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Got a Second?

Posted by Billy Britt on December 31, 2008 at 4:42am

Happy New Year!Congratulations! You and I have been given an extra second of time. Yes, indeed, a leap second was added to atomic clocks worldwide at 23:59:60 at Coordinated Universal Time (UTC) on December 31, 2008. This is the 24th leap second to be added since the first leap second was added in 1972.The reason for this addition is to keep the worldwide atomic clocks synchronized with the Earth’s rotation because the Earth rotates at a slower pace over time while the atomic clocks do not slow down. Therefore, the leap second adjusts the clocks to ensure that civil time (clock time) is as close as possible to mean solar time.Of course, this does not really mean that we have gained a second more to live; it just means that navigation is more accurate. This accuracy matters greatly if you need to fly the Alps in an airplane with no windows or if you need to drop a bomb squarely on the forehead of your enemy.However, time is a curious thing, philosophers and scientist have given great effort and thought to exactly what is time. Yet, with all their preponderance, time is ever so elusive as there are many types of time.Human time—in other words— the moment in time we have to live and experience seems to be not only relative to events but also to the intellect of the individual who perceive its value. Why does time fly when we are having fun and pass so slowly when we are suffering a sickness?Perception and participation, no?All of life’s moments pour from the same cup yet we experience them differently.Many years ago, I had a teacher who chastised a tardy student by calling him a robber. The reason he used the term was because the boy has stolen time away from us by being late to class. The teacher explained that everyone has a limited amount of time and when one wastes another’s time he is thief of a precious gift.Sometimes I think the beginning of wisdom may be the realization that we are only here on earth for a limited time. When we begin to see that what we do in the unforgiving moment or in a joyous season is what matters most we then start to not waste our opportunities.Even the way we talk about time is telling, we spend time but we also kill time. We pass time and yet we keep time. However, when we act as if there is a “time for every propose,” then we come nearer divine time.As we say goodbye to 2008 and hello to 2009 we are faced with what is lost and what is gained. We may well remember a saying from the poem De rosis nascentibus, “Non-collige virgo rosas,” (“Gather, girl, the roses.”). Knowing that while our time is finite we still can seize each moment. So, my friend what will you do with your new second?

Christmas in Florida - Dedicated to Davis in Chicago

Posted by John Richeson on December 29, 2008 at 6:30pm

Merry Christmas to Davis Crowell who's freezin in Chicago. Taken last week on Christmas day. This is why I moved here shortly after surviving the "Blizzard of '78" in at HQ in Ohio. I remember so many of us wanted to move to California and Florida after we graduated Craig kinda reprimanded us. But I told him I had a sister here I wanted to witness to. It worked. He said cool, see ya. I am still on "assignment".

Lemon tree in the back yard.

I got a gift of Para Sailing for Christmas from my daughter. We went yesterday. She's never seen snow.

In Memory of My Friend, Vanessa Kaye Travers (WC 16)

Posted by Chere Poole on December 29, 2008 at 5:00am

This is a poem I wrote for my friend, Vanessa Travers in 2004. She was a true friend, and always inspired me to be a better person. She had the greatest capacity to love I've ever seen. I had a lot of respect for her and the Word she lived, and count her death as one of the greatest losses in my life. I post this poem as a tribute to her.

A TRUE FRIENDby Chere L. PooleIt’s an unexpected callOn an over-hectic dayIt’s someone who hears it allNo matter what you have to sayIt’s a helping hand extendedWhen you stumble on the wayIt’s someone who lifts your burdensWith no cost for you to payIt’s a shoulder you can cry onWhen you cannot stop the tearsIt’s someone who understands youAnd helps dissipate your fearsIt’s an ally in your struggleStanding faithful at your sideIt’s someone who doesn’t judge youWhen your faults you cannot hideIt’s a place to store your secretsAll your velvet-covered dreamsIt’s someone who believes in youWhen your goals all hopeless seemIt’s a heart you can rely onHonest, caring, tender, trueIt’s a heart you can abide inIt’s a true friend, it is youCopyright 2004, all rights reserved

