Dream Diary

I dreamt that I was riding a motorcycle though country roads. It was a fine fall days, the trees were yellow and red with brilliance. It was cool but not cold, and the sun provided a moderate amount of warmth. As I rode I had a need to relieve myself. Seeing a rest stop, I roared into the parking lot, but was going too fast. I pitched the bike sideways, and with the engine roaring did a berm shot off a curb, slid into an overflow parking lot, and did a 180 degree turn to perfectly position the motorcycle into a parking spot.

As I exited the parking lot, a guy pulled off the road into the parking lot and then cut me off! Let's just say I was offended. He had a really odd Triumph, it had a fairing and fenders that made it look like a boat. It was painted a pale blue. He then roared off in the opposite direction I was going.

Regaining my composure, I continued down the road. The road ended at a "T' interesection. I was intending to turn right, but there was a police officer at the intersection who was waving everyone to the left. I asked him if I could turn right and he said no, the road was closed.

I turned left and continued riding beautiful country roads. I soon realilzed I was lost, but the day was beautiful and I was not concerned. As the afternoon waned and evening approached, I realized that I had no idea where I was.

Soon realizing I needed clear directions or a place to stay for the night, I took a side road that led to a farmhouse. I approached, knocked on the door and an older, skinny, decimated farmer wearing bib overalls and missing a few teeth opened the door. I explained my predicament and he drawled out that I wouldn't find my way in the dark and it would be best, and I would be welcome; to stay the night.

As I entered the house, I realized how run down and dilapidated the house was. The only light came from a kerosene lantern, and as I was ushered to my room I could see no sign of electricity. Making my way through broken and beat up furniture, I went to the room I was offered. The room only had a dirty mattress and a couple of blankets. Nothing else. I felt a sense of creepiness and lay down. The mattress had been placed next to a wall. I turned my head and I could see some marks on the wall. With the moonlight streaming through the window, I could make out the words...and numbers....

It was my name, and a cell phone number that I used to have! OK, now I'm really creeped out - terror descended on me and I resolved to not sleep but keep on guard. Eventually though my eyes grew heavy with slumber and I fell into a restless sleep. I woke startled, and realized that the sun was coming up. With the advent of daylight came a sense of safety. I got up and walked into the hallway. Into a deserted house. There was no furniture, no old farmer, not one thing in the house. Puzzled, I walked through the house and into the room I slept in. There was no mattress, no blankets. On the rough wood of the wall, I could see that my name and cell phone number still remained!

I thought it best that I leave, and leave I did -as fast as I could.


And then I woke up.

Breakthrough!

We often think of breakthrough as a positive term, as in a scientific breakthrough that will help cure a disease, or overcoming an obstacle of some kind.

To an epileptic, the word has a different meaning. On December 30 2008 I had a breakthrough. Pushing through the medication I take, a seizure reared it's ugly head and broke almost 3 years of dormancy.

I was at work, and discussing a very technical database issue with two colleagues. We were scribbling on a white board, and I distinctly remember difficulty making out the words and following the conversation. I went down unconscious on the floor. I've learned to stay away from DBA's.




Next thing I knew I was being pulled out of an ambulance at the hospital and seeing my wife. I'm not sure why but seizures make me emotional. When I saw her I started crying and said "honey I had a seizure". She reassured me as I was brought into the ER. I quickly returned to manly man status and didn't cry anymore.

The doctor monitored my vitals, pronounced me as being OK and had me stay for an hour or two while I recovered and came fully alert. Sherry took me home and then I slept the rest of the day. The only side effect is that I bit my tongue again. Actually, let me tell you truthfully - I LACERATED my tongue. On the bottom of my tongue you could see 3 clear puncture wounds from my bottom teeth. On the top of my tongue was a nasty wound where one of my incisors shredded my tongue. It hurt so bad and it was a week before I could talk clearly again.


One thing that was amusing was the customer service survey I received from the ambulance company - was the ambulance clean and organized? Dunno, I was unconscious. Did the ambulance arrive quickly? Dunno, I was unconscious. Were the paramedics excellent, good, fair or poor? Dunno, I was unconscious. But it was very nice of them to send the survey.

Then, on Feb 3rd 2009 I had another seizure. I felt kind of weird, and went home to work at home the rest of the day. As I worked I began to feel somewhat nauseous and light headed. As my consciousness began to fade I realized that I was entering into a seizure. I remember vaguely thinking that I need to go lay down. I laid down but things got blurry - I believe I dipped into unconsciousness briefly, but only for a short period of time. I got up and returned to my home office to resume work.


