The Waiting Is The Hardest Part

Or, "Unemployment as an Exercise in Faith."

I quit my job about a month ago. (For more information on that little issue see the previous post Neglecting The Neglected of Society.) When I did it I was sure I had another job at a Nursing Home to cover me. However, my last week of work, my potential new employer called to let me know "The nurse who quit has decided to stay -- so we don't have a position open now. Sorry."

Now, as a former employer in my own right I can understand why they would want to keep an employee who's already trained and whom they know; versus a new employee they'll have to train who's an unknown quantity.

Nevertheless; what's a man without honor? What sorts of persons are we who do not keep our word?

I mean -- Damn!

Fortunately for me I had 6 days of Holiday time saved up and my former employer agreed to let me stay and additional week, so my last paycheck was more like two paychecks put together. Nevertheless, next week is "Fish-or-cut-bait" time here. I need to get employed by next Friday -- no excuses.

The first week I hit the streets like I used to work; up in the morning by 6am, shower, shave, eat breakfast -- start distributing resumes and filling out applications by 9am and home by 6pm. I did this the first four days, sprinkling a few first interviews in there as well, with more first interviews and a few second interviews for the fifth day. Thus endeth the first week.

By the start of the second week a strange feeling set in firmly that I'd started feeling some on the Tuesday of the first week. Dread. Inertia. Panic. Anxiety. Agitation, overlaid with a smothering sense of inevitability.


Depression.


It's an irrational fear, really. I know fully well that I'm doing everything possible to locate a new job. In fact, I (at this minute) have three very good offfers for employment. The first is to be the Wound Care Specialist in a Nursing Home on Day Shift, with standard benefits; the second is as a psychiatric nurse in a major Psych Hospital chain, offering Blue Cross Healthcare and willing to work with me on my schooling schedule. The third (which I did an unprecedented third interview for today, and the offer I'm still waiting to hear from) is to be a clinic manager for a local multi-clinic chain about 4 blocks from the apartment. Mondays through Fridays 8-5; great health and dental; very low employee turnover (which means nobody wants to leave this place), and very motivated, happy employees.

Yeah, I could stay there and work a long, loooonnnggggg time. If they offer more than the other two places (who are both offering the same I was making at my previous employer) I'll be really happy.

It helps to focus on the good things these potential employers are offering; otherwise I'm focussing on "why haven't they called!" or "I need to make a decision soon!" kind of panic-y stuff.

The thing that is incredibly frustrating to Ariane is that she's always accusing me of being impatient, when i feel the reverse is true. I've just put the whole thing in God's hands and pray at least once a day about it -- usually when I'm starting to feel the tendrils of depression creep in.

But I should know tomorrow for sure -- if not Friday. If not, I'm going to accept on of the other two offers and get it over with. I think I'd tend to go first with the Psychiatric Hospital, then the Nursing Home.

Maybe.

Well, we'll see.

Meanwhile, Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers are running through my head.

Meanwhile, the tendrils of depression creep in. And the Dread. The Inertia. The Panic. The Anxiety. The Agitation, overlaid with a smothering sense of inevitability.

I'm praying hard. You pray hard too.

~~JD~~

I Probably Won't Be Posting Sunday

Tomorrow (Sunday, May 28th, 2006) is the Eighteenth Anniversary of my wedding with Ariane Patricia Marie Genvieve Sheik-Hossen one bright beautiful Sunny Saturday morning at 11:28am in the commune of Ixelles, in the great city of Brusselles, Belgium.

So you'll pardon me if I'm absent a day here. Instead, here's a brief restrospective of the wedding pictures I have.





Our Wedding, held in the Town Hall of Ixelles (a district of Brussells). We walked the block from Ariane's apartment to the town hall; a magnificent old stone and oak building built in 1611, as I recall.



"With this Ring, I thee wed." Actually it was a great deal more dramatic than that. When the Mayor of Ixelles started the ceremony, he said "Madames et Monseiurs, Bon Soir, Nous est rendez-vous ici pour le mariage de Jean-David Long et Ariane Sheik -Hossen . . . "and i suddenly realized something very important:

I had no idea what this guy was saying. My French was nowhere good enough to follow what he was saying, so I kept waiting for a pause -- figuring I would say Ï Do" when he paused -- no, wait, I should say "Oui!", right?

Finally, he pauses, and looks at me. I look back at him. Then I look at Ariane, who has this very strange look in her eye -- no, wait, that's tears! Do i say it now? What exactly do I say? Gripped completely and totally by panic, I froze -- only to hear my future mother-in-law's voice arcing out over the assembled crowd of guests:

"SAY IT, J.D., SAY "OUI!"

And the whole place cracked up. (We used to have a videotape of this -- it was hilarious.)





And this is himself, the Mayor or "Maire" of Ixelles commune. When he saw he was marrying an American soldier he went home and changed into his uniform with his Resistance Medals from WWII. He took it as a singular honor to marry an American soldier -- and I was honored to be married by him.





And, of course, our first married Kiss. The start of great things to come, and it's still as thrilling and exciting as it was eighteen years ago.

