth is a gold mine (silver mine) for him. His staff puts me in the seat. I know what my dog feels like as she runs her latex gloved finger around my teeth in Veterinarian fashion. A transformation takes place. I am no longer a rational human being but an uncomfortable whirling dirvish of fear and anxiety. What really freaks me out is that I am completely obsessed with the idea that I have failed to maintain my nose hairs or nostril cavities correctly and this lady is going to be walking away disgusted by my teeth, my nose and my person. Assessing the situation while tasting a bit of blood, hopefully mine, I realize how much maintenance human beings have to do to be acceptable to society. Here is a list but I am sure not an exhaustive list because I won’t venture into the female maintenance requirements out of fear and ignorance. Women have more maintenace than the shuttle launch checklists.
We must, wait let me declare that I am in favor of grooming. Some men could use a trimmer or two to cut the weeds coming out of their ears and nose but I am struck by the sheer volume of of maintainance. A short list for your review: the hair on our head, the hair on our backs (ha ha), the hair in our ears, the hair in our nose, the hair on our face, our finger nails, our toe nails, our skin, and our teeth. This is a list of external requirements but if you add in the digestive track and the numerous colon cleansing commercials that tell us we need to clean our colon like a chimney sweep in the winter the tasks are overwhelming. Can you imagine if the whole world stopped maintaining itself? We would all speak french and be rude to foreigners.
AH

Creative problem solving skills are crucial. My daughters had a dispute over the amount of water on their bathroom floor. We could have installed  marina in that bathroom with the amount of water on the floor. I don’t know the drying off procedures for 12 and 10 year old girls and I don’t want to know. From the water, I can assume it involves standing on the vinyl dripping onto the floor until all the excess water pools around the toilet. The unsuspecting person could die from the slip and fall scenario created. After my inquiry about responsibility for the lake, no one would accept the blame nor the chore of cleaning it up. Opportunity. I declared a trial with my 10 year old as plaintiff and my 12 year old as defendant. We set up a small court room in my office. I was judge (naturally my profession qualified me for this position), my wife acted as expert witness. My daugthers were the attorneys. This is happening by the way at 9:30pm at night. Each lawyer needed to present and argue the case on why they were not responsible for the lake. Two hours later they settled. Witnesesses were called, evidence submitted, objections were made and motions were sustained. AH 

THE FOLLOWING IS A STORY THAT I THOUGHT I WOULD SHARE WITH EVERYONE.

CONFUSED & IN THE WRONG CAMP!! Dear Albert,You ask for me to put this in words so here it is.   Too much coffee and running late always make for disastrous consequences.  This was exactly the scenario that presented itself the 1^st Sunday that I visited First Baptist Church of Norfolk.     We were running late (my wife and I) and by the way it is always her fault when we run late. So, while walking in my bladder announced to me, “You’ll never make it to the end of service”.  I understood completely and opted for a quick pit stop.  I knew that my bladder was giving me a good word. So, I hurried to the bathroom as to attempt to not be any later than we already were.  Now not only was I hurrying but I was oblivious.  I was in that place that we all go (Disney Land, the ball park, that mound of paperwork on your desk you have been trying to get to for a month, ect……..).  I was in control of autonomic functions but had mentally checked out and nobody was home. I entered the restroom and hurried to a stall not seeing any urinals.  I didn’t think too much about this because at South Norfolk Baptist Church we never had urinals for years until the bathroom upgrades.  Also, remember, I am in another place in my mind at this point, not the real world.   So, suddenly and without warning I have a realization.  I am surrounded by pink and ………..no urinals!!  Not good.  I certainly could not be this stupid, could I?  My concern / anxiety meter was starting to redline.  At this moment I hear the door open and click itty clack, click itty clack across the floor.  Definitely, not good now!!  Anxiety Meter was peaking in the red and fear was starting to set in.  The cold hard realization had set upon me that I was in the wrong place.  Indeed, I was in the wrong Camp!!   I remember thinking to myself, “These women are going to kill me!!  I am a moron!! Now the rational mind returns and I start to think.  I tell myself, “Alright now, be calm, cool heads prevail”.  Not working, I don’t need a cool head, I need grace!!  Lord help me now!! Immediately my sanity returned and realized, I’ve got to get out of here quickly.  Like, right now.  But what if a lady is not dressed or in a compromising way.  That would be very awkward and would not help my situation.  Should I wait till I hear nothing and then make a break for it?  No, no, no, that will make the situation worse and undermine my basic instinct of, “I gotta get out of here NOW!!”  No, I must and I will make an announcement that I am coming out to make sure everyone is decent.  I will gravel and beg if necessary.  Then I will bolt all the while making a thousand apologies for being such an idiot.  It will work, it has to.   So, I make the announcement, “Ladies, I have come into the wrong bathroom and need to leave.  If the coast is clear I would like to depart at this time.”  Permission was given by one lady and I did not hesitate.  The Lynyrd Skynyrd Song “Gimmy Three Steps” came to mind.  I made apologies as I left and the lady who gave me permission told me that I would be forgiven this one time as she snickered.  (A Mulligan was granted) Free at last!  Free at last!  Halleluiah!  Free at last! I quickly return to the arms of my loving wife who, also being in Disney Land had allowed me to make this blunder.  There she sat within feet of the restroom reading a periodical and had not realized that I had ended up in the wrong camp.  I said to her, “You are not gonna believe this”. Best regards from, Dazed and “Confused In The Wrong Camp!”   In Christ, JHM Revised: August 18, 2008

