Category Archives: It’s My Life

I am a Workout Worm

I’m horrified. Ashamed. Smitten with self-loathing.

Last night, as Pam and I drove home from working out at the YMCA, I realized that I had committed a terrible faux paux. After 20 minutes on the arc trainer, I left…without wiping it down. All of that sweat just left to marinate. The guy beside me probably reported me to the Y authorities. I well remember the Seinfield episode about this.

Dare I show my face there again?

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Incrementally Saving the Environment

And now, a lesson in coffee preparation technique.

I use cream, and I always put it in first. That way, when I pour in the coffee, it automatically mixes. You don’t need to find one of those cheap plastic straw-things to stir it up.

Starbucks, being upscale, doesn’t condescend to using plastic tubes. Instead, they provide wooden sticks to elevate your stirring experience. They’re like popsicle sticks, but skinny and longer. Of course, I never use them, because my first stop when I enter the store is the cream counter. I pour Half & Half into my travel cup, and then go get my decaf. When they ask, “Leave room for cream?”, I say, “It’s already in there.”

I did that today. When the girl brought my coffee, she said, “Are you saving the environment one little wooden stick at a time?”

“What?” I asked. I had no idea what she was referring to.

“There’s another guy who always puts cream in first,” she explains. “He says he is saving the environment one little wooden stick at a time.”

Hey, it’s something.

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Scanning Our Library

DeliciousLibrary.jpgPam and I bought Delicious Library, a $40 Macintosh program for inventorying your library of books, videos, and music. You can buy a scanner (which we did), for scanning bar codes. It then transfers the info via bluetooth to your computer, looks up the item on Amazon, and downloads info about it–publisher, cost, synopsis, thumbnail photo, etc. Real slick. So far, I’ve scanned in over 700 books. Still got three bookcases to go. Plus all of our videos and music CDs. I love this program.

BTW: No, we don’t own Kill Bill. That screenshot is from the Delicious website.

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Notes from the Gun & Knife Show

On Saturday I went to the Fort Wayne Gun & Knife show. Bought five bayonets for my collection, which now numbers 43. Added bayonets from Chile, Egypt, Italy, Siam, and Spain (though I already had a couple Spanish bayonets). I now have bayonets from 23 different countries, nearly 20 of them from the 1800s. My first one was Grandpa’s Civil War bayonet.

It’s a fun hobby. I like bayonets because there’s nothing fragile about them. You can drop them, or even throw them, and no damage. They’re made for the battlefield, after all. And you wonder: what kind of action has this blade seen?

My favorites? The pristine Danish sword-bayonet with the leather sheath, dating to 1860. The US Spanish-American War bayonet, with six notches on the wood handle. And the mammoth Swiss sawtooth bayonet. Oh, and the little Uzi bayonet…and the German WW1 sawtooth…and the French Lebel…. Oh, they’re all neat.

It was interesting, at the Gun & Knife Show, to see two booths for political candidates. Any guesses no who those two candidates were? They were John McCain and Ron Paul. The McCain booth was makeshift, but the Ron Paul people really had their act together.

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The Church World, Home of the Incompetent

Years ago, I heard Jerry Ballard, the head of World Relief, talk about taking Charleton Heston with him on a tour of some of their mission relief work in other countries. He said Heston was impressed with the World Relief workers. Heston told Ballard, “They are committed, and they are competent.” To an extent, Heston was surprised that they were competent. If they were truly competent, wouldn’t they be doing something… meaningful? Like advancing up a corporate ladder, promoting and selling some banal product for excess-addicted consumers? Instead, these competent people were laboring away in a situation devoid of recognition and economic reward.

It’s interesting how, in some people’s eyes, working in the church world sucks out the credibility of your competencies.

I’ve been a writer, editor, and graphic designer for nearly 30 years. A web designer for ten years. Been doing these things professionally. And I’m a student of my crafts; I don’t just run on intuition, but study the techniques and theories of written and visual communication. It’s part of being a professional.

And yet, throughout my career, I’ve encountered people–both within and outside the church universe–who assume that I’m less skilled than someone who does the same things in the corporate world. If I had worked a few years for an ad agency or a PR firm, or in some other corporate capacity, I might be artificially elevated in people’s eyes. “Steve’s good at what he does. He used to work for an ad agency.” If I had a smidgen of “corporate communications” on my resume, no matter how minor, it would do wonders for my professional credibility.

But no, I’ve always worked in church communications. Therefore, my skills must be sub-professional. We need to draw our sense of identity from God, not from the views of others. But sometimes I just want to tell people, “Hey, I’m really good at what I do.” And, in fact, I just did. I’m afraid that I inhabit a Rodney Dangerfield world besmitten with the paranoia of Joe McCarthy and the insecurities of George Castanza.

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A Most Unusual Christmas

So it’s Christmas Day. Pam and I slept in ’til about 9:00, and have been reading most of the day. She polished off a Nora Roberts book, and now is well into another book, which she’ll no doubt finish tonight. Me–I’m reading Brown’s Requiem, an excellent hard-boiled detective novel by James Ellroy (better known for writing L.A. Confidential). I’m almost done.