We'll be at Ruth's Chris Steakhouse for dinner. Gotta go get some wine.

~~JD~~

Happy Birthday,Dear Nana . . . .

Today is May 23rd, 2006. My grandmother. Isobel Florence Foster Shurr, was born 100 years ago today.

She died 5 and a half years ago, and I still feel it like it was yesterday. It's funny how some people you never think twice about, and some you miss like you'd miss your arm if it was cut off.

Or your heart, if it was cut out.

Well, that was my Nana. I wrote this for her funeral, and i think it bears repeating.


Nana

I think the thing I always forget about Nana is that she has grey eyes. Whenever I see her again I’m always startled by the color and depth and texture of her eyes. In any other medium, in any other subject the color of that grey would look odd and out-of-place. Like crushed grey velvet her eyes have a softness, ad warmth, and fluidity that makes you want to cup her face in your hands so her eyes don’t pour out of her head; she looks that fragile, and gentle. I could stare into those wonderful, warm, accepting, forgiving eyes forever.

The thing I always remember about Nana is her grace, and her strength. Widowed at a young age with three small children, she found a teaching job and put herself back through school to get her Master’s degree eventually. Where did she find the time, I wonder to myself, but the answer comes softly and quickly back; “You make the time for the important things.”

Failure was never on her list of options, but she wasn’t what you’d call “iron-willed” or “indomitable” or any of those other adjectives of strength or forcefulness. Nana has a grace to her strength that belies itself. She had to sell her family business to be able to teach because “it didn’t look right” for a teacher to run a liquor store. If that’s what she had to do to survive, that’s what she did. The iron in her deeds is always overlaid with supple, pliant willow reeds that give her a kind of sad, loving beauty. She’s not the relative I think of as harsh or strict; or the one that always gave unconditional love.

She’s so much more than the sum of her parts or actions. When I think of Grandma Florencey, I think of her old rooming house on Garfield and the borders she rented to. When I think of Grandma Albright, I think of ice cream cones and boats on the lake and fishing with hooks made of paper clips under the rental boats. When I think of Aunt Hattie, I smell mothballs and see the white tile in her bathroom and taste the windmill cookies with almonds in them that she always had. My grandma Glynn was the strict one, with the cold, hard iron in her words but the wonderful gifts she brought from Marshall Fields. Grandma & Grandpa Gertsmeier had that big old beautiful barn and the vegetable patch and the pig pen and the rows of corn that would go on forever and ever into the Iowa sky until you’d get dizzy just thinking about it.

Nana was the one who would welcome you almost any time, any day, no matter how far you’d driven or what time it was. Nana always had chores to do around that big old house of hers, and paid you too much after you’d finished. Nana wouldn’t hesitate to make you a big breakfast of fried eggs and oatmeal and toast and orange juice with the pulp still in it, even though she’d just barely eat a piece of toast herself. Nana would have Thanksgiving (and, earlier, Christmas dinner) at her house and serve up more food than anyone had a right to try eating at one sitting, then nibble at a small plate of food herself. She made the most magnificent rolls, but was lucky to get one herself

Nana? She’s . . . . I guess “respect” and “unconditional love” are just the only words that fit her even halfway, but there’s so much more to it than just that.

I have no idea what I’ll do without her, but I’m sure my life will be much more pitiful and small without her.

September 2000


Son of a gun; I was right.

~~John~~

Life Here on my Parallel Earth (a.k.a. Texas)

Science (in particular, Quantum Physics) stipulates that there are probably millions upon millions of parallel worlds separated across dimensions, and this has become a staple of science fiction. We live on this Earth; the next Earth over the primary currency is the $2 bill -- the next Earth over the South won the Civil War -- the Earth after that the Nazis won World War II -- etc., etc.

So sometime during the winter I was watching my weekly dose of STARGATE SG-1 on the Sci-Fi Channel. On one of the episodes they were discussing how some of the cultures on different plasnets were more advanced than Earth, even though they were seeded by humans from our planet thousands of years ago. One of the characters made the comment that it was because our Earth had gone through the Dark Ages from the fall of Rome to the Renaissance, during which Science and Progress came to halt. A culture without a Dark Age would have continued to progress and would be far advanced of the current culture we live in today.

While I was having lunch with Ariane today it finally hit me why I like the great state of Texas so damned much.

They never had the Dark Ages.

Specifically, they never had the late 1960's here in Texas.

Think about it for a minute with me. Drift back in time with me if you will. It's that dark, desperate period of the late 1960's. Psychedelic music, drugs, free love, and the all-consuming power of Rock-And-Roll. Authority is Questioned, the Social order is disturbed. Hair is grown long in defiance of parents and authority. Teen-agers and college students are tuning out, turning on, and dropping out. In 1968 in Paris, student protests tear the city apart and unleash weeks of violent protests, leading President DeGaulle to expel NATO for both their own safety as well as to placate demonstrators. In Chicago later that summer, riots convulse the city of Chicago and Mayor Daley issues a "shoot to kill" order to the Chicago Police. In 1969 in upstate NY, thousands of teenagers, college students, and Hippie counterculture members descend on a small farm for a week-long literal orgy of free love and indiscriminate drug use. In 1970 Ohio the National Guard is called out to Kent State University to quell student protests, leaving 4 dead.

