Monday, June 25, 2007

"Conversations with God" by Neal Donald Walsch

06/25/2007

I have been reading this book for last few days.  It is slow going because I continually go back and reread paragraphs and sentences.  Not sure if you have ever heard of this one, but for someone like me who has been on a life long search for a God I can get my arms around, this guy explains it best.  I could never understand why I should fear God; why God could condone the deaths of innocent people - especially children.  I resented God for what he put my mother through. Now with this fresh look at God and his plan for all of us...I get it.

Looking for something to read?  Check it out, or go to this website: http://www.cwg.org.

And that is all I have to say about that...for now!

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Just Another Football Fan? I don't think so.

06/21/2007

There is a cemetery here in Beautiful Downtown Berkeley Springs, WV (aka Town of Bath), population 711, that is on the same road as the place we board The Dog when The Nancy and I travel.  Something I saw in the cemetery about a month ago has stuck with me and I want to share it with all of you, being the sentimental slob that I am.  It doesn’t take a lot to place me in an emotional state these days and what I am about to share took all of about a second and half to impact me.

The Nancy and I had been out of town.  Stella (hence and forever will be referred to as “The Dog”) was enjoying some time in a two-foot by four-foot cell, or cage, or doggie jail for a couple of nights.  The Nancy and I were returning from Grafton, WV and our yearly pilgrimage to the locally famous Memorial Day Parade.  After we picked up The Dog, I made the decision to take a shortcut through the cemetery – it cuts off about a quarter mile or so, and with this huge time savings, and the chunk of wear and tear I would save on the company vehicle I drive, I decided the shortcut was efficacious, even though there are signs warning against through traffic use of the roadway.  Actually my savings may have been entirely in my head: the road through the cemetery is in a serpentine fashion and my shortcut is most likely a “longcut.” About three quarters of the way through the cemetery we came across a poignant scene I could never have fathomed had I not seen it firsthand.  Just off the pathway was a grave adorned with a rather large Washington Redskin’s banner.  It was situated just to the left of the grave and was fluttering in a slight breeze.  Apparently the person buried there was an ardent football and Redskin fan and his/her (most likely a “his”) family celebrated this fact and placed a banner there to signify it.  The banner was a nice touch and one that I had never come across in a cemetery before, but it is not what really got me going.

There were about six people around the grave.  Some were standing; some were actually sitting in lawn chairs.  There was a charcoal grill throwing smoke into the clear sky, and a couple of the guys were drinking brewskis (Bud Light – not really beer).  These folks were having a tailgate party at the gravesite of a departed loved one.  How cool is that?

I don’t know about you, but this one struck me hard.  A family so loved this guy, they were celebrating some special occasion and included this person who was still held as a viable member of the family.  Even as I write this I heart is in my throat.  Wow!  This family – and I suppose it was this guy’s family – held this loved one so dearly, they gathered at the grave for a tailgate party.  I love it! 

The Nancy and I have written our wills to reflect our desire to be cremated.  I want my ashes to be scattered somewhere, the site totally unimportant, but I cannot help to think how great it would be if at some point my family and friends might return to that site and throw a party, even if for no other reason than just to have a party, perhaps celebrate me and have a good time.  I won’t need to be invited; I’ll already be there.

And that is all I have to say about that…

Monday, June 18, 2007

The Griffin Tavern...No Mas!

06/18/2007

The Griffin Tavern is a neat little English Pub and Restaurant in Flint Hill, VA.  The Nancy and I have been visiting the Griffin for nearly five years, perhaps longer.  We would hardly be called regulars, but we have stopped there at least eight to ten times a year.  We don’t bring them an enormous amount of business, but we probably spend $500 to $600 there every year.  I know we average over $50 each time, sometimes much more, especially when we have guests, and that happens once or twice each year.  I love this place, the atmosphere, the beer and some of the menu items (though I believe the old chef is better than the new).  Sunday, Father’s Day, I gave them my final notice.  I used to love the place, but I won’t be going back.

The Nancy and I visited the Griffin about three months ago where we encountered a real bonehead, ignorant, SOB sucking on his fetish substitute.  The odor from this rancid, cancer spreading apparatus was unbearable.  My eyes were burning within seconds after this idiot finished his meal and decided to ruin everyone else’s by lighting up a very gross smelling cigar.  The owners tacitly encourage these goofballs to light up and even provides them with specially shaped ashtrays designed to hold the “weapons of mass desertion.” Some customers – those with Cajones Grande, or just good sense – turn and exit the place at the first hint of the foulest odor known to man in a restaurant.  I commend their smart decision.  There is nothing fun about a smoke filled, foul smelling restaurant.

