10 - Mailing addresses
523 - Square feet in our first apartment. We used moving boxes covered with sheets as furniture.
6 - Pets, of which only two were intentional
8 - Jobs, between the two of us.
4 - Cities - Dallas, Fayetteville, Austin, and Bryant
171,348 - Miles on the truck we bought brand new two weeks after our wedding
24 - Months with cable TV. None of them recent.
5 - Full bathrooms we currently own, of which only one is used by the whole family on Sunday mornings.
Countless - Good friends and good times
3 - Incredible children
17 - Years of wedded bliss
1 - Great woman to share it with.
Happy Anniversary, Kristi.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
More Sonic Outrage
I learned yesterday that Sonic does not offer chocolate ice cream cones. Only vanilla. I do not know if this is a new outrage or an old one. It is an outrage nonetheless.
We need a DQ, and we need it now! (In a better location than that used-car place next to Benton Wal-Mart, please.)
We need a DQ, and we need it now! (In a better location than that used-car place next to Benton Wal-Mart, please.)
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Happy Anniversary
Sunday, June 7 was my parents' 40th wedding anniversary. I have had the privilege to observe them for 37 of those 40 years. For some of those years the observation was very close indeed. I've heard it said that the best lessons in life are caught, not just taught. Robert and Mary McFarland saw to it that we had both channels - and maybe a few more - in their house. There are too many lessons to write them all down. But I would like to share just a few of them with you.
1. Put first things first. And in the McFarland house, God was the first thing. We were at church every time the doors were open. Sometimes my dad was the one to unlock them. But for my parents, faith was more than simply going to church. Their faith was in Jesus Christ, and that governed and permeated everything else that went on in our lives.
2. Put your family a very, very close second. Whether it was caring for their young children or their aging parents, family was always a priority. While we didn't live right next door to my grandparents or aunts and uncles, we were always close in our hearts. And we visited them plenty.
3. Don't argue in front of the kids. I'm sure my parents argued. But I don't remember it. Not even once. The only voices I remember being raised in our house were mine and my brother's. They certainly weren't zombies. Nor did they repress a bunch of latent anger. They just didn't yell at each other, or us. Amazing.
4. It's only money. Despite not having an Atari when everybody else did, we didn't suffer for anything. We always had a roof overhead, food on the table, and gas in the car. My parents believed in hard work. But they weren't materialistic by any measure. They didn't try to keep up with the Joneses. If they did, we would have had an Atari - because the Jones Boys who lived next door had one. Mom and Dad have always been generous - first to God, second to their family, and finally to others.
5. Breakfast is the best meal of the day. We always had breakfast growing up. It was usually hot. I probably appreciate it more now than I did at the time. My mom still fixes it every day, even when it's just the two of them to eat it.
I can only hope that 23 years down the road when Kristi and I mark our 40th, we will have as much to show for it.
Congratulations Mom and Dad; Happy 40th. We will throw you a party on your 50th whether you want it or not.
Jeff
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Save America Now
Dear Friends,
American values are under attack. Even as I write these words, my hands are shaking with patriotic zeal. There was a day - some of us can remember it - when life in Small Town America was tranquil. There was a day when kids could ride their bikes to the library without fear; a day when families actually spoke to one another from front porch to front porch. There was once a day when community values tied us together. I am an optimist at heart, and I tend to shrug off stories of America's best days being behind her. But earlier this week, I experienced something firsthand that has shaken me to my core.
It was Tuesday, and we were packing up the chairs and gear. As we left the baseball park, my son and I walked side by side down the road to the pickup truck. We were parked behind City Hall, next to the fire station. We said goodbye to friends, neighbors, and teammates as we loaded up and headed for home.
"Dad, can we get some ice cream now?" I remembered I owed him a treat for making a great play a couple of games back. It would be good to follow through with that tonight, even though it was almost 10:00; tonight's games weren't ones for the record books.
"Sure. How 'bout Sonic?" I cranked the engine of the beat-up '93 Dodge Dakota. It was the first car I had ever bought and paid for with my own hard-earned dollars. We got it two weeks to the day after we got married. It only had 3 miles on the odometer when we first called it "ours."
"That would be great!" We pulled out of the parking lot and headed down the road. As we crossed the railroad tracks and passed the old downtown area near the High School, I remembered when this used to be the only traffic light in town. We passed a Baptist church on the left, a Methodist church on the right, and another Baptist church on the left. On the right was an empty lot.
"Hey Dad, didn't you used to work there?"
"Yeah, there was a little house and a couple of mobile homes attached to it. I worked for this guy who fixed TVs and VCRs. We didn't have DVD players way back then." My old neighborhood was behind the empty lot. My parents still lived there. We turned left into the local drive-in and parked in the fourth spot. The place was relatively busy, even this late at night.
"Milkshake?"
"Can I have an Oreo Blast?" He was taking advantage of my sentimental mood. Smart kid. I cranked the window down and pushed the Red Button. The response time was impressive.
"Welcome to Sonic! Would you like to try a Value Meal?"
"No, thanks. But I would like to try an Oreo Blast and a medium hot fudge malt with extra malt." I was so bad. It was way past my dinnertime. I had wrestled with the decision all the way from the ballpark. I knew I didn't need any ice cream. I wasn't hungry. I didn't even want it that badly. It was more a crime of opportunity than anything: how could I drive through Sonic and not get a hot fudge malt for myself? Once the words were out of my mouth, the battle was won (or lost) and I immediately began to savor the thought of the thick (but not too thick) cold ice cream juxtaposed with the molten chocolate all woven together with the rejuvenating flavor of powdered Whoppers.
"We don't have malt anymore." My mind didn't immediately register the response.
"Excuse me?"
"We don't have malt anymore. They changed all the menus on Sunday, and They took malt off the menu. Would you like a milkshake instead?"
WE DON'T HAVE MALT ANYMORE?
WE DON'T HAVE MALT ANYMORE?
I could not have been more shocked if I had been told it was illegal to shoot fireworks in the Benton city limits. How can you not have malt anymore? You're the Sonic! That's like KFC telling me they don't have fried chicken anymore! Or the Waffle House saying they don't have waffles anymore. What do you mean, you don't have malt anymore?
"Are you sure you don't have any malt?" I was in denial. Samuel was highly amused. The guy on the other side of the Red Button played it cool.
"I'm sure. No malt."
The ghosts of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and all the Founding Fathers rose up with one accord and shouted in my ear, "What have you people done with our country?" The gargantuan image of Lincoln, forever seated on the throne of justice on the National Mall, shed a quiet tear. Betsy Ross and Susan B. Anthony cried in anguish. My son began an audible snickering which quickly turned to rolling laughter.
"Well, give me a hot fudge milkshake." It was a far, far second-best. But now I had anger to feed as well as gluttony. Sonic. "America's Drive-in" Not any America I know. If I wanted a milkshake, I could have gone to McDonald's, Burger King, or any other of the host of calorie dispensers in the I-30/Reynolds Road metroplex.
"Would you like to try one of our bunt cakes?"
"Does it have malt in it?" Sam was howling. I was stewing. At least I hadn't given my son any new bad words to use.