Bless the Children

Posted by Michel Archer on December 23, 2008 at 5:29pm

Hey, there it is. Wow, I wrote this a few years ago and now I spot some technical mistakes, but it still gets the job done. Hope you like it.Bless the Children: Appeared in AlienSkin Magazine Jan. 2007My name is Glob. Around sundown today I went above ground to get groceries, and this is how my trip went.I was a little miffed when I went to the TV/Stereo shop on the corner. I just wanted to catch a glimpse of the news, find out what’s going on in the world, y’know? So I’m watching, and the next thing you know, this dumb show comes on about these lousy little reptiles that get doused in nuclear waste then, ‘Bammo!!” They transform into heroes! Man, like, what if they were nuclear tapeworms? Would they eat the bad guys from the inside out? They should have made a show about us. At least we used to be human.My girlfriend, Bucket, says we still are. I don’t know.So anyway, I’m standing there, my hood is pulled over my head when the manager yells, “Hey, kid! If you aint’ buyin’ get out!”And I thought I wasn’t a Rhodes Scholar.Well, I already had my chain jerked a little anyway, so I spun around and stuck out my tongue. The dude screamed like a girl then started saying swear words about the costume shop down the street.“Go on!” he cried. “Get!”I said a few words about his over-sized rear and took off.I took my usual path down the alley that runs adjacent to S. Michigan Avenue, Chicago, USA.Chet’s Diner was my first stop. Sitting on the back steps were the four bags he leaves everyday. I leaned forward and smelled the soup. Mmmm, minestrone. I peaked in one bag and saw he had included a can of V-8 especially for our girl Loosey. She needs extra vegetables, but her jaw doesn’t work very well. I also noticed the bags were sturdy and had handles. Good ol’ Chet.Of course, before this had been Chet’s place it had been Sal’s, and Tawan’s and also Larry’s.. But hell, those guys couldn’t deal and became real inconvenient. Inconvenient people die. My mother taught me that.So old Chet is a good boy. We help him, though, it’s only fair. Like the time he was robbed. Friggin’ burglar stole a ton of money and equipment. Expensive stuff. Police couldn’t find him, but we did. Chet got his stuff back and I let Patch abort him. He didn’t live long. A good deal all around.Next stop was the church. Father Hillary left a small box of medicine we needed with a note attached; ’Will have extra clothes, blankets and batteries tomorrow. The ribbon is in with the medicine.’I felt excited and tore open the bag for a look. There it was, a strand of velvet, all ruby-red and soft. It was a present for Bucket. Man, I knew she’d love it. She loves tying things around her head. I also saw Father Hillary had included his usual present: a Bible. I gave asnort of laughter and chucked it to one side. That Father Hillary, sometimes he’s a hoot. Always talking about the great life you can find just reading the Bible. Maybe it hasn't dawned on him that I'm dead, so what's a dead man need with a life? But the Father is still a pretty good one. I’ll have to carve a lot of flesh before I find a replacement for him.I put the box in with the juice and headed for my last stop, Wilma’s Natural Food Mart. She was supposed to leave us organic apples, but when I got to her back door, I didn’t see anything.Disgusted, I pounded on the door. Wilma opened it and peaked out. She’s thin with gray lines in her hair, always wears blue jeans and acts like she’s doing me a big, fat, favor. She’s got it wrong.She looked at me and stuttered, “Oh, its-its….y-you.”“You-you? Who-who?” I talk like that to her. Freaks her out. “Say who I are.”“I’m not calling you that-that name.”I told her, “My name Glob. I wanna apple.”“You’re not a glob.”“Liar.”Her eyes said she was a little scared and guilty at the same time. I thought, N.G., Wilma, N.G.“Look,” she told me opening the door. “Come in. We have to talk.”“I wanna apple,” I said and waddled in after her.She lead me to her office which was a real mess, let me tell you. The paperwork on her desk looked so jumbled you’d have thought it had a life of its own. There were bills held in check by a marble paper-weight; a spiked message skewer over-flowed with messages and order sheets covered her desk like insulation. Being an orderly kind of guy, I was just plain friggin’ appalled. And this slob was supposed to help me. Tsk, tsk.She sat in her rotten old desk chair and motioned for me to sit.I told her, “Glob stand.”“Uh…all right,” she stammered. Then she smiled in that same kind of way Bucket does sometimes. Except, when Bucket does it, she’s usually congratulating a two year old for pooping in the right spot. I aint’ two years old. This chick spoke like we reached some major compromise.“All right…Glob. Stand. But we will talk. I’ve been letting this arrangement go on too long. You must see that you need help! My church has a youth Pastor who could help you to...”“I wanna apple.”Her eyes flashed, “Stop talking like that! You’re not stupid! I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you! But you do need spiritual help and physical help. The swellings are there, but you could see a doctor! You could be a normal boy!”Her words punched a button with me so big and touchy I wanted to nail her right there. But I was in a bad position. I kept cool and moved closer to the desk.“Gimme apple! Gimme now!”She rolled her eyes to the ceiling and said, “That’s it young man! You can’t be more than fourteen and if there are other children like you down there…don’t you see? They need a doctor! Jesus didn't save your lives just to have you hold them captive in the dark till they all die or don’t you care?”Inside my anger flared like an exploding volcano. Didn't care? She had NO idea! But since she was about to die, I told her the truth. I leaned forward on her desk and gave her my most intelligent smile. “Wilma, Wilma, tsk, tsk. My clan is officially dead. Or so you’d expected when a person is aborted. But a few of us made it, as you well know…”I never used this voice with her and I could see her face go slack with fright, as if she had just learned a fatal secret. She had.Wilma gasped, “You’re normal!”I grinned and yelled, “Surprise!” Then snatching up the paper-weight, I slammed it into her temple and she slumped to the floor. I felt the side of her neck and found no pulse. But it didn’t matter. I felt in my pocket for my switchblade, pulled it out and snicked it open. Grabbing a fistful of her hair, I yanked her head up and slit her throat. No hard feelings, but when I kill someone, I make sure they’re really dead.I waited at the back door to her office. I could hear the clerk out front yakking on the phone and having a grand old time. No one else was in the store. I slipped out. Near the back door I found the sack of apples and oranges she was supposed to leave for me before she came down with the bleeding heart sickness.I grabbed the sack and left.When I reached the big drain pipes that lead to the warm rooms I was feeling pretty good. There was that steady drip-drip of water from down deep and I could hear Patch singing. The sound made me smile. A few weeks ago Blade found a radio and we heard this song he’s been singing the chorus to ever since. Echoing up the tunnel I heard over and over, “Oww-ooh! Werewolves of London! Oww-ooh! Werewolves of London!” Sometimes I think I want to break that radio. If I didn’t love him, he’d drive me crazy.As I came to the open area where we’ve been trying our hand at mushroom growing, I called, “Oww-ooh, yourself! What’s up, Patch?”He looked up quickly from watering our ’crop’ and his rocky road face slapped into a grin. “Globbie! Globbie! Buddy! Bring ’em good grub? Patch hungry!”