I don’t believe my olfactory sense is greater than the average human, so my outrage at this affront seems to me to be quite average.  Some people grin and bear rudeness, but I choose to make my displeasure known.  The Nancy gets a little upset with me when I voice my displeasure openly and with the offender in earshot of my complaint.  Personally, I don’t know why some cigar smoker could possibly be offended by my simply stating he sucks on a cigar because he is afraid of what it will make him if he takes the test with the real thing.  I wonder is cigar smokers would be upset if I continuously farted while I sat next to them?

If restaurants like the Griffin wish to deny the reality that this policy costs it many customers and drives them away, so be it.  I have given my notice; I will not be going back, unless the smoking policy changes.  At some point, the Commonwealth of Virginia will have to join the civilized world and ban smoking altogether in businesses catering to the public.  It will come, and until that time, or the time the Griffin rectifies its stance, my $500 plus will go elsewhere…dammit.

And all I have to say that is about that…

Monday, June 11, 2007

Flight 475 - Milwaukee to Baltimore

06/11/2007

Friday, June 8th:  This flight pulled away from the gate at just about 7:10am.  I am currently flying over Lake Michigan and looking out over Chicago from 31,000 feet.  There is a layer of gray clouds above the plane and scattered ones below.  I am listening to the Audio Visions (New Age music) channel on the plane’s XM radio system, and I am feeling very Irish at the moment – love Celtic.  Baltimore awaits me in about another 75 minutes, according to the pilot.

Two nights ago I wrote about my adventure at the Houlihan’s restaurant just a short walk from the Hampton Inn (Dan the Man).  I decided, once I re-checked in to this hotel and after a very long day of traveling to and from an appointment in Iowa (once a year in that place is enough for me), to go back to the Houlihan’s for another round of serendipitous kismet.  After spending almost seven hours in a car, I was quite anxious for a little entertainment of the human variety.  I was rewarded.  It seems I have an uncanny, innate ability to put people at ease to a point where they open up (some even too much, eh Dan?) and say stuff better kept secret. 

For the second time in three nights in Wisconsin, I bellied up to the bar – these days I have the belly made for it.  Within a few minutes a very nice looking lady, possibly in her mid-forties, sat at the bar on a seat around the corner from where I was seated, maybe four or five feet diagonally from me.  She was relatively attractive, blond hair in a French twist style, red blouse, and black skirt – yeah, I noticed; I am old, not dead.

Anyway, I was telling the bartender about my last visit and my conversation with Dan.  This lady, I guess I really didn’t care enough to know her name, said something, and we began a conversation, mostly just small talk.  She was there on business from her home in Florida, via Phoenix, and had been traveling since Sunday.  She is married and has a fourteen year-old son.  She had returned to full employment after being off for six months, and I forget the reason for the sabbatical. 

It wasn’t too long before her cell phone rang and she answered it.  I heard her tell the guy (an assumption I made very quickly) something about a lady sitting in a booth just beyond the other side of the bar.  The lady looked like “your sister,” she said.  Curious, I looked over in the direction of the booth.  There sat a couple holding hands across the table.  The lady was looking adoringly at the man, as he was quietly telling her something.  She had an angelic, Mona Lisa smile on her face.  As my bar mate ended her call, I jokingly made the comment that the couple couldn’t be married (given their handholding), and added they were either on a date or having an affair.  The comment I made was the key to opening the door to her compartment of secrets.

She said, “Funny you should say that.  I am having an affair and I was just telling my guy that lady looks like his sister.” Than she decided, I suppose, it was safe to reveal herself to me, so to speak.

She has been married for seven years. (Sounds itchy, to me) Her lover is sixty-years old, but is gorgeously handsome and has dated some women as young as thirty.  She doesn’t know what happened to her current marital relationship, it just died.  She lives in one part of the house and her husband in another.  They are staying together for the sake of her son.  I suppose they think the son doesn’t notice the marriage partnership sucks.

The lover was apparently calling her to let her know her husband was out having dinner and might be with another woman.  The ironic thing was that this lady sounded a little hurt by the fact her husband might be fooling around.  Hmmmm?

Long story short, as I was leaving I asked her if I might give her some honest feed back, didn’t wait for her answer, and left her with this: “End it.” She will have to determine which part.

And that is all I have to say about that…