I was apparently still somewhere in the midst of the seizure. I tried to work but was having great difficulty. Then a tangible, horrific sense of utter despair gripped me. I struggle to find the words to accurately describe the blackness that descended and enveloped me with a sense of dread like I've never experienced before. Think of every adjective you can of evil - malignant, horrific, terrifying, confusion - it was that bad.

The grand mal seizure that requires an ER trip I liken to lightning, where the second type of seizure was more of what I liken to rolling thunder. It wasn't a petit mal, but not a grand mal either. Sometimes I think the grand mal lightning strike might be preferable, as with unconsciousness comes the escaping of the blackness of the thunder.

Where do we go from here? I've been put on another medication (Keppra) in addition to the Lamictal I'm already taking. Seems to be working fine. However, I want to find out if at all possible why the breakthrough happened. Might be time for another MRI and EEG. Of course, the results may be disturbing:

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

In my continual efforts to be a good husband, I often make a mental note of Sherry's plans so I can then recite them back to her at the end of the day and ask something like "How'd your lunch appointment with Angelina Jolie go?".

Now, I have an uncanny, almost preternatural ability to notice if a woman has styled her hair differently, a new cut, style, color or any other number of categories. But wait, it's even weirder - I don't fixate on hair, I never consciously note how "Jane" has styled her hair and if it is different. It just happens.

So anyway, Sherry had told me that she was getting her hair done one fine morning. Being a good husband, a sticky note was attached to my grey matter, ready to compliment her at the end of the day.

The hour arrived, and I gasped as she entered the room - "The cut, the style - the way that it frames the delicate features of your face". I was in fine form, pontificating perfectly with vocabulary of the vernacular delivered with astounding articulation.

She said "I rescheduled my appointment". Nothing was done to her hair. I was humiliated.

(apologies to CB)

Dream Diary

I dreamt that was driving past a house we used to own. I should clarify that it was a house we owned within the dream, it is not a real world home. It was a small house that we had bought for an investment. We flipped it and made a little tidy profit. It was vacant and I stopped to reminisce.

There was a concrete walkway that connected the house to a second structure. It was big like a barn, but more like a large shop, but kind of had the elements of a home. In the dream even when we owned the house for some reason I had never gone inside. It's hard to describe and the exterior is still a bit fuzzy. But it's the inside that counts.

I opened the door to the shop and found myself on the landing of a small porch, that had a ladder going up into another level, and stairs descending to a lower level. The room I was in was like a typical garage, with tools, yard equipment, junk and more junk. No suprises. I decided to go up the ladder to the level above me.

The ladder was backwards. What I mean be this is that most ladders are positioned at an angle to aid your stability and stepping up. This ladder was in some weird way backwards, where your ascent was on the 'wrong' side of the ladder and it was very awkward climbing up. Up and up I climbed, as I moved up the ladder seemed to grow in length so the illusion was that I was not making any progress. Finally though I poked my head into the upper level, and pulled myself up into a cavernous room. It defied the dimensions defined by the second level. There was no furniture, no sheetrocked walls, no flooring. Just framed in with dark and aged wood. The weird thing was that all of the framing was elaborately carved with bizarre symbols. The room was so large that I could not see the far walls, they just went on and on into darkness.

A feeling of evil pervaded the room. Like the mist of a fog it seemed to close in on me. The terror grew and I went down the ladder as quickly as I could back to the level I started on. The strange feeling dissipated and I decided to descend to the lower level.

I walked down a short flight of stairs, maybe 10 steps and turned a corner and looked into a large room. It was not as big as the upstairs room of terror, but it was larger than the exterior again would define. It was carpeted with a deep, olive color shag rug. It was completely empty except for one thing, relatively large on the far side of the room. I walked over and as I got closer I could see what looked like an easy chair with a body in it. Arriving in front of it, I saw that there was an elderly woman who looked to be dead. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open. I jumped out of my skin and beat feet to get out the door and back into the sunlight.

And then, I woke up.

What I REALLY want for Christmas

We all know the status of our economy. I believe that leads to an awareness that a charitable act can carry even more weight than usual. Sherry and I are so thankful for a roof over our heads, jobs that support us and friends and family that add so much joy to our lives. There are people this year, and maybe some that you know; that have lost jobs, and perhaps even the roof.

