Category Archives: It’s My Life

Telephonically Challenged

I have a message on my cellphone, but don’t know how to retrieve it. We programmed in a password, but it won’t take the password. So I’m stumped. I’m wondering who called, and if it’s important. Maybe somebody died.

I am telephonically challenged. My cellphone has a calendar, but I can never remember how to get to it, so I don’t use it. My stress level rises whenever I need to look up a number in the address book, and the thought of programming in a new address freaks me out. My wife just starts hitting buttons automatically, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. At times like those, I resent her transcendent competence.

My cellphone will take pictures, handle text messages, do voice dialing, show me a log of all calls placed and missed, and even let me play games. It’ll surf the web if I want to pay for the privilege (which I don’t). But I’ve not done any of that stuff. I just want to punch in a number, hit SEND, and have somebody answer. The other thing I’ve mastered is recharging the battery. I nailed that task long ago. The sense of accomplishment still gives me goosebumps.

I’m not exactly technologically inept. I do a lot of complicated stuff. I can handcode HTML and CSS. I’m proficient with Photoshop, InDesign. Dreamweaver, and many more high-end programs. I’m great with MS Word tabs. I work with Javascript, XHTML, XSLT (the absolute worst). I design Filemaker databases with complex scripting. I know all about the various graphics formats (PNG, JPG, TIF, PSD, GIF, etc.), with attendant info about dpi and resolutions and what works better on the web and in print. I can bend Blogger and Movable Type templates to my will. I oversee a network of computers (including five servers), design and maintain a half-dozen websites and several blogs, get databases to display on the web, and much more. I love FTPing. I talk enough Geek to fool people into thinking I am one. When I surf the web, I often look at a page’s source code, just to see how they did something.

But I can’t figure out my cellphone. And while we’re at it, I don’t like FAX machines, either.

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A Miscellaneous Day

This has certainly been a church-focused week, which is not something I ever begrudge. I grew up in a family that was always doing church stuff, even long before Dad entered the ministry (which was my junior year of high school). “Church” is what we did as a family. Sure, we went on great camping vacations, saw most of the 50 states, Dad spent plenty of time in the yard playing catch with me (both football and baseball), and we did lots of other stuff as a family. But the main thing we did was “church.” That’s a model I greatly, greatly value. And it’s something which has certainly carried over into adulthood for me and my two brothers. In fact, the period of my adulthood when I felt the most restless and discontent was when I was part of a large church which didn’t particularly need my attention in the way smaller churches have.

Anyway, Wednesday night was prayer night–nine of us sitting at a table in the back of the church sanctuary, praying for each other and the needs of the church. I’ve really enjoyed this time.

Thursday was music practice, after which I continued practicing until 10:30 with Tim and Terry, our guitarists. On July 29, we have a gig at Seekers Coffeehouse, as part of their summer-long Battle of the Bands. We’re gonna win this sucker.

Friday night we went to Mark and Tami Solak’s house for a youth/young adult outing. Heavy thunderstorms came through, but things cleared up enough to throw frisbee in the yard for a while. We did a lot of laughing around their kitchen table. And I also had some great individual discussions with a couple of them, including a way-too-young guy and girl who are expecting a child in the next couple of months, and have a multitude of things stacked against them. They’ve been on my mind, and in my prayers, for quite a while now.

Tomorrow night we’re having the worship team over for a cookout, which means we spent today cleaning up the house and yard. It’s now 10 pm, and I just finished spraying out and sweeping the back porch and outside patio (thank you, Daylight Savings time!). Now I’m sitting here soaked in sweat, which is an image you’re glad I’ve imparted, and I don’t imagine you’ll ever use my keyboard.

Got something in the oven, and have just enough time for a quick shower.

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Let Me Cut You a Deal

I received my annual call from the police benevolent association. This organization has had a terrible track record as a charitable group, with a huge percentage of donations going toward fundraising costs. However, I was impressed that right away, the caller identified the organization, and gave the street address and an 800 number. Then he began his pitch.

I let him go for a little bit, and then butted in with my usual “thanks but no thanks” speech, which includes an affirmation of them as an organization but also gives my reason for not wishing to support them. So when the guy paused to take a breath, I said:

“Thanks for calling. I know you are a worthy cause. My wife and I support a number of worthy causes, but we prioritize them and we decided not to include your organization. So I’m afraid we’re not interested.”