 As a parent, I believe that creative parenting skills are more fun than traditional methods of discipline. The following is a true story. My wife and mother in law can attest. Frankly, I am proud of the results achieved from my quick thinking. You can be appalled if you would like and I am sure the gestapo child protective services would not approve however I publish this for struggling parents everywhere. My daughters are great kids but last year they were struggling with getting along with one another. Team sports are not my daughter’s interest so building team skills and cooperation is a challenge. Last year my oldest was 11 and my youngest was 9. Who knows why they were not getting along. It could have been spending too much time together, it could be typical sister stuff I don’t know but it was becoming chronic. At dinner, they began to needle and pick at each other. Clearly giving each other a hard time and fussing about who would do what and what the other should do that the other did not want to do etc. For a complete month my wife and I had employed techniques to teach them the value of working together and helping each other for the greater good. All techniques had failed. Talking and negotiating failed. Punishing with chores or restriction failed. This in-fighting had reached an apex at dinner and  I had had enough. While they were fussing and my wife and mother in law were eating, I stopped eating, got up without speaking and left the table. This manuever obtained the attention of everyone because dinner time is important in the house. I walked out of the house and returned with a 50 foot rope (very soft rope). Standing in front of the table with my mother in law’s mouth agape and my wife shaking her head in disbelief, I tied two large loops in the separate ends of the rope. No one was eating at this point. Obviously my daughters are aware that I am unreasonable in most of my life’s actions and view points. Anyone who knows me realizes that I could care less about what you think of me and this includes my wife and daughters. I am about results.  I ask my daughters to get up and stand in front of me. A quiet protest occurred from the table but one look clearly indicating my seriousness and statement of resolve squelched the protest. Tying one end of the rope around the waist of my eldest and the other end around the waist of my youngest, I declare that they are a team now. I inform them that they will have to wear the rope in our house until they are working as a team. Looking at each other clearly appalled by the act, they begin to measure the gravity of the change in circumstances. They say, “how can we use the bathroom? How can we do chores” and finally with “this is crazy.” Concurring, I say, “I agree it is crazy that God gave you guys to each other to share a great life together and you guys can’t work together and treat each other with respect and civility. Therefore, craziness needs to be dealt with the same level of craziness to reverse the tide.” I demonstrate for them that the rope has significant length to allow one sister to use the restroom while the other waits patiently. They will need to cooperate. Another round of questions by my daugthers was met with, “you guys work it out.” My mother in law was so appalled that she left dinner and retired to her apartment upset. My wife looking completely afraid that social services will arrive at the house any minute started cleaning the dishes. I sat down and started eating while both of my daughters stared at me. Instantly they began to discuss the immediate problem that one of them wanted to go upstairs and the other one wanted to stay downstairs. Thus, my great unreasonable experiment began. They began to give and take, negotiate preferences and obtain agreement that allowed them to function for the night. They slept with the rope tied around their waists connected to one another across the hall by this beautiful red rope.  I left for work and the next day they attempted to employ their mother’s advocacy against my “crazy punishment.” She politely said you will have to speak to your father about that. They wore that rope all day working on chores, playing in the house, getting snacks, going to the bathroom while their “twin” sat outside the bathroom in the hallway reading a book. When I arrived home they told me that they learned their lesson. I asked my wife and she said that a rocky morning gave way to a smooth afternoon culminating in a smooth transition to my daughters functioning like conjoined twins. Mission accomplished. As adults, I am sure that this incident will be the subject of many of their therapy sessions. You as reader might feel that this is abuse but this is not true. They were not hurt but their pride and selfishness was checked. My goal was for the girls to understand that working with each other and loving each other is a choice they have to make.  I can say that they have worked very well together since maybe that is out of fear for the rope but I think that they realized that they are tied to each other even when the rope is not there. Make sure the rope is 50 feet long shorter lengths make it difficult to navigate bathroom necessities. AH 