As we pulled back onto the highway and turned homeward, I began to reflect on the evening's events. How could something like this happen - here, in my hometown? Maybe in Havana, or Pyongyang, or even California - but here, in Bryant, Arkansas - home of the 1988-1989 Girls Basketball Overall State Champions Lady Hornets? I shook my head and silently muttered bits and pieces of the Bill of Rights and the Gettysburg Address.
We crossed the interstate, looped around, and drove further toward home. Home sweet home. Home - a place where a man can malt his own milkshake without fear of government intrusion. Home - where children can stack firewood and pull weeds and feed dogs without anybody's permission or condemnation. Home - where one can post blogs without the worry of anyone ever actually reading it.
I had been absentmindedly sipping my consolation prize while I brooded. Suddenly a wave of panic capped with grief and terror hit me like a gravel truck.
"THEY FORGOT TO PUT ANY HOT FUDGE IN THIS THING!" Plain. Vanilla. Milk. Shake.
Here, dear friends, I end my account. I apologize for offending those of gentle sensibilities. But I do not apologize if I have stirred within your heart the same love for hearth and home that has been stirred in mine. I do not apologize if I have awakened you to the fact that freedom isn't free, and that those things we cherish most today can be suddenly, completely, and shockingly gone tomorrow by the mere whim of some marketing intern at Corporate Headquarters.
Friends, fellow Americans, what can we do to halt the landslide down the slippery slope that threatens our more cherished values? Honestly, I'm not sure. I'm not an agitator. People who know me well will tell you that I really don't have strong convictions about most things. But at least - at the very, very least - we can let our voices be heard. Individually, we might not make much of a difference. But together, we're greater than the sum of our parts. Friends, I urge you to make a simple phone call to the Sonic corporation and implore them to return malt to the Bryant Sonic. Their phone number is 1-866-OK-SONIC (1-866-657-6642). (Clearly, they have anticipated the backlash and have removed the email feedback feature from their website.)
Thank you, and God bless these United States of America.
Your friend,
Jeff McFarland
American values are under attack. Even as I write these words, my hands are shaking with patriotic zeal. There was a day - some of us can remember it - when life in Small Town America was tranquil. There was a day when kids could ride their bikes to the library without fear; a day when families actually spoke to one another from front porch to front porch. There was once a day when community values tied us together. I am an optimist at heart, and I tend to shrug off stories of America's best days being behind her. But earlier this week, I experienced something firsthand that has shaken me to my core.
It was Tuesday, and we were packing up the chairs and gear. As we left the baseball park, my son and I walked side by side down the road to the pickup truck. We were parked behind City Hall, next to the fire station. We said goodbye to friends, neighbors, and teammates as we loaded up and headed for home.
"Dad, can we get some ice cream now?" I remembered I owed him a treat for making a great play a couple of games back. It would be good to follow through with that tonight, even though it was almost 10:00; tonight's games weren't ones for the record books.
"Sure. How 'bout Sonic?" I cranked the engine of the beat-up '93 Dodge Dakota. It was the first car I had ever bought and paid for with my own hard-earned dollars. We got it two weeks to the day after we got married. It only had 3 miles on the odometer when we first called it "ours."
"That would be great!" We pulled out of the parking lot and headed down the road. As we crossed the railroad tracks and passed the old downtown area near the High School, I remembered when this used to be the only traffic light in town. We passed a Baptist church on the left, a Methodist church on the right, and another Baptist church on the left. On the right was an empty lot.
"Hey Dad, didn't you used to work there?"
"Yeah, there was a little house and a couple of mobile homes attached to it. I worked for this guy who fixed TVs and VCRs. We didn't have DVD players way back then." My old neighborhood was behind the empty lot. My parents still lived there. We turned left into the local drive-in and parked in the fourth spot. The place was relatively busy, even this late at night.
"Milkshake?"
"Can I have an Oreo Blast?" He was taking advantage of my sentimental mood. Smart kid. I cranked the window down and pushed the Red Button. The response time was impressive.
"Welcome to Sonic! Would you like to try a Value Meal?"
"No, thanks. But I would like to try an Oreo Blast and a medium hot fudge malt with extra malt." I was so bad. It was way past my dinnertime. I had wrestled with the decision all the way from the ballpark. I knew I didn't need any ice cream. I wasn't hungry. I didn't even want it that badly. It was more a crime of opportunity than anything: how could I drive through Sonic and not get a hot fudge malt for myself? Once the words were out of my mouth, the battle was won (or lost) and I immediately began to savor the thought of the thick (but not too thick) cold ice cream juxtaposed with the molten chocolate all woven together with the rejuvenating flavor of powdered Whoppers.
"We don't have malt anymore." My mind didn't immediately register the response.
"Excuse me?"
"We don't have malt anymore. They changed all the menus on Sunday, and They took malt off the menu. Would you like a milkshake instead?"
WE DON'T HAVE MALT ANYMORE?
WE DON'T HAVE MALT ANYMORE?
I could not have been more shocked if I had been told it was illegal to shoot fireworks in the Benton city limits. How can you not have malt anymore? You're the Sonic! That's like KFC telling me they don't have fried chicken anymore! Or the Waffle House saying they don't have waffles anymore. What do you mean, you don't have malt anymore?
"Are you sure you don't have any malt?" I was in denial. Samuel was highly amused. The guy on the other side of the Red Button played it cool.
"I'm sure. No malt."
The ghosts of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and all the Founding Fathers rose up with one accord and shouted in my ear, "What have you people done with our country?" The gargantuan image of Lincoln, forever seated on the throne of justice on the National Mall, shed a quiet tear. Betsy Ross and Susan B. Anthony cried in anguish. My son began an audible snickering which quickly turned to rolling laughter.
"Well, give me a hot fudge milkshake." It was a far, far second-best. But now I had anger to feed as well as gluttony. Sonic. "America's Drive-in" Not any America I know. If I wanted a milkshake, I could have gone to McDonald's, Burger King, or any other of the host of calorie dispensers in the I-30/Reynolds Road metroplex.
"Would you like to try one of our bunt cakes?"
"Does it have malt in it?" Sam was howling. I was stewing. At least I hadn't given my son any new bad words to use.
As we pulled back onto the highway and turned homeward, I began to reflect on the evening's events. How could something like this happen - here, in my hometown? Maybe in Havana, or Pyongyang, or even California - but here, in Bryant, Arkansas - home of the 1988-1989 Girls Basketball Overall State Champions Lady Hornets? I shook my head and silently muttered bits and pieces of the Bill of Rights and the Gettysburg Address.
We crossed the interstate, looped around, and drove further toward home. Home sweet home. Home - a place where a man can malt his own milkshake without fear of government intrusion. Home - where children can stack firewood and pull weeds and feed dogs without anybody's permission or condemnation. Home - where one can post blogs without the worry of anyone ever actually reading it.
I had been absentmindedly sipping my consolation prize while I brooded. Suddenly a wave of panic capped with grief and terror hit me like a gravel truck.
"THEY FORGOT TO PUT ANY HOT FUDGE IN THIS THING!" Plain. Vanilla. Milk. Shake.
Here, dear friends, I end my account. I apologize for offending those of gentle sensibilities. But I do not apologize if I have stirred within your heart the same love for hearth and home that has been stirred in mine. I do not apologize if I have awakened you to the fact that freedom isn't free, and that those things we cherish most today can be suddenly, completely, and shockingly gone tomorrow by the mere whim of some marketing intern at Corporate Headquarters.