What I would really ask for Christmas in 2008 is that you would join me in bringing some relief into a needy family's life. My friend John has set up a link on his blog that you can make a donation. I would humbly ask that you take a few minutes to consider giving. I believe you will be blessed knowing you have made a difference. I think you'll be glad you did.

John's post is eloquent and touching. Please find it here.

What I want for Christmas

Every year I add to my wish list for Christmas. I have never received anything I have asked for. This year will likely not be an exception. I find that my wishes always drift to wheeled things (I thought about asking for a baby elephant but the costs and care would be egregiously out of reach). I like things with wheels and engines, engines and wheels. Previously I have written about my love affair with classic American muscle cars. I have grown to appreciate the little high revving foreign cars (and their drivers) but no Tokyo Drift for me.

But I digress - Sherry, I want a Brammo Enertia. Yep, Blah Blah Blahg is going green. It's a nifty little good lookin' scooter with an electric battery for propulsion. Here's a nice comment from the Enertia website:

Form doesn't follow function, they are the same. Simple, elegant design that looks as good sitting still as it does silently speeding through the next street corner. Every part of the Enertia was designed with the rider in mind.

Check it out:

Snappy looking ride, eh? Now, with a top speed of only fifty (50!) MPH she's not going to get you out in front of some other two wheel monsters, like a Suzuki Hayabusa with a top speed of around one hundred and ninety (190!) MPH, almost 4 times as fast and turn heads on the freeway. But, with 100% of it's torque available off the line, it's going to pop a nice wheelie.

To impress your green friends, be sure to mention that the Enertia has a Valence Lithium Iron Phosphate battery.

Sherry, if you can't afford the Enertia, would you get me one of these? It may not be as green but it sure looks like fun.

The Art of Tim

My pharmacist's name is Tim. I value him not only for the hallucinatory respite from the harsh realities of this vale of tears we call life, but that his art is pleasant and calming to my troubled soul. OK, I'm being a bit dramatic - but I really do like his art. Here's one of my favorites:

K-9 Corps - New Recruit

Charlie continues to amaze and astound us with his recollections of being in charge of an immense metropolitan police department.

Today's installment allows us civilians to obtain an insider view of the hitherto cloaked K-9 operations. For purposes of confidentiality we'll just refer to the dog as "K-9". Let's listen to Charlie recount his first experiences in the 'early years' of K-9 deployment:

"My first experience with a K-9 police dog wasn't with one of those expensive, extensively trained dogs. Instead, I had a deputy who had a pet Weimaraner. He talked the Sheriff into using him as a K-9 dog, claiming he had a good sense of smell and could track anything.

The first time we used our new K-9, it was on a burglary in progress. The suspect fled on foot and was hiding in the area. We had a really good perimeter set up around the burgler with about ten Deputies on site.

All eyes were on our new K-9 as he left the police car to start the track. The dog immediately ran over to a neighborhood dog and started humping it. Watching a working dog in a professional-looking reflective vest humping a citizen's pet is a little embarrassing.

Another time we had a burgler surrounded in a house. Our K-9 Deputy insisted he send in his dog to apprehend the bad guy. He got on the loudspeaker and shouted "Come out or I'll send in the dog".

After saying this about five times with no results, he released the dog. Our K-9 ran through the front door and then jumped out one of the rear windows to start chasing birds bathing in the backyard birdbath.

When we got the burglar out of the house he asked us what was wrong with our dog. Even the bad guys were wondering about this dog.

Another time we went to a bank alarm and brought in our fearsome K-9. It turned out to be a false alarm and all the employees wanted to pet the dog. As we were talking to the employees, the dog walked over to a plant in the lobby and peed all over it."

Save the leg! Don't take the leg!

It was a fine Thursday afternoon. The sun was out and the water was warm. We were out on Kim's boat, all set to enjoy a late afternoon/early evening ski on the Columbia. Smooth water, nice munchies, good people. What could possibly go wrong? Here I am - confidently surveying the scenery as we looked for just the right spot.