“Lot’s of grub, Pal,” I told him holding out the sacks.As I stood there telling him about things ’upstairs’ and the inconvenient topsider I disposed of, I thought of Melanie. She was the first of our kind. She told me how Dr. Clayton pulled her out from under a stack of dead ones and took her home before the Others could catch him. She said Patch was the second one he took and he was a real miracle baby. Patch was a saline abortion and a mongoloid to boot. Melanie said Dr. Clayton told her the baby made it because he wanted to live so bad. Melanie also told me the Others came and took Dr. Clayton, but she and a few others made it down here into the tunnels and we’ve been surviving ever since. What about Melanie? Well, she died. I miss her.Patched was declaring loudly, “Them Others not gonna get you! You tricky guy, Globbie!”I slapped him on the back and cried, “You said it, Dude!”Patch opened his mouth all the way and gave a big HA-HA-HA! Kind of laugh as he picked me up and gave me a big, fat, wet kiss on the cheek with that mouth of his that still looks like he’s melting. I don’t care. I’m not exactly a cover boy myself. “Patchie love his Globbie,” he said. “You my hero!”“Ha! No hero’s down here, buddy, we don’t got no nuclear waste.”He looked confused, but laughed anyway as he set me back on planet earth.I asked him, “Bucket in the warm room?”“She in warm room. Loosey in second warm room. She sewin’. Loosey good sewer. Blade made it back in his tunnel. His family all home. You family all home. Two clans, all home.”“Good. We’ll eat in just a little bit. I’m gonna see Bucket.”“Okay,” he said cheerily and went back to tending the mushrooms.Down in the first warm room I found Bucket sitting despondently in the rocking chair holding another dead one. His name had been Spider. I had to pull Spider out of her arms and stick him in one of the shoe boxes we call the out file. Patch and Blade take care of the burials everyday after supper. When I came back she was still crying so I told her to knock it off.“People die all the time.” I pointed to the one filled crib we had in the room. “Look, that kids making it. No legs, but he’s making it. Take care of him, why don’t you? And then there’s the toddlers. Come on, Bucket, there’s other kids to think about.”She looked up, her face all wet and red and says, “Doesn’t it bother you, ever?”She only eleven so sometimes she asks stupid questions. I told her, “Yeah, it does. Now stop crying.”And she did. Bucket is pretty tough and when she isn’t, I make her be.I found the box of medicine and pulled out the ribbon Father Hillary gave to me. She saw it and brightened right away. I handed it to her and made sure not to help her as she wrapped it around her head.I think Bucket might have been pretty. But she’s so thin, no matter what we feed her. And there’s the thing with her hands being all twisted around, but she never asks for help. I know when she was aborted they left her in a bucket to die and maybe that's when her hands got messed up, but I'm not sure.She sort of leaned her head to one side and kind of laid the ribbon around it and tied it that awkward way she does.“Is it nice?” she asked.“Real nice, Hey, listen, “ I said walking over to the crib.. “I got a great name for the baby.”Bucket walked over by me and we both looked down at the tiny, nameless boy. Another throw-away. We give him antibiotics, keep him warm and under the lights and we feed him. If he makes it, he makes it. He might even be mentally normal even without the legs. We heard he was a c-section like me, so there’s a chance they didn’t hurt his head.“Check him, Bucket,” I said. “The kid is black, no legs. I say we name him ’Slam Dunk.’”Bucket’s eyes became wide. “That is mean, stupid, and cruel.”I shrugged, then said with mock seriousness, “But my dear, the world is a mean, stupid, and cruel place.”Bucket stared at me, blinked, then started laughing and I knew the name would stick.As we returned to the tunnels for dinner, I heard Blade and his clan coming down. He always yells, “Loosey! I’m home!” And then Loosey sits in her wheelchair making with her big, slobbery laugh. She loves it.They brought more clothes, medicines and vitamins from their suppliers. Blade broke out some cans of fruit punch, we dished up the food and ate. So that was pretty much my day until after dinner when Blade took me aside.“Hey Glob,” he said. “Outer tunnels, okay?”The outer tunnels were where you went if you wanted to discuss something important without any ears listening in. In the tunnels, Blade, lit a candle and said, “I heard them talking again today, man. Them up worlders that talks about this dude Jesus. I’m telling you, Glob. We need to find this guy.”I backed up. Blade had no idea what I'd been through today with Wilma calling up the name of this Jesus guy and all. “Blade, Dude," I told him. "If I hear one more stupid word about Jesus today, I'm gonna be sick. Or pissed and I don't think you should make me mad. Look, just don't worry about Jesus. I mean, Jesus aint’ even real, He’s like some story they use to make little kids be good. There’s no freakin' Jesus! Okay?”“Glob! I thought so too at first! But these people, they’re talking like He’s alive right now and how they talk to Him all the time and Dude, they even say He answers them. So like the Dude must be real, right? Either that or these guys are like seriously crazy!”Blade has black hair, slits for eyes and a fairy tale attitude. But he takes such good care of his clan, I didn’t want to bring him down to hard or too fast. “Look, man. Why do we want to find Jesus? What’s He gonna do? Is He good for anything? I mean, I go to Father Hillary’s all the time and it's Bible this, Jesus that. But he's still got all those homeless and poor people hanging around talking about Jesus. And I've heard the rich guys that come around the church with their talk, too. THEY don't talk about Jesus. They talk the same hoo-hoo you hear in the strip joints, so what's the big deal?”“Man, I don’t know. But I’ve been listening and you know, this guy, He walks on water, He makes food appear out of nowhere, He makes sick people better and dude! He even raises the dead! Glob, you gotta look at us. We need some help, man! We got nothing’ but kids dyin’ and its no good, man.. This Jesus guy, I heard He even fixed people who had this disease where their arms and legs were falling off. Man, like he didn’t care. He was in there huggin’ ’em an’ stuff. And they say He even makes people…okay don’t freak when you hear dis….but I heard He even makes people…born again! Now aint’ that some freaky stuff there, man? Don’t be mad or nothing’, just think about it, okay? We find this guy and maybe things work out, huh?”I didn’t know what to think, so I just muttered, “Yeah, no problem,” and headed back for the tunnel.That was all earlier. I’m in the warm room right now and everybody else is sleeping. It’s my turn to have the watch over Slam Dunk and I have to feed him in about twenty minutes. He gets an ounce of formula, one eye dropper at a time.Now that its quiet, I’ve been thinking about today like Father Hillary's Bible, how Wilma wanted to ‘take care of us.’ And now even my boy Blade with his Jesus talk. I think about it and wonder if maybe they're right, maybe we do need to get out of here and get help. But man, it’s the upper world there. What are they going to do to freaks like us? They’re the crazy ones, they’re the reason we’re down here at all. We’re like all those alligators people used to flush down the toilet; maybe we'll grow into big monsters and rise up and kill them all.Except...I look at my hands and feel my face. I don’t know what all those bumps mean, maybe they mean I’m dying. I don’t know. I feel okay.But say we even find this Jesus, what’s He going to do? Wave a magic wand and make us all normal? It just sounds like an upper world thing…and I hate the upper world.Still I got to admit, it would be cool to look like a normal guy and get out of the dark. I know my Bucket would like it. But then what’s this born again stuff? I wonder how Jesus would set us up for that?Born again? Hell, I wasn’t even born the first time.How about I leave it at this: if you’re out there, Jesus, let me know.I gotta go feed Slam Dunk.