IPODs are the great Sony walkman of the 21st century. Contents of an IPOD reflect the personality of the owner. My IPOD is an electronic expose’ of being a turbo dork. Here is a list of what is on my IPOD: Aly and AJ - my daughters loaded this, Bon Jovi, Hannah Montana - my daughters loaded this, Frank Sinatra, Bruce Hornsby, Tracy Chapman, Norah Jones, Chris Tomlin, Paul Baloche, Michael Buble, John Prine, John Mayer, Amos Lee, Jersey Boys Soundtrack, Wicked Soundtrack, Gordon Lightfoot, David Gray, David Wilcox, Counting Crows, Hootie and the Blowfish, Green Day, Josh Groban, Tony Bennett, Les Miserable Soundtrack, Van Morrison, Neil Young, Neil Diamond, Toad the Wet Sprocket, Wilco, PODCASTS - Bob Edwards Weekend, This American Life, Truth for Life, Selected Shorts. Schizophrenic is a good description of my IPOD contents. The information is disjointed and reminds me of a man without a country. I draw the line at country music. You will not find country music on my IPOD but scrolling through you might question my identity on a variety of fronts. Over 2232 songs on my IPOD and the cross section above is multiplied 10 fold on the device. The contents lack theme or connectivity. Disclosing the private contents of my IPOD expose something about me that I am afraid to type. Good thing that I am married because if I had to date and my IPOD was in my car I can imagine picking my date up for dinner. As I open the car door for her and she sits down I walk around the car. Unfortunately for me I leave my IPOD on the seat and she scrolls through. I open the door and sit down while putting the key in the ignition I state that we are going to go to a … Empty passenger seat as my date walks up the sidewalk leaving me with an empty car but a full IPOD. I don’t think my wife has ever scrolled through my IPOD. My secret life of soundtrack singing and dorky podcast enjoyment should remain forever private. Don’t let anyone ever scroll through your IPOD it could kill your relationship.AH  

When I am driving to Greenbrier Parkway from my house, I look over the water at the Great Bridge Bridge and think about ways to die. Soldiers lost their lives at that bridge via bullets. At the top of my list of ways not to die is thirst. I have been thirsty and the animal urge to drink from the toilet just to quench the thirst is real. Dying of thirst would have to be the worst. Your tongue swelling until you no longer can breath from your mouth and then your kidneys failing seems an undesired form of agony if agonies can be chosen. Lately, I have been dying of spiritual thirst. My soul seems flaky and dusty from lack of absorption. Almost as if the water that I feed it runs off my emaciated soul like water off glass. You can see the water sitting on the glass. The glass is wet for a time but nothing ever penetrates it. Keith Green wrote an apt description  ”My eyes are dry, my heart is cold.” No plants would grow out of the soil in my heart nor would weeds. Desolation exists. In hopes of seeking better irrigation, I need to take out a pik ax and start slinging down into my soul trying to form slim cracks in my cynicism and hopelessness so refreshing water will seep in. AH 

Evil thoughts always lurk in my mind. At the place we were vacationing, there was a community pool that families would gather around and enjoy the beautiful North Carolina sun. Most of the guys represented a cross section of male figures. There was the group of guys who should never ever be shirtless or in speedo but were. There were the middle aged guys who were at one time in shape but the years of hard work and late nights comforted by long meals and quick desserts (This was my tribe I hope) rendered them round.  Then there were the guys who were either Navy Seals or former professional athletes. Buff and tan. Now I usually don’t hate the “playa” just the game but this one guy broke a rule. He was a show off. The diving board was the focus of much attention and fun. Most of the middle aged guys that went off the board were having fun. The usual cannon balls or can opener with the sufficient splash of a middle aged man. This one dude gets up on the board and has his wife take pictures of him. I hated him right there. Never have your wife take pictures of you. Worse than that, he had great blond hair and was athletically trim and tan. Another reason to hate this guy. Worse than that he approaches the diving board with an air of Greg Luganis. What did he think he was doing trying out for the Bejing Games in Nags Head North Carolina - Hey buddy there is a code of conduct when you are in the presence of middle aged fat people.  Testing the board he gathers the drama and  I think to myself I might doggie paddle over to him when he enters and get on his back so that he sinks to the bottom of the pool never to be seen again. He dives,  he performs a perfect twisting gainer without the required fat man splash caused by the other guys. Some people actually clapped. That was it. I took off swimming ferociously to try and piggy back him to death when I looked up and he was gone. He swam past me with the speed of a shark. I caught some of his wake and lonely bobbed in the water. Catching the shaking of some of the spectators heads at my feeble attempts of retribution, humiliated, I went back to my tribe of unpopulars  where judgment did not exist. Maybe next year I will accidentally cannonball into him and teach him a lesson. His wife can get a picture of that for her vacation memory.AH