Now I'm in the water, that tiny little dot 70 feet behind the boat, on the right hand of the picture. Momentarily the ski would lift me into a marvelous display of jumping the wake and touching my elbow as I skate across the water like Tonya Harding on steroids:

I hadn't skiied in probably 10 years. But it's just like riding a bike, right? I was never as good a skier as my sister, but our years at Shasta Lake afforded us many opportunities to slalom to our heart's content. You just pop up out of the water and the river or lake is your playground. Nay gentle reader, my fifty year old body registered a violent protest. As I attempted to get up on the ski (for the second, or was it the third time?) I felt a ripple in my right hamstring, and instantly my leg flooded with pain. The kind of pain where you know you are severely injured. Kim pulled the boat around and Kristar helped hoist me out of the water.

Kim made an ice bag, and I sat on it all the way back to the dock. I limped up to the parking lot, the pain continued to increase. I had beads of sweat on my forehead but made into the driver's seat. We were in Scappoose, and it waves of pain washed over me as I headed home. I had a terrible night, and the next day I asked Sherry to take me to urgent care. The doctor ran through one of those "does this hurt?" examinations. I had a fleeting moment where I wondered if my massive muscles would hinder her poking and prodding, but it seemed to be going OK. Until she hit the tear. I'm embarrassed to admit this but I screamed, literally; and tears came to my eyes. It hurt so bad. She gave me a shot, it wasn't morphine but something like it; and then told me to take the maximum dose of ibuprofen every four hours, and Vicadin to help sleep.

Well, that didn't touch it. The next Monday I went to the orthopedic surgeon. He acknowledged that it was a severe tear but that (thankfully) surgery was not required. He prescribed Oxycontin and Flexeril. My typical regimen became 12 ibuprofen, 3 Vicadin and 2 Oxycontin in 24 hours. The pain was so bad that I couldn't dress myself, which was embarrassing but Sherry just laughed and told me it was preparation for my old age. Ha, I'll get her for that. I had to use a cane for 2 weeks.

Here it is two months later and with a dozen therapy visits I managed to run a half mile on the treadmill and cycle for 45 minutes at the gym last weekend. The road to recovery is now fully in progress!

Check it out:

It's not...

I took some writing samples, and it's not:

1. Daren
2. Gary
3. Debbie
4. Jim
5. Julie
6. Vonne
7. Kim
8. Todd
9. Robert
10. Claudia
11. Reed
12. Brent
13. Kelly
14. John

It might be Ron. It's very likely that it is Charlie. But there's a unique twist which also points to Daryl Lynn. And just what does Johnny Cash have in common with Chicago, Fort Worth and Martinsburg West Virginia?

I don't like spiders and snakes, and especially snakes.

Snakes are just, well kind of creepy to me. Mesmerizing in their locomotion, they slither across my imagination harkening feelings of revulsion but fascination. A new fad blooms though, apparently with people who aren't as averse to the reptiles as I am. As reported in Time magazine, an offbeat spa in Israel uses snakes as a methoed of relaxation. Imagine yourself as the recipeient of the snake massage in this picture:

Can't you imagine the comfort and relaxation that experience would engender? Yeah, I can't either. Especially if one of the snakes gets a bit out of control. Spiegel reports on a 13-foot python called Antonia that tried to eat a zookeeper in Germany. Antonia launched itself at the zookeeper's face and commenced the long process of swallowing her up. The zookeeper didn't panic, and with the help of colleagues (read the article for the interesting application of water and why it helped) was able to extricate herself from the grip of the snake's teeth.

You know, those massages where they put hot rocks on your back sounds just about as adventurous as I'd like to go.

Congratulations to Doug!

One fine day I met a colleague via the phone. Really nice guy, he helped me with a technical problem. As it turned out we had cycling in common. As we talked, he mentioned how it had been a dream of his to someday ride his bike across the nation. Yes, from sea to shining sea. I was dutifully awed as he explained that he was about two months from starting the journey! I think that is fantastic. The farthest I've ever rode was Seattle to Portland (on the organized bike ride here in the Pacific Northwest).

I asked if he was going to somehow keep us abreast of his journey, and he put me in touch with another colleague who put together a Google Maps mashup of Doug's trip. As he rode and communicated with her she would update the map! Before reading further, I invite you to take a few minutes to carefully study and think about his route. Note how many miles it was coast to coast - 2,959 miles! Oh, and then let's ride another 300 or so home. But wait, he did it unsupported! And, in 28 days! Let the enormity of it sink in. Imagine how hard it would be. Check it out here, and then please come back and continue on to read some of Doug's excerpts as he recounts highlights of the trip.