Mass social upheaval, leaving societal scars lasting decades. Indeed, the after-effects of these events and these times are deeply ingrained into the societal fabric of today.

Except here. Except on my Earth. A little planet called . . . . Texas.

It's like it didn't even happen here. The prevailing hairstyle here is still short hair, and the shorter the better. The occaisional long-hair is seen, but usually braided in a pony-tail a la Willie Nelson.

Women are still "Ma'am", and men are still "sir." Drug use is neither tolerated not condoned; mostly just ignored like bad manners and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law when it's blatant and obvious. Free Love has pretty much been stopped in it's tracks by the advent of AIDS.

It just doesn't happen like that here. For crying out loud, I was eating lunch with my wife in a Cafeteria when I made this connection today. (Cafeterias pretty much went out of style everywhere else about 40 yerars ago -- yet Luby's Cafeterias are thriving in Texas (and in states near the Texas border.)

And the flag still proudly waves. We respect our president, whether we agree with him or not. God Bless America.

Really, it's such a better way to live. I don't know why the rest of the country doesn't try it. The 1960's are over -- get over it. Demonstrating against the war -- ANY War -- is NOT right or honorable; it hurts the kids in the military. Your "right" to Free Speech ends when your whiny, self-indulgent babble enters my ears.

And drugs kill people. It's not a "victimless crime." There are no Victimless Crimes.

~~JD~~

The Latest Photos From South Texas

The local weather in Spring in South Texas can be . . . . "highly variable." This day (May 2nd) it hailed like HELL all over San Antonio, and gully-washed the whole metro area. This picture, by the way, was taken outside Ariane's clinic, just so you know.


Julian at Japanese Gardens in San Antonio. He's trying to look "spiritual," but it mostly just looks like a weasel is burrowing up his pants.


Julian ande his best buddy Jaime from school. More a brother-and-sister thing; these two are a riot when they're together.


Candid shot of Ariane at a Quincanera party with a beer in her; hence the loopy smile.


Julian with his violin at the final (Thank God!) band concert of the year. The girl on the right is Jeanette, his Stand-Partner. Julian is completely unaware that Jeanette is gorgeous; which is probably good.


Julian's Award for "Outstanding Orchestra Member -- Junior Varisty" at the Band Banquet two weeks ago. I asked him why he got the award, he said "Just dumb stuff. I never missed a practice, or a concert; I was First Chair all year . . . y'know, dumb stuff like that."


Julian as he stands up to receive his award -- completely stunned. I love this kid.

~~John~~

New Features to the 'Blog

There's two new features to the 'blog that I'm kind of tickled with. The first is directly underneath the Counter and shows a map of the world. About once a day this little map will update with red dots indicating the locations where people are looking at my 'blog from. It also tracks the ISPs where people are coming from, so if there's any attacks on the 'blog, we'll be able to track them. (Unlikely, but a necessary precaution anymore.)

Meanwhile, I'm just interested in where people are looking at my 'blog from.

Also, there's another map from FRAPPR directly above the counter that has the title of my 'blog ("Apocryphal Evidence") on top of the map. By clicking on this title you can see who else is online and viewing the 'blog (optional registration only) and even chat online with those folks. So if your my relatives in Indiana or Illinois and want to set up a chat with my other relatives in Iowa or France, be my guest.

Or you can even chat with me, should the muse move you.

This FRAPPR map also allows you to zoom into anywhere on the globe and get satellite photos of anywhere. Just zoom in with the (+) or (-) and move the picture with the arrows, all of which are at the top left of the maps. It's a lot of fun. I can even see my car in the parking lot of our apartment complex.

Enjoy. Anyone wants to chat, e-mail me at jd_long@hotmail.com.

~~John~~

I'm Here, just Underground . .

With the end of the semester last week, I'm staying our of Ariane's way by tweaking the website a bit. You may see some small refinements and adjustments ongoing -- in most cases, I'm adding more links to other marvy websites for your entertainment perusal.

And another good newsy post when I get a chance this week -- I promise.

~~JD~~

Great Celebrity Website Recommendation

If you've seen the Back to the Future movies, you'll recognize Tom Wilson as the Biff Tannen character who makes Marty McFly's life pretty darn miserable.



However, a funny thing happened on the way to being a Pop Icon. Underneath the "Biff Tannen" facade lies Tom Wilson, who's a darn funny comedian.



And he paints, too! Quite nicely, actually. Kind of reminds me of Van Gogh or Gaugin impressionism with a touch of absurdism in the subject matter. In fact, here's a good example:



He's done this one several times, with such titles as "Spectacular Waltzing Skaters," "Fabulous Ocean Vista," or "Surfers at Wakiki Beach." The gag is, of course, that the image is inside the Viewmaster.

Get it?

It just really cracks me up. Click on the Title of this post to go to the website, or go to www.tomwilsonusa.com.

~~John~~

I'm Fine; Why do you Ask?