One word -  vacation. Now for the real story. My oldest daughter received a digital camera as a present. She is an evil photographer. She is a juvenile paparrazzi. Her photos of her mother sleeping or me getting out of a pool looking extreme but not in a good way are just wrong. She is a sweet child but I believe that she is tantalizing a very evil side of her personality when she snaps a photo of me bending over to pick up a towel or of her mother instructing a child on how to dive. These photos on their own would not be wrong but you know when you run out of the house to get something at the store thinking no one will be there and you run into the 50 member group from church. Well, that would sum up these photos. For me I have always been amish about my photos my soul will be stolen if the photo is taken. At a Christmas party someone refused to stop taking my picture and I stole the camera, processed the photos and removed mine. I gave the camera back to the person (at church) and said “I told you to stop taking photos of me.”  My wife and I have one photo of us in our home. One! We like the photo of us eventhough visitors ask us who that is in the wedding photo when they visit the house. My daughter is not helping my self esteem or for that matter the digital photography world. I believe she disguises herself as she quietly approaches the prey until the most embarassing position presents itself and then SNAP!. Paris, Lindsey, Brittany I know your pain.

AH 

Below find a couple of old posts that I pulled out of the archives. Read and Think!

March 7

Birthdays
I hate my birthday. I hate the annual feeling of passing without full recollection of what occurred. A life lived in perpetual forward motion riding an unstoppable car with a trunk of regrets hopes and worn out dreams. I feel that I can’t catch up to my dreams. I am on the sideline of a game watching time busily burying the good times under a heaping amount of insecurity. The older I get the harder it is to get the shovel into my hands and dig out the good stuff from underneath the goopy muddy memories of things gone wrong. The times I can strike a great memory I have to clean it off and hold it tight in my hands so that I don’t forget next year.

Economic Reality
A part of my practice is confronting people in very difficult situations. I get presented with scenarios in a very brief moment. I am asked to prescribe a legal medicine to fix the problem. Symptoms. What I really see is symptoms and that is why there are way too many lawyers. Most lawyers fix the symptom and send the person on there way to get sick again. Maybe that is why I have never made a lot of money as a lawyer I want to make them better so that they never see me again. I have always said that I can’t fix spiritual problems with legal solutions. Entering my 10th year of practice, I am beginning to realize that people don’t want to be fixed. They want to feel better, they want the symptoms to go away. They say, “Look I just want this to go away!” I understand that but this problem has been building in your life for 20 years. It is not going to go away in one minute. My problems are created over time and the true solutions to them come from the application of God solutions applied over the same period of time it took to create them.
AH

Here is an update on the EBAY saga with my wife. Now it is a tea cart. Hold on, I did not identify this correctly. She said, “I am on the hunt for this adorable retro tea cart. It will be perfect for that tea set that I found packed away a couple of days ago. You have to see it.” First of all this tea set was in hibernation for at least 13 years. EBAY has presented an opportunity to bring things out of the grave for no apparent reason and search for new things to add to old things. George Carlin was right, a house is a place to hold stuff. When you fill it up you a need a bigger house to fill up with more stuff. Be clear, I am not poking fun at my wife because her sincerity is palpable. I am sure if I saw this tea cart, I would have to acknowledge that it is adorable. My wife’s taste is impeccable however I am quite concern that someone at EBAY has locked into my wife’s email address. EBAY will begin sending subliminal email suggestions about a rug for the living room or an additional set of dishes for the christmas set we never use. This brainwashing will trigger her relentless search for other hibernating items that have been entombed in our house for years. As she unearths them like Lazarus from the grave, her computer will come alive Dr. Frankenstein plugged in to yet another bidding war. The FED EX guy will know our house like the Schwann’s man does. We will be on first name basis with our delivery guy as he brings in the kill for my wife to create adorable matches from across the country. Help!
AH
AH

When I was a kid, my father allowed me to work with him looking like a wild indian. He was a contractor and our family company built houses, commercial buildings and additions. I used to have longer hair and much darker skinned. My summer tan was my trademark. The back of my neck and shoulders turned charcoal color by June 25th. Shirts were optional and if I wore one it became a head wrap sooner than later. My father would allow me the freedom to work shirtless most of the summer. Shorts and work boots were my uniform from June to September. The sun baked my skin without the protection of the current ubiquitous sunscreen.  Saturday morning, I was working on my cars and I thought I am going to take my shirt off because it was hot. I gave this idea scant analysis. As I grabbed the bottom of my shirt, I stopped. On second thought, maybe those days are behind me. The days of walking confidently into a restaurant slithering my way into my shirt on the sidewalk just before entering the lobby have passed with my consistent purchase of SPF45 prior to going to the beach. Maybe when I am older and my kids have moved away, I will relocate to a remote rural location with an old pair of OP shorts and work boots so that Saturday mornings can be spent with my wife shaking her head at me from inside the house as a work shirtless soaking in the sun on a hot July morning. You know those old guys completely out of shape but too old to care what the rest of the world thinks about their stout roundness. I can’t wait for that day and unfortunately I am already prepared I just need the OP shorts and work boots. AH