Friends, fellow Americans, what can we do to halt the landslide down the slippery slope that threatens our more cherished values? Honestly, I'm not sure. I'm not an agitator. People who know me well will tell you that I really don't have strong convictions about most things. But at least - at the very, very least - we can let our voices be heard. Individually, we might not make much of a difference. But together, we're greater than the sum of our parts. Friends, I urge you to make a simple phone call to the Sonic corporation and implore them to return malt to the Bryant Sonic. Their phone number is 1-866-OK-SONIC (1-866-657-6642). (Clearly, they have anticipated the backlash and have removed the email feedback feature from their website.)
Thank you, and God bless these United States of America.
Your friend,
Jeff McFarland
Monday, June 1, 2009
Inside Baseball
"That's four runs!" Great. How in the world did we let that one slip through our fingers - again? All we had to do was score one run for the win. Instead, three up, three down, then we let them come back and score four to tie it. Amazing.
"OK, let's score some runs. 15, you're up. 42 and 8, you're on deck." And now we're more than halfway down the lineup. Not that the top of the lineup did their job last inning.
"Batter up!" Oh, brother, not again! Why does her dad have to coach from the bleachers every time she gets up to bat? She'd probably be a decent hitter if Daddy wasn't giving her a complex.
"Strike!" Huh. She was looking over at the bleachers before the umpire even called it.
"That's all right 15, you got two more. Focus on the ball, quit worryin' about distractions. This is just like practice. Have some faith in yourself!" Have faith in yourself. If I had a nickel for every time I said that to an 8-year-old with a bat...
"Safe!" Merry Christmas. But we'll take it. How many days this very week did we practice batting? We're never going to win with infield dribblers like that. But would you look at that coach yelling at his kid for fumbling the ball? Note to self: chill out; screaming just makes you look stupid.
"Batter up!" Here comes God's Gift to Softball. At least her Mom thinks so. She'd probably be happier in ballet shoes. But no, she's got to follow in Mama's footsteps and be a Collegiate Softball Princess. Poor kid. No telling how much time and money her parents put into fancy bats and private training. Too bad her heart's not in it.
"Come on 42, let's put the ball in play! Have faith in yourself!" And stride toward the pitcher.
"Strike 3!" You have to swing to hit. I'm pretty sure we've worked on this. More than once. Do those people really think yelling at the umpire is going to get them anywhere? Sure, his strike zone is... variable... but at least it's been equally screwed up for both teams. I'm sure it's my fault somehow, though. I'll take the blame for the bad weather, too.
"Let's go 8, it's your turn to crush that ball! Have some faith!" Only one out. One runner on base. This one will strike out and then we'll be at the top of the lineup. Maybe if we're lucky we'll get a couple of runs after all.
"Strike!" And her parents complain that she's at the bottom of the lineup? What do they expect when they only make half the practices and never swing the bat or throw the ball at home? Do I have some kind of magic potion - oh great - infield fly.
"BACK! BACK! BACK!" Oh -
"Out!" Crap. Unbelievable. Sometimes these kids are worse than squirrels.
"Hats and gloves! Hats and gloves! Hustle out. Same positions. Hang on - 42, you go to center field. 15, you're on third." No, Sis, we are not having this conversation again in front of the whole ballpark. Your little girl needs to be in center field because there's a batter coming up who one-hopped it to the fence her last time at bat. You'd think a guy's own family might cut him some slack. At least I only have one sibling to get bent out of shape. I heard about this guy over in Bryant who had eight or nine grandkids playing on the same team. Crazy.
"Outside!" Why is this guy arguing with me again. I've already told him a dozen times who gets to pitch when, we're trying to balance fairness with winning, blah blah blah. Do these parents think I haven't already thought of doing things some other way? I didn't just wander in off the street. Do they have any clue how many hours I lay awake at night staring at the ceiling ciphering on how to make these girls better as a team? Why do I even bother. Here, you be the coach.
"C'mon, just put a strike in there. Don't listen to the chatter. Have faith in yourself!" This has been nothing but a pain in the butt. All the time, all the money, all the energy - and what do I have to show for it? Last place and a hornets' nest of whining, angry parents.
"Batter up!" Let's just get this over with.
"IT'S COMIN' TO YOU 42! CATCH IT IN THE AIR! CATCH IT! Good try." Just not good enough.
"Ballgame!" Hey, that could be our motto: Pineville Patriots: When Your Best Just Isn't Good Enough. It certainly captures the spirit of this season.
"Line up. Good game." Yeah right. Good game for the winners.
"Hey coach, do we get to play them again? We're gonna beat them next time!"
"Coach, did you see my hit?"
"Uncle Mike, I tried so hard to catch that long fly ball!"
"Hey Coach, thanks for lettin' me play first base!"
"Coach, did I have a better attitude this time? Or do I need to run to the pole some more?"
"Dad, I tagged that girl out clean, that umpire wasn't even watching!"
"My Daddy was here! Did he see me run home?"
"Good game, Coach. We'll get 'em next time."
"Daddy, when I'm 8 will you be my coach too?"
I love this game.
"Practice tomorrow at 6!"
"OK, let's score some runs. 15, you're up. 42 and 8, you're on deck." And now we're more than halfway down the lineup. Not that the top of the lineup did their job last inning.
"Batter up!" Oh, brother, not again! Why does her dad have to coach from the bleachers every time she gets up to bat? She'd probably be a decent hitter if Daddy wasn't giving her a complex.
"Strike!" Huh. She was looking over at the bleachers before the umpire even called it.
"That's all right 15, you got two more. Focus on the ball, quit worryin' about distractions. This is just like practice. Have some faith in yourself!" Have faith in yourself. If I had a nickel for every time I said that to an 8-year-old with a bat...
"Safe!" Merry Christmas. But we'll take it. How many days this very week did we practice batting? We're never going to win with infield dribblers like that. But would you look at that coach yelling at his kid for fumbling the ball? Note to self: chill out; screaming just makes you look stupid.
"Batter up!" Here comes God's Gift to Softball. At least her Mom thinks so. She'd probably be happier in ballet shoes. But no, she's got to follow in Mama's footsteps and be a Collegiate Softball Princess. Poor kid. No telling how much time and money her parents put into fancy bats and private training. Too bad her heart's not in it.
"Come on 42, let's put the ball in play! Have faith in yourself!" And stride toward the pitcher.
"Strike 3!" You have to swing to hit. I'm pretty sure we've worked on this. More than once. Do those people really think yelling at the umpire is going to get them anywhere? Sure, his strike zone is... variable... but at least it's been equally screwed up for both teams. I'm sure it's my fault somehow, though. I'll take the blame for the bad weather, too.
"Let's go 8, it's your turn to crush that ball! Have some faith!" Only one out. One runner on base. This one will strike out and then we'll be at the top of the lineup. Maybe if we're lucky we'll get a couple of runs after all.
"Strike!" And her parents complain that she's at the bottom of the lineup? What do they expect when they only make half the practices and never swing the bat or throw the ball at home? Do I have some kind of magic potion - oh great - infield fly.
"BACK! BACK! BACK!" Oh -
"Out!" Crap. Unbelievable. Sometimes these kids are worse than squirrels.