Two weeks left until the end of the semester (three left for Ariane's School -- University of Texas San Antonio -- UTSA) so it's still a bit hectic here but overall not too bad. I've got another crashing headache right now (and seem to be getting them more and more frequently lately). Hopefully it's just stress -- it's not like I'm getting old or anything.

Heh.


This is the most recent picture of Julian I have. We were shopping for a new picture for the living room and spied this one in Wal-Mart, so I took a picture to show Ariane when we got home. About half a second before the shutter clicked he realized this would probably end up on the website; hence the crestfallen expression.

As tempted as I was to just post this picture on the website with the cryptic caption "The chemotherapy is going just fine, Thank You" Ariane (she of sounder mind and greater moral outrage) threatened to break the laptop into little pieces if I did.


So, I didn't.

For the last few months Ariane has been accusing me (and rightfully so -- she's pretty smart, that one) of cutting my hair successively shorter until I had little more than a crewcut. And honestly I did it more to get her goat than anything else -- but as the "experiment" progressed I found myself enjoying it more and more. By July or August the bald spots had expanded to the point that a comb-over was almost mandatory to make myself look somewhat presentable, and I simply refused to get a damned comb-over. I'd rather go crewcut than comb-over, so I did. I stopped carrying a comb and worrying about how my hair looked sometime in September as the hair disappeared bit by bit.

Not long after Christmas Ariane made the fateful observation "Ït's so short, you might as well just shave your head."




And I kind of like it. It's immensely cooler in the 90 degree days of South Texas. And the whole vanity factor totally disappears when you don't give a damn how you look anymore. And it has surprisingly few drawbacks:

1.) Sunburn the bald little head? Hasn't happened yet.

2.) Lack of respect? Quite the opposite. I seem to be getting more respect than ever. People respect the guy nuts enough to shave his head.

3.) Of course, with my coloring and the newly bald head and Fu-Manchu beard, I have a LOT of folks on the South side (where I work) coming up to me and start speaking Spanish -- my mastery of which leaves much yet to be desired. (I just smile a lot.)

Best Moment of the Discovery: When I walked into the Comic Book store with Julian and the owner asked if I was "Tuning Up for the New Superman Movie?" this June. (Apparently to him I looked like a Lex Luthor stunt double.)

WORST Moment of the Discovery: When my lab partner looked over at me in the middle of Microbiology Lecture (she'd been sitting right next to me for an hour) and announced "Oh Shit -- You're BALD!!!

Took the class two minutes to regain composure.

~~JD~~

Flying Cow Leaves Two Police Cars in Flames: Police Baffled!

Okay, I made up the "Police Baffled" part. Otherwise, that's a real-life news story from one of the local news organs here in San Antonio (and I mean the word "organ" in the most scatalogical way possible.)

You can click on the title to see the actual story (or watch a clip of the story at the site); or just read it here:

Talk about a wild night near Seguin. A cow came flying out of its trailer, sent DPS and police scrambling, and left two police cars going up in flames.

"It was almost hard to believe," said Detective Sergeant Maureen Watson. She has been in law enforcement for 15 years, and says she "never had a day like this. I mean the best way to characterize this it, is it's bizarre. It's really really strange."

It's strange because it started out with a truck towing cattle, and ended in fire. Watson told News 4 WOAI, "We believe the gate of the cattle trailer came open, and the cow, for lack of a better phrase spilled out onto the Interstate. It was pretty chaotic for a while." Several cars hit some of the cows. One cow died. DPS troopers called for backup.

That's when one officer was nearly run down by a speeding truck, carrying two illegal immigrants inside. Seguin Police were out looking for those illegal immigrants. They parked their cars in the hot grass, burning two of them including that brand new 2006 Crown Victoria. Watson said, "Well, all of a sudden, another officer who'd arrived on the scene, alerted the sergeant that there was a fire."

Everything inside was destroyed, including tens of thousands of dollars worth of equipment designed for the patrol cars. "You start off with kind of a bizarre accident with these cows spilling onto the interstate. That leads to other accidents, that leads to a car chase, that leads to a foot chase," Watson recalls.

The two mexican immigrants, ages 21 and 23, are in custody for illegally entering the country and evading arrest. Watson says they have replacement cars for now, but hope the city council will vote to get new cars soon.


The San Antonio Express-News article is barely more understandable:

When Cows Hit The Road, There's No Exiting The Trouble on I-10

In a wild series of incidents that started with a loose tailgate and ended with a grass fire Wednesday night, two Seguin police cars were destroyed, at least two cows were killed, three suspected undocumented immigrants were jailed and Interstate 10 was closed.

Pay attention. This is complicated.

At about 9:45 p.m., the gate fell open on an 18-wheeler hauling cattle east near the Texas 123 bypass in Seguin. "Cows started being deposited on the highway," Seguin police spokeswoman Maureen Watson said.

Five or six cows hit the road. One was struck by another 18-wheeler and dragged about a half-mile. Another was hit by a minivan. Both animals died, blocking the highway among the remaining injured cows.