Usually, this confuses fundraisers, because they’re not accustomed to encountering thoughtful givers, preying more on impulse givers. But this guy was ready for me. He said:

“That’s great. We find that people like you are among are best and most reliable supporters. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’m going to cut you a deal. For just ten dollars….”

And that’s where he totally lost me. “Cut you a deal”–those were his exact words. I immediately interrupted him and said, “We don’t ‘cut deals’ when it comes to charitable giving.” And I hung up.

That really irked me. Giving, ministry, service–you shouldn’t do these things because you get some benefit out of it. I’m not going to support something just because they made me a great deal–sent me a book, included me in a drawing, or signed me up as a member at a lower-than-normal cost.

Should we “cut deals” when it comes to tithing percentage (“Hey, 10% is a bit steep. How about 4%? Would that work for you?”). Or maybe tell people, “Life is hectic, so we don’t expect people to attend church every Sunday. If you can make it two Sundays a month, that’s good enough for us.”

When Jesus told the rich man that he needed to sell everything he owned and give it to the poor, the man walked away. And Jesus let him walk away. Should Jesus have said, “Okay, maybe that’s a bit much. I’ll cut you a deal–sell just half of what you own and give it away. No, I can do better than that. Let’s make it just a third. Do we have a deal?” But no, Jesus let the guy walk away. Jesus don’t cut no deals.

With this caller from the policeman’s association, I stomped away.

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A Post Just to Post

Well, at least I put in one day of work this week. My jaw remains swollen and ouchy. I took a pain pill just before arriving at work, and for a while felt a bit woozy. That may or may not be a correctly-spelled word.

At 3 pm I met Dad at Lowe’s to help him get their new washer and dryer. My Dakota comes in handy. At their place, I upgraded the system software on Dad’s iMac and got it connected to their new Brother all-in-one printer and connected to the internet with Dad’s Juno account. Dad totally renovated our basement, put in a couple ceiling fans, and wreaked numerous other improvements upon our house. My handyman skills stop at installing system software and drivers.

The local paper in South Bend did a big article on Mom and Dad, focusing the story around the Pelley murders 17 years ago. The paper said Dad was 74 and Mom was 75. Actually Mom is 69 (always 20 years older than me). She thought the mistake was funny. Good for her.

There, aren’t you glad you read this?

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Fun Times with Oral Surgery

Although there is no biblical precedent for it, this morning I allowed an oral surgeon to plant a titanium post in my jaw, into which a fake tooth will someday be screwed. He was supposed to do two posts, but some complication related to lack of sufficient bone mass prompted him to put the second one on hold to a later date, which I can look forward to with eager anticipation.

As I type, my jaw is swollen, and I just finished swishing around for 30 seconds a truly horrible fluid which, I suspect, was bottled a few hundred yards downstream from a Russian petrochemical plant.

Tomorrow, the oral surgeon assured me, will not be a banner day in the anals of Dennie pain management. I can hardly wait.

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Skyline and White Castles – Tastes of Heaven

Yesterday Pam and I ate at Skyline Chili before leaving Indianapolis. Today, we stopped in Anderson on the way home from Indy and got a ten-pack of White Castles. Life doesn’t get any better than this.

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Freakin’ Freezin’

I went to Taco Bell for lunch today. It was freezing in the dining area. Being astute and thin of skin, I’ve noticed that this is common of many fast food restaurants. Why do they keep the temperature so cold for diners? My theory, formed many years ago, is that the thermostat is housed in the kitchen area. To the teens who dwell there amidst griddles and fryers, it’s uncomfortably hot. Since they hold dominion over the thermostat, and the last thing on their minds is customer comfort, they crank up the A/C. It’s not about us; it’s about them. This has been my theory about Fast Food Frigidity. I believe it with all my heart.

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Rethinking My Ten Years Alone

Sometime during my senior year of college I met Steve Charles, a new reporter for the Huntington Herald Press. I don’t remember how we met, but our personalities clicked, we touched base a few more times, and I asked him if he’d be interested in getting an apartment together after I graduated in May 1979. He liked the idea.

We called around, checking possibilities. One lady kindly asked, in sort of a roundabout way, if we were white. Steve grinned at me, and then launched into a speech about federal housing laws and the inappropriateness of refusing to rent to blacks and that he might report her to the appropriate state commission (which he named; being a reporter, he knew that stuff). The poor lady backtracked, the conversation ended, and Steve and I had a good laugh. This, I knew, would be fun.