When you submit to the CBA..

Posted by Michel Archer on December 21, 2008 at 10:44am

CBA: Christian Booksellers Association.Like I said sometime ago, a publisher asked to see the complete manuscript for my novel, The Mysterious Calling of Mike Malone.Some explanation: Mike Malone was written in response to a class of 4th grade boys I had one year who said they hated reading. I asked what would they wanted in a story, they named their elements and I wrote the story. It was a Christian school so a boat load of Biblical idea's were perfectly fine.In the story Mike is the son of a fallen angel who's greatest dream for him is to become the anti-Christ. In his own weird, psycho fashion, he loves, or at least thinks he loves Mike. So, there's all kinds of weird stuff going on from demonic possession, to alternate worlds, ET's, armor of God stuff, (Cuz, come on, somebody has to draw a sword!)So, I packed this up and sent it to this nice little CBA house. I get a long letter back explaining that they don't want to publish it...yet, because they are a new publishing house and don't want to go too controversialright now.Okay, here's what happened...lol! Publisher's rarely read manuscripts. In fact, the only time they read them is if the Reader gets all excited and insists on it. The Pub was real nice and asked if I wanted to see the Reader's report, so I said, Sure.Reader reports are usually short because reader's rarely read an entire manuscript themselves. They might hit the first chapter, maybe two, then make a decision. This girl read the entire manuscript and wrote a page and a half report.Most educational. Allow me to share a few things and maybe save someone else from making these errors.First, she said, 'The author has Mike, a believer, suffer from demonic possession at certain points. she established that this could be a strong tendency due to his parentage, however, Christianity teaches that Believer's becoming possessed is impossible. I don't think our readership will want to see this."So-learned that most of Christianity thinks they can't get possessed. Got it.Second- she wrote several times..."I had to keep reading even though this book upset and infuriated me. I couldn't put it down."So-probably why the Pub chose to wait.Third- "The author seems to suggest that the fallen angels are actually our UFO's.. I'm sure our readership will disagree..."So- I blame Paddy Heron! Lol!Fourth- "The author uses quasi-swear words like "Freaking." Some people will find this offensive.So- No freakin' way!What did I learn? When submitting to the CBA, say nothing that will upset the straights. And remember that when your character is terrific agony he must especially say nothing that would upset your maiden Aunt.Oh yeah, she did say something that totally stunk...but here it is..."The author has a scene where the MC (Main character) is suffering demonic possession and a Catholic priest prays for him to be at peace and somehow that is enough for the demon to exit the MC. Not only does this sound doctrinally incorrect, but it makes the Catholic priest sound more power than the MC's Protestant Pastor/friend. I KNOW our customers will disapprove."Now, am I going to give up because some t-shirt Christian is afraid her reader's will be upset? No, I'm too dumb to give up.However, I'm not all that upset with the T-Hsirt girl. she is, after all, trying to satisfy the Christian reading market. It's her job.But despite the fact that there are all sorts of Christian references in Mike Malone (you can't avoid them), I've spiffed it up and am sending it to a secular YA market. In the mean time, I'll let the CBA guy just hold it. I still own the rights, anyway.Also, a friend told me about this...http://www.firebrandliterary.com/query-holidayFirebrand is a literary agency and for the next month they are reading manuscripts, first chapter, don't bother with a query. They deal mainly with YA works, but if you have a mss laying around, may you'd want to give it a shot. It would be great to have an agent after all of this.Well, thanks for letting me ramble.