"Hats and gloves! Hats and gloves! Hustle out. Same positions. Hang on - 42, you go to center field. 15, you're on third." No, Sis, we are not having this conversation again in front of the whole ballpark. Your little girl needs to be in center field because there's a batter coming up who one-hopped it to the fence her last time at bat. You'd think a guy's own family might cut him some slack. At least I only have one sibling to get bent out of shape. I heard about this guy over in Bryant who had eight or nine grandkids playing on the same team. Crazy.
"Outside!" Why is this guy arguing with me again. I've already told him a dozen times who gets to pitch when, we're trying to balance fairness with winning, blah blah blah. Do these parents think I haven't already thought of doing things some other way? I didn't just wander in off the street. Do they have any clue how many hours I lay awake at night staring at the ceiling ciphering on how to make these girls better as a team? Why do I even bother. Here, you be the coach.
"C'mon, just put a strike in there. Don't listen to the chatter. Have faith in yourself!" This has been nothing but a pain in the butt. All the time, all the money, all the energy - and what do I have to show for it? Last place and a hornets' nest of whining, angry parents.
"Batter up!" Let's just get this over with.
"IT'S COMIN' TO YOU 42! CATCH IT IN THE AIR! CATCH IT! Good try." Just not good enough.
"Ballgame!" Hey, that could be our motto: Pineville Patriots: When Your Best Just Isn't Good Enough. It certainly captures the spirit of this season.
"Line up. Good game." Yeah right. Good game for the winners.
"Hey coach, do we get to play them again? We're gonna beat them next time!"
"Coach, did you see my hit?"
"Uncle Mike, I tried so hard to catch that long fly ball!"
"Hey Coach, thanks for lettin' me play first base!"
"Coach, did I have a better attitude this time? Or do I need to run to the pole some more?"
"Dad, I tagged that girl out clean, that umpire wasn't even watching!"
"My Daddy was here! Did he see me run home?"
"Good game, Coach. We'll get 'em next time."
"Daddy, when I'm 8 will you be my coach too?"
I love this game.
"Practice tomorrow at 6!"
Friday, May 29, 2009
Newtonian Summer
Last weekend, in anticipation of the End of School, Samuel, Nathan, and Aaron built a catapult. They had some help from Grandpa and me. Nathan had been lobbying on behalf of catapults for several weeks. It is constructed entirely of vintage 2x6 scraps, 3" deck screws, an old bicycle inner tube, and a plastic flower pot. The project came in within budget ($0.00) and schedule (2 hours on a Saturday morning.)
In the end, the power was impressive but the range was underwhelming. But, hey, WE BUILT A CATAPULT. Never one to be satisfied with the status quo, Nathan has now moved on to lobby for catapult improvements, such as wheels, a longer throwing arm, and a lock/release mechanism.
Our ultimate aim, of course, is to construct a siege engine huge enough to hurl pumpkins, logs, stray dogs, or even boys over the lake and into Fort Musteen.
For those interested in catapults, we gleaned inspiration from the following sources:
Books:
Websites:
Storm the Castle
TrebuchetStore.com
Dan Beard's Boys Outdoor Handy Book
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Crashing
"Daddy!" The coefficient of static friction was not great enough to keep the white 14" tires upright as she sped 'round the corner onto the gravel driveway. I had anticipated this moment for a while now. The First Bicycle Wreck is a big moment in one's life, and I wanted this one to be special for her.
"Get up, you're OK." I was pretty sure she was OK. It was a slow-motion crash on loose gravel. A high-speed crash on pavement would certainly have been worse. Although gravel crashes have a special place in our family's history. Uncle Mike could say more about that.
"No I'm not!" Sophie begged to differ. But even in defiance, the tangle of pink steel tubing and curly blond hair began to unwind itself. I saw a bit of red on a knee. Otherwise, nothing but dirt.
"Brush yourself off."
"But Daddy! I crashed!" She examined her hands and began to brush them together even as she proclaimed her injury.
"You'll be OK. Get back on and let's ride home."
"But Daddy!" Sniff, sniff. "I'll just crash all the way home!" Sometimes the hardest part about being a good parent is to keep from laughing.
"Come on, let's go. We'll doctor you up when we get home."
"But you'll have to hold me the whole way!"
"I'll be right here beside you, but you can do it yourself." We were already halfway down the driveway.
"I'm never riding this bike again!"
"Keep pedaling. Watch where you're going." Sometimes the best way to deal with negativity is to wholly ignore it. "Push it all the way into the garage. Here, let me unbuckle your helmet." Good thing for helmets. Wish we had remembered the kneepads.
"Daddy! The water's too cold!" It's important to wash out scrapes and cuts with running water. Especially if the scrape is full of dirt and gravel particles. Cold water is most effective. Probably.
"Dry it off so I can put on this band-aid." Like the sun breaking through stormclouds, the sniffling and snubbing came to an abrupt halt. Behold, The Band-Aid: Fixer of All Boo-Boo's, Dryer of All Tears, Balm of Skint Knees. Magic.
"Sophie, don't run in the house!"
"Get up, you're OK." I was pretty sure she was OK. It was a slow-motion crash on loose gravel. A high-speed crash on pavement would certainly have been worse. Although gravel crashes have a special place in our family's history. Uncle Mike could say more about that.
"No I'm not!" Sophie begged to differ. But even in defiance, the tangle of pink steel tubing and curly blond hair began to unwind itself. I saw a bit of red on a knee. Otherwise, nothing but dirt.
"Brush yourself off."
"But Daddy! I crashed!" She examined her hands and began to brush them together even as she proclaimed her injury.
"You'll be OK. Get back on and let's ride home."
"But Daddy!" Sniff, sniff. "I'll just crash all the way home!" Sometimes the hardest part about being a good parent is to keep from laughing.
"Come on, let's go. We'll doctor you up when we get home."
"But you'll have to hold me the whole way!"
"I'll be right here beside you, but you can do it yourself." We were already halfway down the driveway.
"I'm never riding this bike again!"
"Keep pedaling. Watch where you're going." Sometimes the best way to deal with negativity is to wholly ignore it. "Push it all the way into the garage. Here, let me unbuckle your helmet." Good thing for helmets. Wish we had remembered the kneepads.
"Daddy! The water's too cold!" It's important to wash out scrapes and cuts with running water. Especially if the scrape is full of dirt and gravel particles. Cold water is most effective. Probably.
"Dry it off so I can put on this band-aid." Like the sun breaking through stormclouds, the sniffling and snubbing came to an abrupt halt. Behold, The Band-Aid: Fixer of All Boo-Boo's, Dryer of All Tears, Balm of Skint Knees. Magic.
"Sophie, don't run in the house!"
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Memorial Day
Hot Springs, AR - May 25, 2009Gettysburg, PA - Nov 19, 1863
"When are they going to start?"
Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
"How many boats do you think are out here?"
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure.
"Hey, the moon looks like a slice of cantaloupe!"
We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live.
"Look, that airplane's flying right into the fireworks!"
It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
"Remember when we were kids and Granddad used to take us to that place on the lake for ice cream?"
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate... we can not consecrate... we can not hallow this ground.
"Get him! Shoot the airplane!"
The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract.
"What was the name of that place? Remember, we used to jump off the top of it into the water?"
The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.
"Wow, look at those! Awesome!"
It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced.
"I think Nathan fell asleep."