Texas Department of Public Safety troopers arrived and started clearing the scene, using a truck to drag the dead cows off the road and rounding up the live ones. that's when a pickup, reported stolen in Houston, sped through the scene, almost hitting a DPS trooper directing traffic, Watson said. A short chase ensued. Three men abandoned the pickup and ran into the brush along the highway.

Two Seguin patrol cars that had joined the chase parked amid the grass along the highway, and the officers jumped out and chased the fugitives. They caught the men, but when the officers returned the prisoners to their patrol cars, they saw that heat from the engines had sparked a grass fire that torched both vehicles, one of which was brand new. Crews arrived to fight the rapidly spreading fire, and Interstate 10 was closed. Eastbound lanes were shut for about 45 minutes.

The men, believed to be undocumented immigrants, were brought to the Guadalupe County jail. Their names and charges against them were not available Thursday afternoon. The driver of the cattle truck was cited for driving with an unsecured load.

"The whole chain of events was pretty bizarre," Watson said. "The damage to the cars was $50,000 to $60,000."


And just in case you thought these kinds of stories are random items, here's another on from earlier in the week (also from WOAI.com):


Teen Shot in Fight Over Tater Tots
LAST UPDATE: 3/14/2006 11:03:08 PM
By: Walker Robinson

A teenager was shot Monday afternoon after he was arguing over tater tots with another teen, San Antonio Police said. The shooting happened close to 5 p.m. at the Spring Hill Apartments off Raybon on the northeast side.

Neighbors told police the uncle of one of the boys told the teens to stop fighting. They were ready to stop, but investigators said a 20-year-old man would not let them. “Another person out here in this apartment complex, I think wanted to see the young boys continue fighting,” Sgt. Rudy Cran with SAPD said.

The man then walked into a nearby apartment complex, grabbed a gun and started shooting, authorities said. He fired several shots into the living room where the boys were watching television, police said.

“One of those rounds hit the young man in the back,” Cran said. The boy was rushed to University Hospital, officials said. His condition was unavailable Monday night.

The suspect remained on the loose Monday. Police were looking for him.


. . . . . Apparently, I live in interesting times.

~~JD~~

Church Matters

I went to church today. If you've been following this 'blog for any length of time you know where I go; if you don't, click on the title of this post to find out. My congregation is one of several famous mega-churches in the greater San Antonio area (John Hagee's Cornerstone Church is almost walking distance up the street from us.) The bulletin at my congregation has the admonition "Today is devoted to Worship. If noted guests are present, please refrain from seeking autographs or making personal requests."

And it happens on a regular basis. My preacher, being a noted author and lecturer, tends to draw celebrity guests to him. The chuch is frequently referred to as "Max's Church" in San Antonio, which bugs Max just a bit -- he says "I didn't die for this church; Jesus did. David Robinson (late of the San Antonio Spurs) teaches my Men's Bible Class on Thursday; so NBA players are a fairly frequent sight as well.

(Coincidentally, this is a weird parallel to my own life. Having driven a limousine for a couple of years, I've met more than my share of celebrities through my work. Plus being a comic book afficianado has brought me into contact with other persons of note. Ask me sometime about the time I almost ran over Walter Koenig --Mister Chekov of Star Trek-- while reasearching my Thesis in Chicago.)

We had two celebrities in church this morning. The first was conservative commentator Cal Thomas. I had spotted him sitting a few rows up from us and thought he looked familiar. When the preacher introduced him, he said that Cal had agreed to be recoginized if he was identified as "just a fellow sinner." He waved from his seat when the preacher introduced him without standing; and it was very refreshing to see a celebrity who was humble and meek in the presence of the Lord.

I'm going to have to start reading his column more.

The other celebrities were unexpected. You probably don't know them. Their names are Greg and Rebecca Pruitt and their children Hannah, Abigail, and Paul. The Pruitts have just returned from twelve (12!) years in West Africa translating the Bible into the Yalunka language; a missionary team sponsored by my congregation.

For 12 years!

And all three of those kids are under 10, which means they're all having massive culture shock right about now.

The congregation gave the Pruitts a standing ovation -- for over a minute.

Wow. I can't even imagine what that must have been like. The entire worldview of the Yalunkas is radically different from Western civilization. For instance, Greg Pruitt told the congregation that the Yalunka tribes believe in demons, and it's hard not to find a Yalunka who hasn't seen at least one demon. Sacrificing chickens and small animals to dispel demons is common practice.

The thing that really won over the Yalunka was the gospel's promise that "demons also believe, and tremble." Greg related a story that his ten year old daughter had told him once "Daddy, there was something in our room last night; and it growled at me."

He asked her if she was scared, and she said No; "I told it that I belonged to Jesus; and he should get outta here right now!"


And the demon fled.


Think about that for a few seconds. Here I am, writing on a 21st century word processor over the Intenet -- a guy with a couple of degrees and who speaks a couple of languages -- writing on the possibility -- no, the certainty -- that a ten-year-old-girl in the year 2006 is casting out demons.


And 3,500 people in the congregations watching this sermon never doubting it for a minute.

We live in odd times. Or maybe we just live in times when society has so completely tried to separate the spiritual from the physical that even talking about the spiritual seems odd any more.

Which, I think, is sad, really.