Editor's Choice Winner

Posted by Michel Archer on December 19, 2008 at 6:36pm

Awright! i just found out I won the Editor's Choice Award for my story, Paint it Black. It will come out in the horror anthology, Coach's Midnight Diner, next month.

Indiana Campus Photo Blog: Deer Hunting

Posted by Dan Haas on December 19, 2008 at 8:00am

Graphic content.Viewer discretion advised.

My second year at the campus, I got to go out and do some deer hunting on public lands. I didn't get any time for scouting, as I recall.... maybe one afternoon, I'm not sure. But I got to go, and that was a blessing for me.....

I got up and was dressed and downstairs by 4 AM, and went down to the main kitchen. I forget who was down there, but I remember praying with her before I went out. My heart was truly thankful for the time afield, which I had missed in residence, and my prayer overflowed with thanksgiving. When she prayed, she “amened” my thanksgiving, and added, “And Father, may he nail one today!”

With one day to hunt and needing to be at work in the afternoon, I'd needed to put one down by 10 AM at the latest. OK, 10:15, I decided. When I dropped my deer, I looked at my watch, and it was 10:15 exactly.

I worked one block in the meat processing department under the able tutelage of Greg White. We quickly turned my prize into steaks, chops, and roasts.

src='http://i204.photobucket.com/albums/bb77/DelawareDan/Indiana%20Campus%20--%20deer%20hunt/06.jpg' />

John Niesz lends a hand.

Greg White, above.I also made my jerky that year in the warming ovens of the main kitchen. Three different kinds, and plenty for sharing.

Merry Christmas to you all!

Posted by Bryce Shirley & Marilyn Shirley on December 16, 2008 at 7:36am

Christmas 2008Hi. My name is Harold Meatloaf Shirley, honored family dog—Harry to you, friends (and to Tom and Dick.)Family is a big topic this time of year, and my adopted family has asked me to write a bit on the subject for this year’s Christmas letter. I have lost touch with my bio-family. It is an understatement to say that I’m quite fond of my uber cool adopted family, but I would like to say a few words about my bio fam.My bio-dad was a red-hot chili pepper poodle with severe ADHD. My bio-mom was a lovely vanilla-colored cocker spaniel who loved me with all her heart. She licked me every day and taught me the way of the spaniel. She probably would have exposed me to poodle culture, but really didn’t know my dad that well. She was quite a lady and was probably the only one who could have even tolerated my dad who was really a tramp. Kind of a fairy tale when you think about it.I’ve been honing my begging recently. Been a serious beggar all my life. I’m always the guy under the table. I crave all kinds of meat, and cookies and ice cream are always appreciated. (I’m just telling you that in case you visit and want to bring a little something.) Felix, our cat, teases me about being a plus-size dog, but why would I trust the opinion of a dirty hairball.Felix is a beast, constantly dragging in mice and birds for dinner. He actually stores them in the dining room which, when I think about it, makes sense. But it’s not like he lights the candles or anything. He’s so dumb! Why would anyone spend a nano second hunting down food when a Fancy Feast is only a can away? I would kill for one bite of his food, but, no—They fill my bowl with cardboard kibbles, which I only resort to when the cupboard is bare, the fam isn’t there or they forget to throw the poor dog a bone. But the idiot cat, Sir Nibs, often turns up his nose at a delectable, moist, mind-numbing can of Captain Hook’s Seafood Buffet and goes off and licks himself. Dude! Have you ever licked your hand, rubbed behind your ear and called it a bath? Filthy animal. Cats lick themselves and actually think they’re clean, while a dog spends hours at the groomers, bathing and getting a shave. I even own my own toothbrush and have pork-flavored toothpaste. Not so the cat. Ever tried to brush a cat’s teeth or give him a bath? Neither has anyone else. So who would you rather kiss, me or the cat? Nuf said.I belong to AARF. I get a monthly scratch and sniff magazine. My favorite books are Hamlet and The Big Softy Dog. My favorite Christmas carol is “Hark the Harold Angels Sing.” The cat’s favorite is “Felix Navidad.” My favorite movie is “Babe,” which is about a pig who emulates a dog so well that he is most highly revered and rewarded. I’ve gotta say, though, The Dog Whisperer has got to speak up. He thinks he’s so clever. Whisper to Cujo instead of Goofy, dude, and I might be impressed. I love Snoopy, a uniquely sensitive, bright and thoughtful example of God’s creatures. “Animal Planet” really says it all, though. Oh, except for my final, final, all time favorite, “All Dogs Go to Heaven.” Again, nuf said.I have been with my adopted family for almost 13 years and can truly say they know the way to my heart—yea, through my stomach. But I think our relationship has proven wrong the old saying that a dog is man’s best friend. We are fam-i-ly.We’ve been living in hi-def this year. Had to get a new dictionary just to get up to speed. Really went for broke, broke being the key word. My dad said he got his clock cleaned on Wall Street. It sounded like Wall Street did such a good job that I’m going to take my clock there too. Dad is thinking of hanging out his own shingle very soon. I offered him space in my dog house. He bunks in with me now and then anyway. Give him a holler. My mom continues to advise creatures great and small including Dad and me. Give her a holler too, if you dare.Bobby still works at the University he graduated from. He says he’s going to do that until they pay all his tuition back plus Jimmy’s because he went there too. He’s very playful, irreverent and funny, a maverick, if you will excuse the term. He never, never fails to have plans, but if he doesn’t, he makes some. Jimmy is half way through law school at the University of San Diego where he has learned to play golf. He also invented indoor golf (not mini-golf) using a sand wedge. He dog-legs the course around breakables. The fam played nine holes at Thanksgiving. Jimmy is expanding it to 18 at Christmas. I sniff the course. He is absolutely, unshakably determined and makes fun where there is no fun. He lives with our loyal broski, Donovan, who loves me too. Emma went to Italy and France for two weeks last summer with her school. She got permission from Mom and Dad when they were drunk. I missed her and hope she doesn’t do it again. Home is where the dog is. She is a senior in high school. She has some friends but she only does things with them that I can’t do. Otherwise she would pick me. She is an animal lover, a true angel. She loves the whole fam--but me best.Do hope your stockings are filled with bones and everything bright. Hope Wall Street fixes your clock this year if it cleaned it last. Hope your innards are filled with joy and peace and bacon strips. My family and I wish you peace, love and laughter. Felix just says, “Get fuzzy.”Love and Merry ChristmasHarry