We found a second-level, two-bedroom apartment beside the river, behind Johnny’s Drive-In. I enjoyed Steve’s company. We talked about writing and sports and politics and all kinds of fascinating stuff. It was a continuation of my senior year, when I lived off-campus with Clyde and Rick. Steve and I had a great time together…for one week. Then he was offered the editorship of a newspaper in Wickenburg, Ariz., and quickly took off. Johnny let me move into one of his one-bedroom apartments. And thus began ten years alone. Ten years before I married Pam, in 1989.

I’ve always considered those good years. And they were: full of ministry, lots of accomplishment, lots of productivity. It would be easy to say, “I wouldn’t trade those years for anything.” But this afternoon I found myself reflecting as I lay in the grass outside reading the chapter “Alone” in the wonderful book Blue Like Jazz, by Donald Miller. Miller describes himself as a recluse who functions well by himself, who leaves parties and church early because he’s not real social. “The presence of people would agitate me. I was so used to being able to daydream and keep myself company that other people were an intrusion. It was terribly unhealthy….The soul needs to interact with other people to be healthy.”

It’s not his best chapter. But it sure made me rethink those ten years. When I came home from work or church each night, my interaction was done. I read lots of books. I watched lots of TV. I wrote freelance articles. But wouldn’t a roommate have been great–some guy with whom I could talk about world events, Big Ideas, and Christ? As I lay in the grass this afternoon, looking up from the book, I decided, “Yes, that would have been better.” It’s a new admission.

I’ve always eaten lunch alone. In those first few years after graduating, I found that difficult. I would go to Arby’s and see a group of Huntington College employees eating together, laughing, discussing Big Ideas. Some would be peers I had attended college with a year or two before. My heart would yearn–I cannot tell you how strongly it yearned–for one of them to say, “Steve, come eat with us. Pull up a chair.” Then I could participate in the intellectual stimulation that I had enjoyed throughout college. But as I discovered, though we had been classmates, we now inhabited different worlds, and I was not part of their world. I was never, not once, invited to join them. It hurt. It puzzled me. But after a few years, the yearning stopped. I would read my magazine in one booth while they crowded around a couple tables and made merry. I made peace with eating alone, with not engaging in stimulating discussion about politics and what-have-you.

I’ve now eaten by myself for 27 years. To an extent, I now value eating alone, viewing another person’s presence almost as an intrusion. I take a magazine–The New Yorker, Wired, Newsweek–and read. Just me and the written word. I absorb tons of information. But is this solitariness healthy? If I had 27 years under my belt of interacting with other people over lunch, wouldn’t I be better off? And wouldn’t it be great if Pam and I worked in the same town and could meet for lunch?

Miller writes, “Jesus wants us interacting, eating together, laughing together, praying together. Loneliness is something that came with the fall. If loving other people is a bit of heaven, then certainly isolation is a bit of hell.”

I’m amazed at how much I talk to Pam. This guy who spent so many years alone now becomes Mr. Chatterbox when I get home and Pam asks how my day went. I never tire of talking with my wife. Is this the real me? I think so. At least, it feels more comfortable than the guy who spent so much time alone. It’s good that I realize that. Was I perhaps lonely during those years, and just didn’t realize it? I always told people I enjoyed being alone, that I functioned just fine by myself. But I now suspect I was a bit self-deluded about that. I function better when I’m engaged with other people.

Tonight Pam and I will watch the NBA finals together. It will be more fun than watching alone. And tonight, I will appreciate that fact a little bit more.

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Elegant and Complex

This morning at Starbucks I got the Guatemala Antigua coffee, a mild brew. The chalkboard described it as “elegant and complex.” It tasted good. But now I feel like Angelina Jolie. Please make it stop.

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Prettying Up Our Yard

Wow, today was a hot one. Pam and I worked in the yard for several hours this morning. I hauled in four yards of mulch (two pickup loads), and we spread it all over. But it about did us in. We’re getting old, after all. Or I’m getting old. My wife is, of course, young and lovely and vibrant and full of energy and soon to read this entry.

Yesterday, too, was a day for yardwork, as we both took a vacation day. This week we planted about ten new bushes, brought in a couple loads of dirt, tore out two huge but ugly bushes, sprayed weeds, and committed other acts of improvement upon our suburban home. So right now, I’m feeling quite a sense of accomplishment. And I do believe it’s well-deserved.

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