From Doug:

"Thanks to everyone for their thoughts and prayers. Except for the dog incident in North Carolina, I had no real problems, which for the length and duration of this trip was pretty incredible.

According to my GPS, the total trip mileage was 3460 miles, which averaged out to 123.5 miles per day. I completed the cross country part (Oceanside to Myrtle Beach) in 23 days, which is about 5 days sooner than I expected. This allowed me the opportunity to ride back to Ohio, a nice bonus.

The weather overall was excellent. I had 3 days of rain between El Paso and Dallas. The first day was pretty bad, a lot of lightning and high winds. The second two days were just a steady drizzle, not too bad.

The best part of the trip was being able to meet all my Checkfree friends in the Phoenix, Dallas and Norcross offices. The warm reception in all of the offices was much appreciated.

Crossing the desert was brutal. There is absolutely no shade, and there was one stretch where I rode about 70 miles before I found any food. A little shack of a gas station near Salt Flat, Texas. I had Gatorade and Twinkies for lunch.

At just about every meal stop, people would come up and ask "where are you headed?" The next most asked question was "Is anyone riding with you or following you?" Most people were surprised I was traveling alone, especially after they saw how little equipment I was carrying.

I got to Texarkana just as Ike was about to come thru. A lot of people in the Houston area were evacuating to the north. I got one of the last hotel rooms in Texarkana. Instead of continuing east into Shreveport, I decided to head north to avoid the storm. It turned out to be a good move, and I didn't get any rain during the day, although it did rain after I had stopped for the day.

I ate pretty well. I'd usually have the breakfast provided by the hotel, then stop after about 30-40 miles for a second breakfast. I stopped at Subway quite often for lunch. It seemed the subs were good for carbohydrates, digested easily, and were cheap. For dinner I usually tried to find a buffet or steakhouse. I found several great "home cooking" restaurants in the southeastern states. I craved ice cream, and made several stops at Dairy Queen. When I got to Myrtle Beach, I celebrated with 2 giant banana spits for dinner.

I've always felt that I've received more than my fair share in life. But after seeing how some people live and work in some of the rural areas in the south, I am even more convinced as to how fortunate I am. I have been very, very blessed in life.

I was climbing a hill about 20 miles from Mount Airy, North Carolina when two dogs came after me. I squirted one with my water bottle, and the second ran in front of me, hitting my front wheel and knocking me off the bike. Luckily, there was a crew of surveyors in a truck behind me that had a first aid kit. One of the locals who was an R.N. came out and bandaged up my elbow. Nothing on the bike was bent or broken, so after putting all the gear back on my bike, I rode into Mount Airy and overnighted there.

Virginia was the most difficult state to ride thru. It was almost all mountains, almost constant climbing. I overnighted on the Virginia/West Virginia border in a town called Bluefield. When I left in the morning it was 50 degrees and raining. I was so cold I was shaking. The rain quit after about 3 hours and the sun gradually started to come out.

I stayed in quite a variety of hotels. I'd stay at Hampton Inn's when they were available, but was in several towns that had only one or two very primitive hotels. One hotel in either Arkansas or Alabama was $29.95 a night, so you can image how basic it was.

I carried a very minimal amount of gear, but there wasn't anything that I found I needed that I didn't have. I pretty much just ate, rode and slept. I'd usually get on the road around 7:15, ride about 30-50 miles and stop for a snack, ate lunch around 2-3pm, and ride until close to dark. I'd use my GPS to locate the farthest hotel away that I could safely make before dark, to try to maximize my mileage. Only twice did I have to ride after dark. Once I was on a four lane divided highway that had one lane closed for repaving. I rode the newly paved closed lane for about 10 miles to the next town - my own private route!

In Arizona and New Mexico you can ride on the Interstates. Which is good, because there just aren't any other roads out there. The berms are wide and fairly smooth, but littered with debris from truck tires which caused several flats. Once I got to Carlsbad New Mexico and got off of the freeway, I never had another flat tire. As any cyclist would tell you, riding that far without a flat is incredibly lucky, and I wouldn't have thought it possible if it hadn't happened to me. So here is a commercial for Continental 4000S tires!

I missed my guitar, and also my weekend ritual of breakfast at Bob Evans. There are no Bob Evans restaurants out west, and the first one I found on my route was in Virginia - it was great!!!