Indiana Campus Photo Blog: Family 14, 15, and staff photos

Posted by Dan Haas on December 14, 2008 at 8:00am

This photo is only 800k; I also have one posted on the internet at Photobucket in much higher res (80 MB -- takes much longer to load!). The address for the high res photo is here.The following are closeups so you can see the faces. Please let me know if you know the names of anyone with your Comments, and I'll edit to include the names under each closeup photo. Use descriptions of their clothing if necessary. (I remember Tom Mausolf told us to wear something colorful... it was fall, after all. This accounts for the hats and such.) It was twenty years ago, and my memory is not what it used to be.Left Group:

Top rear, with hat and glasses: Greg White (pianist; meat processing); To the R of Greg is Tony Kleiwer (farms) in blue jacket with glasses. His wife Ruth Kliewer is the adult in the bottom right corner, with the kids.Left Center Group:

Far right and halfway back, in tinted glasses is Classie Smith, F14. Her son Titus is far-right, second row. Behind Classie is Manny Ju. Top left corner, with son on his shoulders is Steve Lyon, F14. Below Steve is Dominique Mwambi, from Zaire. His African name is Tchilumba. To the left of Dominque and a little lower is Chip ____ and his wife. Chip worked in the main kitchen with Joy Niesz.Center Group:

Center-front adult in blue hat with white patch is John Niesz and his wife Joy (brown jacket). Joy ran the main kitchen. To the R of John is Tom Mousolf (Corps Coordinator) and his wife Linda (both with blue jackets) and their children. To the R of Linda is Mrs. Paul Brooks (Work Coordinator) who is in the next shot. Rear right corner with plaid shirt and white cap is John Zaabadick and wife Donna to the right. To the left of John Is Mary Hollenbeck, wife of Galen Hollenbeck. Galen is to the left of Mary, with open shirt collar. Right in the center is Pat Lubomski, F15, in red hat, glasses, mustache. To the right in teal scarf is his wife Laurie.Right Center Group:

Left front adult is Paul Brooks.Right Group:

Front row adults are Nate and Nancy Pillsbury, F14, with their two boys in front of Nate. Upper left quadrant with black hat with white patch and mustache is Leonard Yonkman (F14) and his wife Alice in pink jacket. Extreme upper left is Azure and her mother Amber (with purple scarf) -- can't think of their last name at the moment.My family was in the center left photo.

My wife Liz has our daughter Sarah on her lap. I have Lauren on my lap, and Rachel is just below Lauren. To the L of Rachel is Elissa Lyon, daughter of Steve and Carla Lyon.

Indiana Campus Picture Blog -- maple sugaring

Posted by Dan Haas on December 13, 2008 at 3:09pm

Rachel, Lauren, and Sarah HaasMy kids wait in Adam's Alley for their maple sugaring lesson.

Tony Kliewer has the tractor loaded up and ready to go. Just pull on the much-needed boots and head out.

Sugaring is done at the spring thaw when the sap starts running, and you can count on the ground being mushy (note the tire tracks, and later, the muddy boots.)

There's those muddy boots

The sap tastes like water – hardly sweet at all, and is very thin. If I recall, it takes 20 gallons of sap to make one gallon of syrup. Maybe forty gallons. I think twenty. You just boil it down. As you can imagine, you need a lot of ventilation to remove the steam from the cookhouse. Notice the fans. The cooking vessels are heated with steam from the Powerhouse across the street.

Indiana Campus Picture Blog -- Summer of '87 barbeque and waterslide

Posted by Dan Haas on December 13, 2008 at 3:00pm

John Niesz cooks up some of our own farm-raised beef and pork for a summer BBQ, afterwards, we set up an ersatz water slide for the kids.

Niesz with Don Stout, Family 13

That's Wilson Whited, second from left.

Dan Haas, John Niesz, Tom Gombarsic

sliding down: Rachel HaasToo much fun!Comments welcome. Name people you know; correct my spellings.Got a bunch more to upload, but experimenting with the technique.

Anyone have a Thank You Dorothy/Rhoda album???