It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us
"Lara never would jump. She was afraid to mess up her hair."
That from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion
"Daddy, snuggle me!"
That we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom.
"Look at all that smoke!"
And that government of the people,
"What time is it?"
By the people,
"Daddy, do I have to take a shower when I get home?"
For the people,
"I was not afraid to mess up my hair."
Shall not perish from the earth.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Training Wheels
"Daddy! But can you just put them back on?" It's been over six months since your fourth birthday, Sophie. It's time for them to go.
"Nope. You're a big girl. You can pedal and steer just fine, and it will be much easier to ride the bike without the training wheels." And I don't know if my back can take another half hour of pushing you a quarter mile to the mailbox and home again. Training wheels and rutted out gravel driveways go together like dogs and ice cream.
"But Daddy! I'm NOT very big!" You've got to be kidding me. You get heavier by the mile.
"Yes, you are. You already zoom around on your scooter without any training wheels at all." And you have the band-aids on your knees to prove it.
"But Daddy! Can you just put them back on?" Sorry Sophie. You know the McFarland Law of Bicycles: You get a bike for your fourth birthday, and you have to be riding it - without training wheels - before your fifth. Well, maybe you don't know it. But that's the rule. Ask Grandpa if you don't believe me.
"I'll hold on the whole time. I won't let you fall. Let's get your helmet." We never had helmets when I was a kid. It's a wonder we made it to double digits.
"The pink cat one?" Yes, the Pink Cat One. The one that screams, 'I'm a girly-girl, and I have all the pink accessories to prove it!'
"Pull your hair back so I can snap it. No, pull it back out of your face. There we go."
"Don't let go, Daddy! Whatever you do, do NOT let go!" Yes, Your Highness. "Daddy! It's too fast! What if I crash!"
"I've got you - I'm hanging on to your shirt. You can feel it. Don't take your feet off the pedals! Don't look at the ditch - you'll drive right into it!" I think we waited too long to take those things off. You've been ready for this a while. All I'm doing is holding the back of your shirt - you're doing it, girl.
"Daddy! Don't let go!"
Two days later...
"OK, ready to go for another bike ride?"
"Oh, yes! Let me get my helmet on." Oh, yes.
"Remember, keep your feet on the pedals, look where you're go..."
"Daddy, I can do it." Oh, really? We'll see.
"Alright, alright!" Maybe I'll just barely hold on - just in case.
"Daddy, let go! I can do it myself!" OK, have it your way. Well. How about that. You can do it yourself.
"Daddy, I said let go!" Was I holding on again?
What if you lose your balance, though? What if you fall down and scrape your knees? Look where you're going! Keep your feet on the pedals! What if you start going too fast and can't stop? Sophie, slow down! What if you grow up before I can blink and become beautiful like your mother and sing like an angel and have a family of your own and change the world? Be careful! I can't keep up with you!
"Look at me, Daddy! I'm doing it!"
"Yes, you are. You're doing it."
Friday, May 15, 2009
Enough Kids
"Daddy, do you want another kid?" I had wandered upstairs to help the boys find fragments of cub scout uniforms so they could get dressed before we inhaled a quick dinner and teleported to our den meetings.
"Which one of you would I send back?" I had caught Samuel off guard. He paused to regroup.
"No, I mean - do you want ANOTHER kid?" Obviously, I had misunderstood.
"I'm pretty satisfied with the three of you. Is one of you defective?"
"No not that - ANOTHER." I guessed it was time to move on.
"Oh, you don't mean a DIFFERENT kid, you mean an ADDITIONAL kid?"
"Yeah, another one."
"I think we have enough with three." I found the neckerchief under a beanbag.
"But if Mommy had another kid, would you want it?" Nathan was in the game now.
"Yes, of course I would. But we've had all the kids we need to have."
"But how do you know..."
"It's time for dinner. Wash your hands." After a quick blessing, we got down to the business of refueling. Tonight was fish sticks, biscuits, green beans, and corn on the cob. If not the food pyramid, it was at least the food ziggurat. Nathan couldn't let it go.
"Mommy, do you want another kid?" Kristi nearly choked. Without missing a bite, Sophie beat me to it:
"Trade Nathan!"
"Which one of you would I send back?" I had caught Samuel off guard. He paused to regroup.
"No, I mean - do you want ANOTHER kid?" Obviously, I had misunderstood.
"I'm pretty satisfied with the three of you. Is one of you defective?"
"No not that - ANOTHER." I guessed it was time to move on.
"Oh, you don't mean a DIFFERENT kid, you mean an ADDITIONAL kid?"
"Yeah, another one."
"I think we have enough with three." I found the neckerchief under a beanbag.
"But if Mommy had another kid, would you want it?" Nathan was in the game now.
"Yes, of course I would. But we've had all the kids we need to have."
"But how do you know..."
"It's time for dinner. Wash your hands." After a quick blessing, we got down to the business of refueling. Tonight was fish sticks, biscuits, green beans, and corn on the cob. If not the food pyramid, it was at least the food ziggurat. Nathan couldn't let it go.
"Mommy, do you want another kid?" Kristi nearly choked. Without missing a bite, Sophie beat me to it:
"Trade Nathan!"
Monday, May 11, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Proverbial Adultery
Go to the ant, you sluggard!
Consider her ways and be wise,
Which, having no captain,
Overseer or ruler,
Provides her supplies in the summer,
And gathers her food in the harvest.
Proberbs 6:6-8
"Daddy, what's a sluggard?" We read a chapter of Proverbs every night before bed. Well, most nights. OK, some nights, when we don't get in too late. Tonight was May 6th, so we read Proverbs 6.
"Someone who is lazy."
"Oh."
My son, keep your father’s command,
And do not forsake the law of your mother.
I knew this was coming.
Reproofs of instruction are the way of life,
To keep you from the evil woman,
From the flattering tongue of a seductress.
Do not lust after her beauty in your heart,
Nor let her allure you with her eyelids.
How do I explain this without prolonging bedtime...
For by means of a harlot
A man is reduced to a crust of bread;
And an adulteress will prey upon his precious life.
Can a man take fire to his bosom,
And his clothes not be burned?
"Daddy, what's a bosom?"
"It's someone's lap." Whew. Could've asked about 'harlot.'
Whoever commits adultery with a woman lacks understanding;
He who does so destroys his own soul.
"Daddy, what's adultery?" Here we go.
"It's when a man is all lovey with somebody besides his own wife." It was the best I could do.
"That's what I thought."
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Reflections on Vice
"Daddy, why does that say Tobacco Shop?" We had dropped Kristi and Samuel at the baseball park. The game will still 30 minutes away, and Nathan, Sophie, and I had gone to pick up a pizza. We were on our way back when we passed it on our left.
"Because people can buy tobacco there."
"But why would people want to buy tobacco? It's bad for you."
"So are french fries. Especially if you eat two packs a day." Nathan didn't miss a beat.
"Doesn't smoking destroy your lungs?"
"Yes, it does. And the kind of tobacco you put in your mouth makes your mouth rot out." Silence. Processing.
"Daddy, does it hurt to get your ears pierced?"
"Yes, it hurts a lot. It hurts more than anything you can possibly imagine. The only thing that hurts more is getting a tattoo." A contemplative pause followed. We were almost to the ballpark.