So, all in all it was a fabulous adventure. I am so fortunate to have had the opportunity to do this ride. I appreciate all the folks at Checkfree who took up the slack while I was out. I know everyone had their workload increased to cover my absence.

I got back to Dublin around 3:00pm on Saturday, and the plan was to meet my dad at the bike shop on Sawmill Road to get my clothes, apartment key and bike case that I shipped to him from California. Little did I know that there was a full blown reception party waiting for me complete with cake and presents! My sister Karen made a great photo collage of the daily pictures I sent. There was about 20 people waiting for me.

The folks at Performance Bike Shop checked over my bike to make sure nothing got damaged as a result of the crash with the dogs, and everthing is working fine. I wore out the chain and rear gear cluster, but everything else is in great shape. I rode about 10 miles today to loosen up, and I'll gradually work back into my daily riding routine. I feel great, but after the adrenalin wore off, I started feeling a little of the tiredness. I have two more days of vacation left before I have to return to work."

Here's Doug at the start of his trip, in the Pacific ocean. Here he is at the end, in the Atlantic. Doug, congratulations on an amazing accomplishment!

Dream Diary

This was a strange one, even for me.

I dreamt that I was getting ready for a race. I decided to take a shower prior to putting on my race duds. However, the shower was just a nozzle. No walls. On a street corner. I think you can imagine where this is going, and I suppose there is no easy way to say it other than I was sans clothes in the nice hot spray as cars drove by.

Let's move on, shall we! I was at the start line with a bunch of friends, and I was carbo loading. I was eating quarters. It was so real that I can still kind of feel the texture and taste on my tongue, even from a dream. The quarters were hard but bendable, and I would bend one in half and pop it in my mouth and masticate with significant effort. They were difficult but manageable to chew. They had a metallic taste, which I suppose is no surprise. I don't want to bloviate unnecessarily, but it was the most vivid sensation I have ever dreamed. It makes me wonder if I really did consume a quarter in my sleep. Maybe Sherry stuffed some tinfoil in my mouth to stop the snoring.

Anyway, we were at the start line about 5 mins before the race began. Suddenly, I remembered that I had forgotten my shoes! I was standing there barefoot. In the dream a friend volunteered to lend me a pair of his shoes, but his house was about 8 blocks away. Knowing it was unlikely that we would make it there and back before the start, we ran to his house. I pulled on the shoes and then as the race passed his house we jumped in and started running. "Foul" you may cry, but there is no need for angst gentle reader. At the same that race was going, another race was actually crossing it. Yes, at an intersection both races converged in a cacophony of confusion.

And then I woke up.

The other side of the bib

Reed and Andrea are adventure racers. Unlike my puny efforts, they punish themselves with 24 hour and more races that may include running, mountain biking, kayaking, mountaineering, rappelling, and maybe even spelunking.

They had signed up for the Gorge Games this summer to do a 24 hour race, but the volunteer base was very thin. I like to support them when I can, so I signed up to volunteer. A few days later I received my assignment, which was at a 10K off road race. A realization settled in - a fixed race with a start time was not likely to be part of the adventure race! I was disappointed for two reasons - the first and foremost was that I would not see Reed and Andrea on their course. I was really hoping to cheer them on. The second was selfish - had I known there was a 10K trail run in advance - I would have entered!

However, having been on what I'll call "the other side of the bib" (see bottom of the post if explanation is needed) many times, I'm always appreciative and show my support of the volunteers that make a race possible.

I set my face to then be the very best volunteer that had ever helped at a race. I decided that I would take Kadie up to the gorge, knowing she would enjoy the great outdoors. The day dawned with a few sleepy clouds but the forecast was positive. I left before dawn, I'm one of those early rises who has to be early for a race early in the day before my early appointed post time. We drove the gorge and stopped a little park for a while to throw the ball for Kadie and wear her down a bit.

We then headed across the Columbia to White Salmon where the race location was. Even with my dilly-dallying I arrived an hour before the race. My assignment was to stand two blocks away from the start location with an orange flag. The printed directions given to the competitors had been wrong, and the organizers realized that a portion of the races would take the wrong turn and have to be flagged by none other than myself to go around the block and to the start.