Posted by Judi Klug on December 12, 2008 at 7:22pm

I'd like to borrow a Thank You Dorothy, Thank You Rhoda album set to make into CDs for my parents for Christmas. Anyone willing to loan me one? I shall return it with CDs for you, too.Thanks!God bless you all and Merry Christmas!Judi 760-535-9291 judiklug@earthlink.net

The Elegance of Life

Posted by John and Janet Ruiz on December 11, 2008 at 5:30pm

Greetings Internet Pardineros! Post-Thanksgiving afterglow is providing the kindling for some more warm, tasty times - Christmas! and New Years! We do enjoy this time of year and hope it's sweet and meaningful for you too.We finished up the tree a week ago. It takes about a week to do the whole thing. It's a time to savor and not rush. Ours is filled with memories. Right on top is a star, the classic "Star of Bethlehem".We've winnowed through our ornaments over the years and have a tidy collection - picture frame ornaments that have our family in them, taken from years past. Some of the flour and water dough ornaments we made one year we didn't have the cash dough to buy much more. (the remainder made some tasty sugar cookies that year!) That was the year we bought this plastic star and light we've put on top every year since. It cost two bucks and at the time was an investment. It's a keeper. Some the kids have made, some we've been given. A range of different types we've bought. It's more a history of years past than anything. Each year we add something new, as we did this year remembering it ain't the cash, it's the stash of love we have to draw upon that fills our stockings and trims our tree to overflowing every year. That and maybe a few choice items to go with them. : )Choicest was last Sunday - we went with my sisters to see Johnny Mathis! The man, the myth, Mr. Misty himself. He performed wonderfully and magically, for a man of 30. Not bad considering he's 72. He looks as good as he sounds and he sounds better than money in the bank. We loved him. He did a sprinkling of holiday favorites and all of his classics. The crowd was his - age wise mostly over "a certain age". Basically all young at heart and 100 per cent fans of his music. Nearly every song I could hear people around me - "Oh!! ooooh....yeah...." in recognition and appreciation as he began each song. Hanky time on "12th of Never". Two songs that bring out the kleenex for me - James Taylor singing "Carolina On My Mind" and that one. Great night. GREAT night.Which got me to thinking again how full of hope our lives are. Good times remembered, yes. Good times expected - ditto. The future's still as bright as the promises of God, and the future has a past. I'm in it and diggin' it immensely. I hope to remember these days well in times to come.Which brings me to "elegance". I like the word "elegance" and I think it covers "Life" very well: refinement, grace, and beauty in movement, appearance, or manners. Life at it's best moves with it, like a bird in the breeze - effortless, easy, sweet. "I am come that they might have life and have it more abundantly..." More than a chaotic accumulation of stuff we can't take with us and then it's over when we least expect it. Meaning, purpose, cycles of God's grace moving like the tides in wonderful elegant motion.LIfe is very cool when it doesn't suck. Unfortunately it does for a lot of people on this planet. Would they will all come to know both the here-and-now and the hope of life in Christ. And maybe get a better leg up on everything else too. I'm very fortunate to have what I have and be where I am. I'm often reminded of that and that life sucks so bad when it isn't cool. A lot can go wrong and does for a lot of people. We can't fix everything in the time we have but in the time I have I hope to make a dent. This season is a strong reminder for me of that.Life is so precious. Elegant, so well put together there's clearly no alternative that comes even close. A sign of the pure creative existence of "God" if ever there was one. Who else could have come up such an idea? Never to be outdone in it's complete satisfaction as a state of mind. : ) It's definitely a cool thing if only (but not only) because it's so unique. Each one of us is the only one of us there's ever been, the only one of us that is, and that will ever be again. That's weird, considering the possibilities. Weird but very cool. We are the one-time unique instance of "us" and our life that there will ever be. After you - no more the same, ever. For some reason that's always given me pause since it first really hit me and when it did it hit me like a runaway train. Fortunately I survived to reflect on it, which I do from time to time, like now.The fact that "I' and "you" are non-repeatable is immense. In some ways that's probably good. : ) But in all ways it shows to me the incredible diversity and facility of God. We keep comin' on, one at a time, in pairs or quads but every li'l baby says the same thing "Hi! It's me!", never "Hi! It's me - again!" Each one loved for the simple fact that they're here, with nothing to give but the life they have."For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son..." An incredible statement to ponder. And in that, a future promised for each of us.Chistmas is a cool time to consider again all God has done and what He holds for each of us in our own future, one filled with His good gifts and blessings, all to be known in their own time and season. And as always, the future has a past...Our best to you and yours. Happy Merry Christmas and Stuff!

“I Got the Music in Me” ... Poetic Reflections on Music and a Recent Piece

Posted by Lonnell Johnson on December 9, 2008 at 3:04pm

Dear Friends,I want to present to you something I wrote along with comments. Click on the link below to read it. Enjoy!Lonnell Johnson”I Got the Music in Me” ... Poetic Reflections on Music and a Recent Piece

Boomers of the Wellness Revolution unite for health

Posted by James Tad Geiger MD on December 7, 2008 at 1:53pm

www.myvemma.com/juicermd

December 08 Just released the CD "The Bible on Healing"