When I think of ten-year-old Hannah Pruitt standing in her bedroom in a hut in West Africa telling a growling demon to go away because she belongs to Jesus, it brings a proud smile to my face. And maybe just a touch of envy for her complete faith.

Meanwhile, (1) I'm back in school and doing well; (2) the weather is beautiful (66 degrees) and the sun is warm; (3) I'm in love with my wife, (4) my health is good, and (5) The Outlaw Josey Wales is on TV.

Life is still Good.

~~JD~~

Just a Brief Note . . .

. . . after which I'll promise to post more this weekend. Re-acclimating to college at 48 years old has proven to be a LOT harder than I thought; the idea of using reading glasses to study has been a significant obstacle in itself.

Heh.

Overall though, I'm maintaining my "B" Average, so I should find some breathing room maybe Saturday or Sunday and we'll figure it out then.

Just one short vignette from last night I have to share before I forget it. I was sitting at the end of a hallway with some other students doing a little pre-test review (aka "cramming") when one of the professors came out of an office and walked towards our group. He asked us, "Did you just see a girl come past here?"

Honestly, we hadn't; but I couldn't help telling him "Sir, this is the Nursing Department. You and I may be the only two males in this building."

He stared at me for a second, then blinked hard before a grin crept across his face. "Well, yes, that's true. She's a young girl, very pretty -- long dark hair?"

Now it was my turn to deadpan back at him and blink hard. "Sir, this is San Antonio Texas. We're in the middle of Latina Central. They're ALL young, pretty girls with long dark hair.

Dead silence. A second -- then two.

Then my study group and the professor burst out laughing until the tears came. When we'd all settled down, the professor said, "You're not from around here, aren't you?"

"Nossir, I'm from the Chicago area originally."

He said, "Well, I've lived here all my life, but I've never quite thought of it that way." And we all laughed again.

Just as another example of how weird my mind works, I got two questions on my test right last night by imagining Tony Orlando and Dawn dancing and singing on a yeast culture of small pale pink cirular cultures.

When I saw the culture under the microscope, I knew the name of both the song and the culture. Candida Albicans. Unfortunately, I'll spend my life wondering why they were singing about a girl with a Yeast infection.

~~JD~~

Just In Case Anyone was Concerned . . .

I'm fine.

Work is extremely busy, and school is chaotic as I'm struggling to re-adapt to a school schedule. I'm taking 8 hours (Microbiology and Anatomy & Physiology) so it's a bit intense. Ariane's carrying a full load this semester, so she's as busy as she can be as well. Julian got a firt-place mark (a "1") at the UIL Violin competition last weekend. He's now first chair in his orchestra. This week he's escorting Japanese exchange students around San Antonio -- his Japanese is THAT good after less than a year of classes.

Plus, just to keep things interesting, both the washing machine broke and my cellphone/PDA crashed in the last week. Lots of work to do to fix those items.

And taxes, of course.

So, I'm swamped. When I get a minute to breathe, you'll be the first to know.

~~JD~~

AFTERMATH: The Fallout of Hurricane Katrina

I shouldn't even really say this. But I will, anyway. What's the point if there's no truth in Free Speech?

There's a lot of ill will down here towards the refugees from Hurricane Katrina. Not all the refugees, mind you -- but a very large percentage. The refugees are seen by local Texans as lazy, money-grubbing, ill-mannered, and a definite drag on the local economies. One of my wife's friends (who is black and live on the southeast side of San Antonio -- where the government housing projects are here) stated flatly that "These damned refugees make our Projects people look downright civilized! At least our people hold down jobs and clean up after themselves -- not just get drunk all day and moan about their luck."

Specific Example: One of my wife's friends at work took a refugee into her home to live -- an early-twenties girl from New Orleans. She collected over $10,000.00 in govenment aid and had spent most of it by early December (when she moved back to New Orleans) on drugs and alcohol, as well as a vaction to the Caribbean and a new wardrobe. She never started college like she promised her host she would; nor did she pay any kind of room or board to her host, although that was part of the agreement.

This is by no means to imply that everyone from New Orleans was lazy or drunk. I met a refugee family in New Orleans thatg were from Eastern Europe. They were tugboat pilots on the Mississippi and anxious to get back to work. Their home was gone and all their possessions, but as the father of the group noted, "We've lost everything we had leaving Poland. We can rebuild again." I think I saw him on CNN last week piloting a tugboat towing barges up the river.

I'm just saying. I seriously doubt I'll ever go to the Big Easy for anything -- let alone Mardi Gras.

If a disaster were to happen again and the shelters were to fill tomorrow, I'd be back in a heartbeat. But I'd be less gullible and starry-eyed about it,

~~JD~~

The Cats of Casa Largo II: Flurfy the Norwegian Forest Cat

Flurfy was (and still is) a Norwegian Forest cat.




Norwegian Forest Cats are similar to Maine Coon Cats, in that they look like a regular housecat in the face, but lack the "smooshed" in the face look that Persian cats have. And, while Maine Coon Cats tend toward dark browns and stripes, Norwegian Forest Cats tend to be solid colors.