"When I grow up, I'm never going to smoke. Or get my ears pierced. Or get a tattoo, except maybe a baseball one. Or grow my hair long."
"Well, that sounds good, Nate."
"But I probably will have a motorcycle."
"Because people can buy tobacco there."
"But why would people want to buy tobacco? It's bad for you."
"So are french fries. Especially if you eat two packs a day." Nathan didn't miss a beat.
"Doesn't smoking destroy your lungs?"
"Yes, it does. And the kind of tobacco you put in your mouth makes your mouth rot out." Silence. Processing.
"Daddy, does it hurt to get your ears pierced?"
"Yes, it hurts a lot. It hurts more than anything you can possibly imagine. The only thing that hurts more is getting a tattoo." A contemplative pause followed. We were almost to the ballpark.
"When I grow up, I'm never going to smoke. Or get my ears pierced. Or get a tattoo, except maybe a baseball one. Or grow my hair long."
"Well, that sounds good, Nate."
"But I probably will have a motorcycle."
Rineco Defeats Farm Bureau on McFarland's 2-run Double
Bryant, AR - Despite a random strike zone and nonlinear counting by the plate umpire, Rineco AA defeated Farm Bureau 11-9 on Samuel McFarland's 2 run double to right field. Rineco AAA held Farm Bureau 2-1 until the final inning, when Farm Bureau took advantage of pitching trouble with a 6 run rally. Rineco was unable to come back in the bottom of the 5th, and lost the contest 2-7.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Book Review - Man-Eaters of Kumaon by Jim Corbett
"For a long minute I stared at this motionless object, until I was convinced that it was the tip of the tiger's tail. If the tail was pointing away from me the head must obviously be towards me, and as the ledge was only some two feet wide, the tiger could only be crouching down and waiting to spring the moment my head appeared over the bole of the tree. The tip of the tail was twenty feet from me, and allowing eight feet for the tiger's length while crouching, his head would be twelve feet away."
Twelve feet away.
Have you ever watched a house cat patiently stalk a bird or mouse? Have you ever imagined being the mouse? It's hard to fathom an entire village or countryside living for years in daily fear of being eaten by a man-eating tiger. But during the early part of the 20th century, many inhabitants of off-the-beaten-path areas in India lived in such a state. Jim Corbett, expert hunter, naturalist, and author, performed a live-saving service for the people of India by putting an end to many of these animals in the 1930's and 1940's. He succeeded by entering the Tigers' minds, anticipating their behavior, and beating them at their own game - if sometimes only by a whisker. This book tells the tales of eight of these chess matches between masters.
Corbett details both imagery and action in a vivid yet unexcited manner. His use of energetic adverbs and adjectives as well as exclamation points is sparse - the simple facts of the situation are enough to bring the reader into the jungle.
"Without taking my eyes off him I groped with my hand on the hillside and picked up a stone that filled my hand as comfortably as a cricket ball. The snake had just reached a sharp ridge of hard clay when the stone, launched with the utmost energy I was capable of, struck it on the back of the head. The blow would have killed any other snake outright, but the only, and very alarming, effect it had on the hamadryad was to make it whip round and come straight towards me."
I omitted the previous text about the snake being 14 feet long.
Some of the author's details seem almost humorous when juxtaposed against the matter-of-fact and bloody details of a tiger's recent kills. For example, no proper hunt would be complete without tea.
"My forty-pound tent had been pitched in a field of stubble a hundred yards from the village, and I had hardly reached it before tea was laid out for me on a table improvised out of a couple of suit-cases and planks borrowed from the village."
That said, Corbett does not come across as a Great White Hunter looking to bag yet another trophy for the lodge back in Oxford. He only hunted man-eaters, and he regarded it as a service and a duty. His deep respect for the tigers comes through in his writing.
My boys and I read this book as a bedtime story over the course of four months. I was a bit concerned they might lay awake at night entertaining visions of tigers breaking through the window to carry them off into the woods. But I think they must have dreamed instead of being Major Jim Corbett - stalking alone through the jungle, anticipating the tiger's next move.
Twelve feet away.
Have you ever watched a house cat patiently stalk a bird or mouse? Have you ever imagined being the mouse? It's hard to fathom an entire village or countryside living for years in daily fear of being eaten by a man-eating tiger. But during the early part of the 20th century, many inhabitants of off-the-beaten-path areas in India lived in such a state. Jim Corbett, expert hunter, naturalist, and author, performed a live-saving service for the people of India by putting an end to many of these animals in the 1930's and 1940's. He succeeded by entering the Tigers' minds, anticipating their behavior, and beating them at their own game - if sometimes only by a whisker. This book tells the tales of eight of these chess matches between masters.
Corbett details both imagery and action in a vivid yet unexcited manner. His use of energetic adverbs and adjectives as well as exclamation points is sparse - the simple facts of the situation are enough to bring the reader into the jungle.
"Without taking my eyes off him I groped with my hand on the hillside and picked up a stone that filled my hand as comfortably as a cricket ball. The snake had just reached a sharp ridge of hard clay when the stone, launched with the utmost energy I was capable of, struck it on the back of the head. The blow would have killed any other snake outright, but the only, and very alarming, effect it had on the hamadryad was to make it whip round and come straight towards me."
I omitted the previous text about the snake being 14 feet long.
Some of the author's details seem almost humorous when juxtaposed against the matter-of-fact and bloody details of a tiger's recent kills. For example, no proper hunt would be complete without tea.
"My forty-pound tent had been pitched in a field of stubble a hundred yards from the village, and I had hardly reached it before tea was laid out for me on a table improvised out of a couple of suit-cases and planks borrowed from the village."
That said, Corbett does not come across as a Great White Hunter looking to bag yet another trophy for the lodge back in Oxford. He only hunted man-eaters, and he regarded it as a service and a duty. His deep respect for the tigers comes through in his writing.
My boys and I read this book as a bedtime story over the course of four months. I was a bit concerned they might lay awake at night entertaining visions of tigers breaking through the window to carry them off into the woods. But I think they must have dreamed instead of being Major Jim Corbett - stalking alone through the jungle, anticipating the tiger's next move.
Book Review - Old Testament History, by Charles Pfeiffer
This book provides a detailed look at the history of the ancient world as it directly relates to events in the Old Testament and the Jewish people. The geographic, political, cultural, and religious aspects of those times and places provide a necessary context to better understand the OT writers, their writings, and their audience. The author of this book is admittedly sympathetic to a traditional, Biblical view of history. However, many, if not most, world events after the Divided Kingdom seem to be thoroughly documented with extra-Biblical sources.
While the book is filled with information, the writing style is not overly academic and would be easy for the casual reader to follow.
The edition I read was published in the early 1970s. Perhaps more discoveries since that time have provided additional information either supporting or contradicting the conclusions in this book. For this reason, I might recommend a more current version or a newer work entirely. In addition, this book could use more tables, charts, timelines, and better photos.
All said, this book has given me a better understanding of the cultural context surrounding the Biblical OT narrative.
Buy a copy of Old Testament History
at Amazon.com.
While the book is filled with information, the writing style is not overly academic and would be easy for the casual reader to follow.
The edition I read was published in the early 1970s. Perhaps more discoveries since that time have provided additional information either supporting or contradicting the conclusions in this book. For this reason, I might recommend a more current version or a newer work entirely. In addition, this book could use more tables, charts, timelines, and better photos.