Posted by F. C. Farwell on December 7, 2008 at 7:12am

The Bible on Healing CD is now available by mail order or mp3 download. The CD contains most of the records of healing and deliverance in the Bible and God's promises of healing that are read (not taught). It has professional uplifting background music so you can listen when you get up, during you day or before bedtime.$12 by mail$8 mp3 downloadI can be contacted at fcfarwell@gmail.com about this CDGod bless you richly,fc

www.myverve.com/juicermd

Posted by James Tad Geiger MD on December 6, 2008 at 8:14am

The Sweet Smell of Success: Health and Wealth Secrets

Posted by James Tad Geiger MD on December 6, 2008 at 8:12am

Tues mornings at 6 am - waking up with God - November 2008

Posted by Doug Kaufman on December 4, 2008 at 4:07pm

Every Tues morning - five of us men get together at 6 am in the basement of a jewelery store to grow together with God. There is a lawyer, a cpa, a jewerly business owner, a guy that helps run a charity, and me (a realtor). I joined this small, intimate group recently - I'm amazed at how five guys with diverse backgrounds and active schedules can wake up to God. We are honest with God and honest with each other. We are bonding. We pray, read and study the Bible, share our joys and our many pains.I am the only individual who is a former twi'er - so I tend to listen more than talk - on purpose. To be involved with other men and being able to participate freely has been refreshing and healing. We can even disagree with each other. No one is kicked out, threatened, reported, or told they have 'spiritual problems'. (Almost sounds like the Nazi's - doesn't it). Knowing that I don't have to use the old twi vocabulary or preformulated beliefs is liberating.God is profound. God will work in your life, sometimes when you don't even ask. God will nurture and allow you to grow. God can and will use a variety of people and events to bring a person closer to Him. God will get your attention.One of the guys there is having difficulties with a second business in real estate development. With the state of the real estate market, real estate development is no way to live. It can be a life changing event, and not for the better. The emotional pain of the real estate market has forced him to rethink his life, and to consider a meaningful relationship with God.I was recently separated this past summer. My friend with the real estate difficulties gave me a hand in dealing with the initial separation and ultimately suggested to redirect my attention back to God. It's not a quick fix, but it's right.Both of us refocused because of circumstances we could not control. Pain can be such a marvelous teacher. Without the pain, we would not have sought the relationship with God that we currently have.These are my initial reflections of the past few months. As I continue to wake up to God, I will add to this spiritual diary - praying that it will help at least one other person.Doug Kaufman12/04/2008

The Church by Side of the Road

Posted by Dan Haas on December 3, 2008 at 2:00pm

All is lost when love is lost. Nothing else really matters. To love is the First and Great Commandment, and it is the Second. That's why it's “like unto” the First. When the religious leader to whom Jesus was explaining these things asked, “and who is my neighbor?”, he was further testing Jesus' understanding of good and evil.Then, as you know, Jesus told him a story of a man who “fell among thieves,” was beaten, and left for dead by the wayside. Several people who saw him there crossed to the other side and continued on their ways, and in Jesus' story, they were all religious men, of the religion that worshiped the True God. Then a Samaritan came by.... you remember the rest.Remember the encounter between Jesus and a Samaritan woman? One of the things he told her was, “Ye (Samaritans) worship ye know not what.” And yet he used a Samaritan as an example of one who was “neighbor to him who fell among thieves.” In modern times he might have used “Muslim” or “Unitarian Universalist.” (And “Corps grad” as one who passed by, possibly?) It's a marvelous record, isn't it? It wasn't so important that one worshiped accurately, if one didn't do the right thing, as things came up in life's journey. And of course, “love” is the right thing. You can't go wrong if you're loving.Paul writes of Gentiles who did “by nature the things contained in the Law,” and implied that these put to shame certain Jews who thought that they were teachers of that Law. What things contained in the Law were these Gentiles doing? Well if all the Law and the Prophets hang on Love1 and Love2, it must have been loving things that they were doing. Likewise today, many non-Christians put to shame those of us who claim Christ as our Lord, but do not the things which he said.Part of the new covenant, foreseen and foretold by Jeremiah, was that God would write his law upon their hearts, and that they would know him. Paul affirms this in what we call the first century, when he wrote to the Corinthians that they were living epistles of Christ, upon whose hearts living God had written with his spirit. Who were these people about whom Jeremiah prophesied, that they would be unto God a people, and he their God? They were people who loved. Jesus said that that is how one would be able to tell who his disciples were. They loved. And who are these people today?One definition of love which is given in the scriptures (“Herein is love”) is that “he laid down his life for us,” speaking of Jesus, of course. It's in 1John3. Jesus is contrasted with Cain, who took his brother's life. And in that context, John writes that he who does not love his brother is a murderer. An extreme statement, but upon reflection, exceedingly true. Say you steal from someone. You're taking their “life.” They spent part of their life earning their wage (after taxes) to purchase whatever you stole. You were a life-taker, just like Cain. Not loving. Now it is a matter of degree. Stealing is taking another's life "in part."But “we ought to lay down our lives for the brothers (for others).” That's what the Samaritan did for the man left for dead. He took him to the emergency room, paid them, and promised to pay whatever else might be needed for his care. He was a life-giver, and the life he gave was his own. And when we give of our lives, unless we literally step in front of a bus to save someone, or something like that, we give "in part." God promises that we will reap what we sow, both in kind and measure, multiplied.The religious people who passed on the other side of the road may have been on their way to prayer, or worship, or Torah school. Today we might say they were possibly on their way “to church.” Little did they know that “church” was being held on the side of the road, that day, and they missed it. And as much as they did not do it unto that man, they did it not to God. How can they say that they loved God, whom they had not seen?

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