Flurfy believes this means he is related somehow to the cousins of this people who own him. Their family name ("Gertsmeier") is Norwegian in origin, and since so was Flurfy, it seemed a logical step for him.

Flurfy had mysteriously appeared in the parking lot of a burned-down Piggly-Wiggly store in Waynesville Missouri one dark drizzly morning. How he got there he never said, preferring to let the mystery linger, like bad cheese on a summer afternoon.




Which, coincidentally, was what Flurfy smelled like occaisonally.

His newly-adopted mother Ariane had originally mistaken him for a female cat; a fact Flurfy had never forgotten. In fact, It may well have factored into the day he bit Ariane. The story everyone told was that "a stray Siamese Cat" had bitten her, but whispered stories told of Ariane trying to break up a potential fight between Flurfy and another cat . . . so, he bit her. Although Otis, his sidekick and protege, just couldn't imagine Flurfy ever being so naughty as to bite somebody, really. What a terrible thing to say about them!

Flurfy liked to think his having actually bitten a human added to his air of mystery and respect among the other cats. The other cats, however, weren't quite sure if Flurfy was vaguely dangerous or slightly deluded.




Flurfy was a world-class napper. He could sleep for hours at the drop of a hat, and frequently did. Flurfy slept everywhere; on pillows, on beds, on the floor, on chairs, and frequently in the bathtub -- which the other cats thought was just weird. Flurfy said it reminded him of his ancestral home in the fjords, where the naughty Polar Mousies play, and are the natural prey of Norwegian Forest Cats.




Flurfy had a dream one night that he was sailing the fjords in his kayak. The Northern lights shimmered and danced above his little kayak. He shifted his weight so he could raise his parak-covered paw clenching his harpoon high over his head. The silvery scales of thousands of sardines reflected the Northern Lights as they swam under the nose of his kayak. (FLASH! FLASH!) Flurfy skillfully guided the kayak one-handed as he gently crept up on his prey, and raised the harpoon for the kill.




Flurfy like to tell this sdtory to the dog, because not only was she a good listener, she believed everything Flurfy said.




The dog, however, had her own opinion of Flurfy's tall tales.

The Cats of Casa Largo

Otis was a Junior Prince of Cats in Casa Largo, which was a very important position, indeed.

Junior Prince Cats at Casa Largo are in charge of pouncing on Mousies, and generally making sure that those very naughty mousies don't do anything nefarious. Otis wasn't sure what nefarious meant, but it sure sounded naughty to him -- which was good enough. Otis was also in charge of catching flies and other naughty flying insects. He was quite good at it, but being a Junior Prince of Cats he had more than his fair share of curiosity, and when he would open those fat little paws of his to just peeka little tiny bit at his catch of the day . . . . that naughty flying insect would fly away, laughing at him (he thought.)

And when he wasn't catching those very naughty flies and very naughty mousies . . . .


. . . . he liked to keep his napping skills sharp. Otis was not quite a world-class napper yet, but he was learning under the instruction of his Uncle Fluffy, who was able to sleep almost 28 hours a day; which is quite a long time indeed. (Uncle Fluffy was a Norwegian Polar Cat; and had a long, luxuriant, warm fur coat, which encouraged him to sleep a lot.)

Unfortunately Otis had something of a handicap to his being a Prince of Cats; besides not having a long, luxuriant, warm fur coat:


His mother was a dog.

She wasn't his real mother, actually. He didn't really remember his real mother, or how he had come to the new house. But he did remember the first time he had met his new mother. Samantha (the dog) had walked happily over to Otis and sniffed Otis' nose, which is the Traditional Form of Greeting in the Manner of Her People.

Otis had greeted Samantha in the Traditional Manner of His People; First by swelling up to five times his own size (apparently by swallowing a great deal of air) and then releasing that air rather explosively through his teeth in a very painful sounding HIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSING sort of sound.

And being a very small sort of cat, he had punctuated his HIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSING sound with an explosive release of his bowels. Twice, in fact; and much to everyone's surprise.

But that had been a long time ago; years ago, in fact, and Samantha had never mentioned it since. She was a very motherly type of dog, and loved her little Otis very much. Even if he did smell a bit too much like fish for her tastes.

Otis stomped his little furry feet like a dog. He licked his fur like a dog, which made a very loud noise when he did it that made the other cats giggle. (Dog lips are a very different sort from cats lips, you know.) Otis wagged his tail like a dog, thumping it about like an epileptic kielbassa on a leash; rather than suavely giving it a swift flink from side-to-side like other cats.

And Otis was big, like a dog. He had a solid tomcat's body with a dog's solid bulk, which made him very handy as a doorstop when he had a mind to be (which was not often) or equally useful as an enforcer for the King of Cats (which was less often, but more fun) as well as quiet noisy.

That bulk made Otis the subject of more than a few jokes as well. One of the cats thought Otis bore a distinct resemblence to Shamu the Killer Whale at Seaworld; partly because of his bulk, and partly because of his small fluffy black-and-white markings on his cat-tummy.


Which is how he got the nickname "ShamooOtis." Being a cat of very little brain, he didn't mind in the least.