All said, this book has given me a better understanding of the cultural context surrounding the Biblical OT narrative.
Buy a copy of Old Testament History
at Amazon.com.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Sock Incompetence
I am proud to say my Frankenstein lawnmower is still cutting grass 13 years after it rolled off the showroom floor at Sam's. It is held together by zip ties, bicycle cables, part of a lawn chair, and my own will and ingenuity. I have two degrees in Electrical Engineering. Given enough tinkertoys and enough time, I am confident I could build a computer. Throughout my career, I have been directly responsible for securing and executing millions of dollars in business for my company. I solve the "hard" Sudoku puzzles in the back of the Southwest Airlines in-flight magazine.
But I am unable to match socks.
I discovered this troubling fact about myself the other night while trying to help fold clothes. Shockingly, not all socks are the same. Yes, I can tell white socks from non-white socks. I can also tell (usually) adult socks from kid socks. But did you know there are white socks with pink "Hanes" lettering on the toes? Blue lettering? Gray lettering? Gray heels? Gray toes? Dark stitching? No stitching? Worn out sock? New socks? In between socks? How did I never see this?
Fortunately, I have a good wife who helped me understand Sock Taxonomy.
Guess I'll stick with tinkertoys.
But I am unable to match socks.
I discovered this troubling fact about myself the other night while trying to help fold clothes. Shockingly, not all socks are the same. Yes, I can tell white socks from non-white socks. I can also tell (usually) adult socks from kid socks. But did you know there are white socks with pink "Hanes" lettering on the toes? Blue lettering? Gray lettering? Gray heels? Gray toes? Dark stitching? No stitching? Worn out sock? New socks? In between socks? How did I never see this?
Fortunately, I have a good wife who helped me understand Sock Taxonomy.
Guess I'll stick with tinkertoys.
Who Knew a Cell Phone Could Do All This?
I got a friendly email this morning with some "hidden" things your cell phone will do. They are all bogus, of course. I replied with my own list of hidden super-features. Which list might actually save your life some day? You be the judge.
My list:
#5 If you're ever trapped in an elevator with MacGyver and the power goes out, simply wire the battery from your cell phone to the elevator controls. It will provide enough power to open the doors so you can crawl out.
#6 If you find yourself stranded on a desert island with no food, remember that Blackberries are edible. The consonants can be eaten directly and provide much-needed protein. The vowels are somewhat bitter, but can be brewed into a more pleasant-tasting tea. (The battery itself is not edible, and should be saved in case of elevator emergency - see #5)
#7 Cell phone games can be used effectively to distract a 4-year-old who has to get a shot at the doctor's office.
#8 Your cell phone can be used to change the results of local elections. Suppose your local school district was trying to raise your already-too-high property taxes to pay for "much needed" infrastructure? Simply use your cell phone to call any like-minded voters and work them into an appropriate level of outrage. You can also call not-so-like-minded voters and tell them the election is a day later.
#9 Imagine the Government is on your case for opposing Much Needed Infrastructure and sends Jack-Booted Thugs to bring you in. Your cell phone can help! A carefully aimed throw at the nose of the lead Thug can distract him long enough for you to pick up his rifle and take out the remainder of the Gang. (An old-school "brick" type cell phone can actually be an advantage here!)
The Chain-Letter List:
5 Things You Never Knew Your Cell Phone Could Do
For all the folks with cell phones. (This should be printed and kept in your
car, purse, and wallet. Good information to have with you.)
There are a few things that can be don e in times of grave
emergencies.
Your mobile phone can actually be a life saver or an emergency tool for
survival. Check out the things that you can do with it:
FIRST
Emergency
The Emergency Number worldwide for Mobile is 112. If you find Yourself out of the coverage area of your mobile network and there is an Emergency, dial 112 and the mobile will search any existing network to Establish the emergency number for you, and interestingly, this number 112 can be dialed even if the keypad is
locked. Try it out.
SECOND
Have you locked your keys in the car?
Does your car have remote keyless entry? This may come in handy someday. Good
reason to own a cell phone: If you lock your keys In the car and the spare keys
are at home, call someone at home on their cell phone from your cell phone. Hold
your cell phone about a foot From your car door and have the person at your home
press the unlock button, holding it near the mobile phone on their end.. Your car
will unlock. Saves someone from having to drive your keys to you. Distance is no
object. You could be hundreds of miles away, and if you can reach someone who
has the other 'remote' for your car, you can unlock the doors (or the trunk).
Editor's Note: It works fine! We tried it out and it unlocked our car over a
cell phone!'
THIRD
Hidden Battery Power
Imagine your cell battery is very low.. To activate, press the keys *3370#. Your
cell phone will restart with this reserve and the instrument will show a 50%
increase in battery. This reserve will get charged when you charge your cell
phone next time.
FOURTH
How to disable a STOLEN mobile phone?
To check your Mobile phone's serial number, key in the following Digits on your
phone: *#06#. A 15-digit code will appear on the screen. This number is unique
to your handset. Write it down and keep it somewhere safe.
If your phone gets stolen, you can phone your service provider and give them
this code. They will then be able to block your handset so even if the thief
changes the SIM card, your phone will be totally useless. You probably won't get
your phone back, but at least you know that whoever stole it can't use/sell it
either. If everybody does this, there would be no point in people stealing
mobile phones.
And Finally.....
FIFTH
Free Directory Service for Cells
Cell phone companies are charging us $1.00 to $1.75 or more for 411 information
calls when they don 't have to. Most of us do not carry a telephone directory in
our vehicle, which makes this situation even more of a problem. When you need to
use the 411 information option, simply dial: (800)FREE411, or (800) 373-3411
without incurring any charge at all. Program this into your cell phone now.
My list:
#5 If you're ever trapped in an elevator with MacGyver and the power goes out, simply wire the battery from your cell phone to the elevator controls. It will provide enough power to open the doors so you can crawl out.
#6 If you find yourself stranded on a desert island with no food, remember that Blackberries are edible. The consonants can be eaten directly and provide much-needed protein. The vowels are somewhat bitter, but can be brewed into a more pleasant-tasting tea. (The battery itself is not edible, and should be saved in case of elevator emergency - see #5)
#7 Cell phone games can be used effectively to distract a 4-year-old who has to get a shot at the doctor's office.
#8 Your cell phone can be used to change the results of local elections. Suppose your local school district was trying to raise your already-too-high property taxes to pay for "much needed" infrastructure? Simply use your cell phone to call any like-minded voters and work them into an appropriate level of outrage. You can also call not-so-like-minded voters and tell them the election is a day later.
#9 Imagine the Government is on your case for opposing Much Needed Infrastructure and sends Jack-Booted Thugs to bring you in. Your cell phone can help! A carefully aimed throw at the nose of the lead Thug can distract him long enough for you to pick up his rifle and take out the remainder of the Gang. (An old-school "brick" type cell phone can actually be an advantage here!)
The Chain-Letter List:
5 Things You Never Knew Your Cell Phone Could Do
For all the folks with cell phones. (This should be printed and kept in your
car, purse, and wallet. Good information to have with you.)
There are a few things that can be don e in times of grave
emergencies.