I stood at my corner and as the first few cars came by me I gave them the appropriate wave of the flag guiding them down the correct street. I realized that this could then become very boring, for both myself and the drivers. So, I decided to spice things up a bit. As a car approached, I would go into elaborate flag drills, ending up with the flag pointing down the correct street! I contorted myself in various ways - whipping the flag over my head, behind my back, under a raised leg - in multiple permutations with a serious "this is my job" look on my face.

The drivers began to respond to my antics. Although there were a few sourpusses, most of them gave me an enthusiastic wave and smile. A carload of girls of the opposite sex even hooted at me, which only encouraged my direction pointing gymnastic endeavors. Soon, my back was aching and I was beginning to be plagued by a sore torso. Nay, physical hardship would not cause me to cave on my duties. I tried even more poses, getting sillier (and funnier) if I do say so myself. I was pleased when one driver reported to the race director that I was the most enthusiastic volunteer she'd ever seen. I'll say though that Sherry is the ABSOLUTE best athletic supporter, .....ah let me rephrase that - "motivational enthusiast" anyone will ever encounter.

Soon, all the cars had arrived and the race had started. It was an out and back down into a gully. I drove down to the gully to see if my services were still needed. Sure enough, I was placed at the finish to remove the timing chips from racer's shoes. I was intrigued because unlike the usual championchip that you affix to your shoes via the laces:

They had a timing system I had never seen before, it was like a credit card:

Very cool, except for one problem - because the chip card could be attached so firmly to the shoe it was very difficult to remove. The timing vendor gave myself and another volunteer those little blunt scissors they use for grade school projects. The blunt tip would not easily fit between the card and the shoelace, additionally the tiny finger holes on the handle cause my thumb to go numb after removing 3-40 of them from racer's feet. My thumb was actually numb for two days afterward, I feared I had some nerve damage or something but all is fine now.

The race medals were very cool, and every finisher got one. I had another few moments of envy when I saw the medals. But that's OK - I had a good time, Kadie had a good time and I was proud to help. And next year - I'll be racing and thanking some great volunteers!

Number Bib - a rectangular piece of Tyvek material printed with the race number of the individual wearing it. Typically affixed to the shirt with safety pins. I save mine from all the races I do and make comments on the back.

Book Review - Brighton Rock

Graham Greene was a prolific author. I have an anthology that includes 3 of this best known novels, Brighton Rock, The Power and the Glory, and The Heart of the Matter. From the back cover of this edition (QPB, 1991) this short bio is given:

"Greene was an adventurer and world traveler with a thirst for danger, and many of his novels are set in the vaired and distant locales he sought out. In all he wrote 54 books including novels (24 of them), short stories, plays, essays, travel and children's books; and two autobiographies"

Greene is noted for his much publicized conversion to Catholicism, largely due to the influence of his fiancee. I believe this was a significant turning point for his writing, as he became absorbed, and although some may disagree with me I don't hesitate to say obsessed; with moral dilemma and struggles.

Brighton Rock folds neatly into the pocket of moral dilemma. The characters are rich and as always Greene's eye for detail allows great visibility into the drama that unfolds before us. The book has two conundrums with which I struggled. The first is the era. Brighton Rock was copyrighted in 1938. Therefore, much of the language, culture and dialogue is 70 or so years old. Add to that the setting in an English seaside town with the nuances of a foreign culture and a good portion of the reading included attempting to understand the words and setting.

For example, upon embarking on the novel I had assumed that Brighton Rock was the name of the seaside town in which the drama takes place. The town is Brighton, but Brighton Rock as pointed out by the editor is

"..a form of stick candy as characteristic of English seaside resorts as salt water taffy is to Americans. The word "Brighton" appears on both ends of the stick at no matter what point it is broken off."

The story begins at full speed:

"Hale knew they meant to murder him before he had been in Brighton three hours."

Hale was a newspaperman. In that time, in English seaside towns; it was popular for newspapers to have contests. The itinerary and picture of a journalist was published in the paper and the journalist was given a fictitious name, in this case Hale was named by his paper Kolley Kibber. If a person approached the journalist, called him by the fictitious name and was carrying the appropriate newspaper a cash reward was given on the spot.

Hale was the target of a ragtag band of petty thieves out to get the reward money he carried. The leader of the band was a 17 year old nicknamed Pinkie, possibly due to his young age. Greene also refers to him frequently as "The Boy". The gang is involved in other extortion rackets, but the nucleus of the story revolves around the murder of Hale. Pinkie is ruthless and commands men older than him. The murder is carried out, but there are two figures introduced who have great potential to bring Pinkie and his gang down.