~~JD~~

Memos to Self For next Year

1.) Try to avoid drinking an entire six-pack of Guiness in one sitting next New Year's. It's a damn fine beer, but hard on the upper level brain functions the next day.

2.) Try to avoid mixing beer and Champagne next New Year's Eve, for the same reason.

3.) Remember that post you did last week about "apparently I can't eat like I used to"? Well, apparently I can't drink like I used to, either.

4.) January 1st is the perfect day to take down Christmas decorations. Don't forget that.

5.) January 1st is also the perfect day to finish off the Christmas Cookes, the Fruitcake, and the Buche de Noel -- all the great stuff leftover from Christmas.

And the sugar rush helps with the New Year's headache, too.

~~JD~~

One Guess What I'm Doing Right Now . . . .

"I'm All Lit Up . . . Like A . . . Christmas Treeeeeeeeeee!"




Happy Damn New Year.

~~JD~~

Oh, THOSE Christmas Cards!

Another minor change for the 'blog: I've changed the sizing on the pictures slightly so that the pictures posted in the 'blog are larger; and if you want to see a larger version you can click on the photo itself. Try it on the photo below now; it's really quite spectacular.


Got a few more Christmas cards today, and was happy to hear from out old neighbors in several places, as well as my Aunt Mary Jayne & Uncle Mike. Ariane and Julian heard from my mom as well; and that small pile of Christmas Cards has become quite large, indeed.

So Ariane walks up to me with two boxes, the first one of which looks like this:




"What's this?, she asks? (In our house "What's this?" is code for "Why LOOK; I've found something obvious one or both of us has forgotten to take care of, my love!)

I replied, "Uhmmmmmm . . . our Christmas Cards."

"We have Christmas Cards?"

"Well, yeah -- looks like I forgot." This is something pretty unusual for me. I LOVE Christmas cards, and really enjoy the whole process of sending them out. Forgetting is a pretty big deal.

I have no idea what happened. Maybe I had a stroke and nobody noticed.

So the picture above was to be one of our Christmas Cards this year (and is sure to be next year, now that I've found them). It's the Riverwalk in downtown San Antonio all decorated up for the Christmas season -- just gorgeously beautiful, really breathtaking in person. The one below is uniquely Texas; longhorn cattle and bluebonnets (the state flower that cover the state in springtime):





And perhaps the inspiration for the "vandalism" of Howie the Cow mentioned below in the previous post? Hmmmmmmm?????

~~JD~~

'Blog Miscellany and Vandalizing Santa Cow

A couple of brief things here. Two things on the 'blog, and a Christmas Cow.

First, I've re-enabled the Comments Section at the ends of each post. I originally turned these off a few months ago when the autobots discovered my blog and started leaving Spam Comments.

Fortunately, E-blogger (my site host) has developed a Word Verification protocol to defeat these Spam-bots. What it means for you is that when you choose to post a comment, you'll have to read the weird-looking word and type it into the box in able to post comments. A fair trade, I think.

Finally, I had some recognition for my little blog of some note that I want to share (or crow about; take your pick.) One of the 'blogs I list under the heading of "The News, As I See It Daily" is Brian Mulroney's Blog The Radio Equalizer. I've been a big fan of radio ever since my Grandma Glynn gave me an AM table radio for Christmas 1967. I used to listen to all the Chicago Radio Greats: Wally Phillips and Roy Leonard on WGN, Newsradio 78, WJJD, WIND -- I even discovered Rock-and-Roll on the great WLS at 890 on the dial. I remember drifting off to sleep many a year listening to WBBM Newsradio.

So you see why I have links to both Robert Feder'sChicago Sun-Times column on Chicago Radio as well as The Radio Equalizer. Radio's pretty much in my blood, if not my very DNA.

Anyway, about two nights ago I was scrolling down his list of favorite blogs to find Michelle Malkin's website (finally decided to link her on my own site; check it out on the left-hand side) when lo and behold; what to my wondering eye should appear but . . . Apocryphal EVIDENCE!!! -- my own little blog!. When I re-checked the next night, I'd been upgraded to a ~~Busy!~~ listing as well -- meaning Brian's reading my 'blog as I'm reading his.

Wow. I'm mildly famous, sort of.

Follow the links above or RIGHT HERE to confirm my delusional fantasies for yourself. I'm about 1/3rd of the way down on the right, under the listing Crank It Up To "11" -- way down past the ads.

How cool is that???



Finally, from the sublime to the absurd, the Vidette-Times back in my hometown of Valparaiso Indiana are reporting that Howie the Steer; the signpost and mascot for Kelsey's Steak House, was "vandalized" Christmas Eve.

As the photo above shows, one of the customers crafted a giant-steer-sized Santa Hat for Howie and stuck it on his head overnight. Howie is quite beloved in Valpo; the mayor of Valparaiso, my fellow classmate at Valpo High School Jon Costas, once (according to the TIMES "wrote a song in Howie's honor. Costas sang the tune at a Board of Zoning meeting, and at Saturday's move, after riding in on Howie's back.

You can read about that little adventure Right Here in the Northwest Indiana Times as well.

~~JD~~