Your mobile phone can actually be a life saver or an emergency tool for
survival. Check out the things that you can do with it:
FIRST
Emergency
The Emergency Number worldwide for Mobile is 112. If you find Yourself out of the coverage area of your mobile network and there is an Emergency, dial 112 and the mobile will search any existing network to Establish the emergency number for you, and interestingly, this number 112 can be dialed even if the keypad is
locked. Try it out.
SECOND
Have you locked your keys in the car?
Does your car have remote keyless entry? This may come in handy someday. Good
reason to own a cell phone: If you lock your keys In the car and the spare keys
are at home, call someone at home on their cell phone from your cell phone. Hold
your cell phone about a foot From your car door and have the person at your home
press the unlock button, holding it near the mobile phone on their end.. Your car
will unlock. Saves someone from having to drive your keys to you. Distance is no
object. You could be hundreds of miles away, and if you can reach someone who
has the other 'remote' for your car, you can unlock the doors (or the trunk).
Editor's Note: It works fine! We tried it out and it unlocked our car over a
cell phone!'
THIRD
Hidden Battery Power
Imagine your cell battery is very low.. To activate, press the keys *3370#. Your
cell phone will restart with this reserve and the instrument will show a 50%
increase in battery. This reserve will get charged when you charge your cell
phone next time.
FOURTH
How to disable a STOLEN mobile phone?
To check your Mobile phone's serial number, key in the following Digits on your
phone: *#06#. A 15-digit code will appear on the screen. This number is unique
to your handset. Write it down and keep it somewhere safe.
If your phone gets stolen, you can phone your service provider and give them
this code. They will then be able to block your handset so even if the thief
changes the SIM card, your phone will be totally useless. You probably won't get
your phone back, but at least you know that whoever stole it can't use/sell it
either. If everybody does this, there would be no point in people stealing
mobile phones.
And Finally.....
FIFTH
Free Directory Service for Cells
Cell phone companies are charging us $1.00 to $1.75 or more for 411 information
calls when they don 't have to. Most of us do not carry a telephone directory in
our vehicle, which makes this situation even more of a problem. When you need to
use the 411 information option, simply dial: (800)FREE411, or (800) 373-3411
without incurring any charge at all. Program this into your cell phone now.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Indians Wrap Up AAA Tournament Bid
Bryant, AR - Union Bank Indians AAA were unable to overcome the River Valley Pools juggernaut, despite improvements in pitching. The final score was 2-8. River Valley Pools advances to the next level of the single elimination tournament, while the Indians head back to the practice field to prepare for next week's season opener against Heartland Bank.
(Photo: Houston Colson pitching)
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Union Bank 1-2, Rineco 0-2
Long day of baseball. Could have been better. Union Bank AA defeated Next Level AA, then lost the AAA game. The Indians came back to play in the first round of the single-elimination bracket against Thompson Electric and were unable to pull it out.
Rineco AA started strong but couldn't stop Sport Shop AA's rally in the 3rd inning. Samuel McFarland lead scoring with two runs home stolen. Rineco AAA seemed unable to get a hit and lost 5-2.
But the weather was great.
In other news, the Indians perfected their technique for the upcoming Bodily Noises Olympiad to be held June 30th in Pickles Gap, AR.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Ghost Chickens in the Sky
Take a look at this demonstration on how "Ghost Chickens in the Sky" should be correctly performed.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Indians Win Two in Double-Header
Bryant, AR - The Union Bank Indians outscored Garver Engineering 13-5 in their first game of the Bryant Rookie AA Preseason Tournament. Union Bank AAA also defeated Garver Engineering AAA in the second game 5-2. The Indians were down 2-0, when Boston Heil's triple in the bottom of the 2nd brought Nathan McFarland home and fueled a four-run rally, from which Garver never recovered. Pitching for the Indians were Houston Colson and Boston Heil.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Basketball Season
Team Eley recently wrapped up a great basketball season by winning 2nd place in the regular season and 3rd (?) in the post-season tournament. "This team has come farther than I ever imagined!" exclaimed Coach Eley. Notable awards were given to Nathan McFarland for "Best Offensive Foul" and Garett Nguyen for "Best Celebration."
Posting to Facebook
I'm trying to figure out how to automatically link Blog posts into Facebook. Maybe this will work.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Lost Valley
We just finished a whirlwind Spring Break expedition to Lost Valley at the Buffalo National River. Using Lost Valley as our basecamp, we hiked the Lost Valley Trail, Hideout Hollow Trail, Glory Hole Trail, and Kings River Falls Trail. We also spent a couple of hours at a pizza place in Jasper during a stormy Tuesday afternoon. More details to follow. For now, here's a trail review I posted to Backpacker.com.
McFarland's Pitching Debut as Rineco AA and AAA Post First Win of Season
Bryant, AR - In a record-setting (surely) 3-hour game, the Rineco AA defeated Price Financial 15-14 in 7 innings. Samuel McFarland pitched his first inning of the season in the AA game, allowing two unearned runs, two walks, two outs at first, and one strikeout. As the AAA game that followed finished around 11:00PM, Samuel asked, "Can I just have my milkshake tomorrow?"
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Union Bank Indians Take 2nd
March 17 - Union Bank Indians AAA once again faced Next Level Sports Hornets in the semi-finals of the Little Oaks 9U Live Pitch pre-season tournament in Mabelvale, AR. Boston Heil pitched a strong 3-inning game. Manager Joe Johnson was sending the boys to the plate with hitting on the agenda. "You're not looking for a walk!" Nathan McFarland hit a long fly ball to center field that would have left the park but for "that stinky net thing" extending six feet above the outfield fence. Indians 4, Hornets, 3.
The Indians weren't so fortunate in the second game of the night against Thompson Electric A's. Starting pitcher Nathan McFarland seemed to be somewhat mental due to a pre-game change in pitching technique to stop throwing screwballs. ("Daddy, my wrist hurts.") After walking four batters, Nathan was relieved by Myers Buck, who closed the inning and pitched the remainder of the game. Although the Indians were hitting better than previous games, the A's strategy of walking and stealing seemed to pay off. A's 5, Indians 3. The Indians took second place in the tournament.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Photo Albums
I have started cleaning up years of digital photos and uploading to Shutterfly. It seems they are one of the better photo services still offering unlimited storage. Picasa, Photobucket, and Flickr all have limits. But Shutterfly is still unlimited - for now. And I can get 4x6 prints for $0.10 ea, which is almost as cheap as Wal-Mart online ($0.09, I think.) Also, Shutterfly has a flexible, feature-rich, user-friendly utility for not just sharing photos, but for building an entire photo album web site.
Check it out and let me know what you think.
McFarland Photo Album
Check it out and let me know what you think.
McFarland Photo Album
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Nathan's First Pitch
Tuesday, March 10 - Union Bank Indians AAA played their second game of the Mabelvale Pre-Season Tournament against some team with blue uniforms. In the third inning, I was surprised when team manager and grandfather Joe Johnson sent 8-year-old Nathan McFarland to the mound for his pitching debut. It seems the family members in the stands were more nervous than Nathan, for he struck out his first batter - a lefty - and his second batter. The third batter hit a high fly ball to left field, which was unfortunately mishandled, resulting in a base hit. Nathan walked batter #4 before striking out the fifth batter. I've seen experienced pitchers do far worse. Good job, Nate!
Monday, March 9, 2009
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