The first is Ida. Ida is a blustery, bosomy whirlwind. Her slightly flawed character is buoyed by her cheerful disposition (especially after a few glasses of beer or sherry), love for song and her unflagging optimism. As Hale realizes the plot unfolding around him, he seeks solace in Ida's company, which she readily signs up for. Hale's paranoia and disappearance ignite in her an unflagging, deterministic quest for his justice.

The second is Rose. Rose is young, impressionable and the product of a lower middle class family (like Pinkie) scraping by on a waitressing salary. Rose is party to a clue which could bring Pinkie and the gang down. Although she doesn't realize it, the power of her knowledge causes Pinkie to react in an unusual manner. Although he is sickened at the thought of it, she becomes his girlfriend, and then solely for the reason that a spouse cannot give legal testimony to the other spouse; he marries her. The romance is vacous and one sided. We feel pity for Rose - she is consumed by a love for Pinkie that is not reciprocated. He at times berates her and then comforts her.

Pinkie has a scarred psyche, exacerbated by his experience as an altar boy. At times of uncertaintly or fear, he lapses into reciting latin phrases he had been trained to memorize. His faith though is non-existent, he acknowledges that the only road before him leads to Hell and punishment.

It is on this road that the story traverses. The downward spiral of Pinkie's amoral actions accompanies his treatment, or mistreatment; of Rose. Even to his own ragtag band Pinkie displays cruelness and disdain. Ida plunges recklessy on, determined to find and bring Hale's murderers to justice. Once she gets close to Pinkie, his damaged psyche and the imminence of arrest and trial feed his downward spiral into greater acts of cruelty.

The story's climax is only slightly predictable, and is craftily done to the extent that I was swept up right to the end. I'll not provide a plot spoiler but only leave you with the main characters on a dark cliff in a storm. You'll have to read the book, and I heartily recommend it; to find out the ending!

Dream Diary

Many of my dreams involve water. I suppose that's natural as I love the water, love to swim. If I believed in reincarnation I'd probably be a dolphin.

Anyway, last night's installment had Sherry, Kadie (our beloved dog) and I camping at a lake. Kadie had wandered off and we were frantically looking for her. The lake was huge, and one end was shallow and there about 40 adults and kids swimming in roughly a 5 acre expanse. All of a sudden, people started screaming. A monster had eaten one of the kids, and then disappeared! Everyone got out of the water as quickly as they could. We all looked hard at the lake, and then someone spotted movement on the bottom. Emerging from the mud was an enormous snake, probably 60-75 feet long. It was black with red stripes. It swam from the bottom to the shore, and then attacked a small village on the perimeter of the lake.

It thrashed it's tail and smashed houses and threw cars into the air. We were all petrified in fear. The snake slowly moved to us, and then raised up out of the water and we could see that it was not really a snake but some kind of a lizard. It began very politely talking to people, introducing itself and letting us know it really wasn't that bad. It moved down a line of people and then to me.

The snake/lizard looked at me and I said "wow, you are really strong to knock down a whole village". The thing smiled shyly and said "yeah I suppose I am. Watch this - I'll lift you up!" He then proceeded to grasp me under my armpits and hoist me into the air. He exclaimed "don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you." He then put me down with nary a scratch or bruise.

Then I woke up.

Highway Haiku

Wow! Corvette flies by.
Now a Porsche roars past me.
Wish my truck was fast.

The smell of diesel...
exhausting, just like my day
off ramp - please save me

Old truck, engine roars
Dude! Shift that tranny up now!
Maybe clutch is fried...

What do you get...

..when you cross a backwoods country boy with a Buddhist monk?



A hillbilly that believes in rein-
tarnation!

Atheistic Evangelists

Here kitty kitty kitty....

What a novel idea! This guy affixed a "cat-cam" to his kitty's head. Amongst other feline activities, I would like to see what cat is walking on top of my truck at night, leaving kitty footprints everywhere. But, I'm not hear to discuss my pet peeves.

Now, what if that cat was eaten by this? Can you imagine the carnage that the cam might see? Nature is cruel. But nature can be even crueler - imagine that the cat does have 9 lives, and let's further imagine that cats are eligible for reincarnation. Let's continue our fantasy and imagine that the cat came back as this, and then eats the coyote! It's a dog eat dog world after all, and kitties too.