I heated up some vegetable soup I made on Sunday, when Pam’s family came over. Pam and her brother and sister spent all day Saturday at Chuck’s condo, continuing to divide things up. (I got a nice heavy tan coat with some black grease stains on one shoulder, and a fine London Fog jacket with fur lining that will fit nice after I lose a bit more weight.) The question, “When are we getting together for Christmas?” came up. It kind of depended on when Jodie had the kids, and this weekend was it. So how about tomorrow? At our place? Agreed.

And so, at 5:30 on Sunday, after Pam and I gave the house a quick picking-up and vacuuming, everyone showed up at our abode. Everyone except Chuck, of course. The previous Sunday, we were all at the funeral home for the viewing. So that made the get-together very different. And yet, it was no mopey affair. We had a great time. Lots of laughter. Kelly brought a superb potato soup, Pam made her delicious ranch beans, and my experiment with vegetable beef soup actually succeeded. Throw in a Papa Murphy’s pizza, and we had a real party.

The only living person missing was Spencer, Jim’s oldest, who had to work. He’s a college student here in Fort Wayne, living on his own. Chuck had a couple cases of corn beef hash, and most of it went to Spencer, who loves the stuff. We also wrapped up a case for him to open. I had wanted to see that, but alas. However, on Monday, Jim brought Spencer to our house, along with one unopened, wrapped, very heavy present. Spencer unwrapped it on the kitchen table, and we all got a kick out of it.

At 4:00 that afternoon, on Christmas Eve, Carolyn and Allen came over, along with Connor and Dennis Michael, who was born on Tuesday. Less than a week old. They were actually all in church on Sunday, which is practically unheard of nowadays–bringing a newborn to church on his/her first Sunday of life. But there they were, and I got to hold Dennis. What a joy.

Now, at our apartment, I got to hold Dennis much more. We unwrapped gifts for each other. I played with Connor, who is now practically running and has a strong affinity for grabbing cat food (not to mention cats). He fell, butt first, into the water bowl. Nice.

Then it was off to church for Anchor’s Christmas Eve service. The sanctuary was set up in the round, with the piano in the middle. I played ten minutes of carols as a prelude, then we sang a bunch of carols. Tim did something for the kids, then gave a meditation for everyone. Then a couple more songs. Forty-five minutes–that’s how long the service lasted.

At home, Pam and I watched two Season 2 episodes of The Unit, on DVD. Love that show. Then we opened presents. We hadn’t gotten much for each other. This has been a very unusual Christmas. We’ve both been ill during the past few weeks, and since Chuck went into the hospital on December 7, our lives have really been thrown off-kilter. But Pam managed to find me a bunch of hard-boiled detective novels, and I got her a batch of eight or so Christian novels. I actually managed to find books she hadn’t read. There were a few other minor gifts. And that was sufficient. We’re at the age where we just don’t want or need much. Books are always good.

And that’s pretty much how our Christmas has gone. Right now it’s 5 p.m. I’m gonna call Mom and Dad, see if they’re home. Go visit them a while.

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Snowblower Blues: Resolved

When I got home yesterday, the driveway and sidewalks had been snowblowered with my very own heretofore dormant Troy-Bilt. Thanks, Dad. I can be so helpless without you.

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Snowblower Blues

Last year I bought a big, powerful Troy-Bilt Snowblower. Just chews through snow like it’s something softer than snow that I can’t think of at the moment.

With last week’s hecticness, I didn’t get the snowblower ready for the storm that dumped unacceptable quantities of white stuff, unbidden, upon our driveway. Despite my best but futile efforts, I couldn’t get the snowblower running.

And so, I reverted to the lowly shovel. It’s actually quite a marvel of technology. No batteries. No gas and oil to mix. No string to pull. Just pick it up and start heaving. And then go to the chiropractor.

Meanwhile, my lovely Troy-Bilt stares at me from the garage, keeping warm, still hibernating, refusing to pay its keep. As I shoveled, just imagine how much disgust I was swallowing.

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The Grave Risks of Playing Ping Pong

I just signed up for a Table Tennis tournament on December 9. The registration form includes a liability release statement I had to sign. I laughed out loud as I read the first line, in which I, the undersigned, acknowledged that:

“1. The risk of injury from the activities involved in this program is significant, including the potential for permanent paralysis and death, and while particular skills, equipment, and personal discipline may reduce the risk, the risk of serious injury does exist.”

Permanent paralysis and death? From playing ping pong? Maybe I should get my will in order. Mabel, one of my coworkers, suggested I get a note from my Mom.

Actually, this is for what’s called the State Games of Indiana, and other events include track and field and a variety of other sports. So it was a blanket release. But still…isn’t my courage impressive?

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I Have Arrived at Senior Citienship

The place I get my oil changed went out of business, so I tried a place in Huntington during lunch. I told them I wanted the full service oil change. The guy told me it would be $29, and then asked if I was 50 years old.

“I’m 51,” I said.

“Then you get $3 off because of the senior citizen discount.”

So, today I received my first senior citizen discount. I’m not sure how I feel about it.

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