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Organization, the mother of building prefab bookshelves.

I don't know about you, but I resist discipline and organization. But, as I have had to embrace my adulthood and all the papers such as paychecks and bills and insurance that come along with adulthood, I have also had to decide that I was going to do something about the stacks of papers and bill stubs that were accumulating near my desk. After all, it is good to be able to get to the desk chair. I was organized at one point, but the magnitude of new bills that comes with buying houses and cars just overwhelmed me. And it was easy to make piles, without even opening the bills thanks to our friendly online bill pay. The car bill comes in and I think, "It is taken care of, go ahead and join your brother house bill and sister water bill on the floor while I write blogs and play stupid online games that make me smarter."

But, alas, when you have enough paper on your floor to stuff some sheets and create a bed for the guests, it is time to do something about it and something manly (to prove that I am not just a panty wearing freak as mentioned in an earlier blog) and build furniture like the good old days to contain the ebb of my paper flow. I went to my friendly neighborhood IKEA store and found some beautiful shelves that would complement the desk I already had.... the design? ALVE... I know that means a lot to you. They are tall slender shelves with a rolling file cabinet on the bottom. Since I have put them together, I have found a sanctuary for all my books and papers as well as creating a new need for a place that guests can sleep again.


As manly as it is, putting this conglomeration of boards, screws, dowels, hinges, wheels, shelves, and whatever else happens to be in there, it can be a tedious experience. It is tedious especially when a part breaks and you have to go back to the store to get another. (foot note.... when building multiple pieces, be sure and put them all together so you don't have to make multiple trips). Since I have had the shelves together, my life has been more peaceful and serine and my wife happy too.

But, the one thing I learned from this experience was that if God made me the first man on Earth, I would have been great at naming many things from all my furniture building experience. No longer would we have cuss words because "sorry piece of s**t" is what we would call a shelf. "Dumb A**" is what we would be calling a hinge on a cabinet. Stupid Mother F****r is what a desk chair would be called. And among all the other names I can come up with for these parts, the little metal locking screws which keep breaking on me would all be called "dumb bastards."

Be sure and share this with your friends and family because when they ask you to hand over the "sorry piece of s**t" you can all be on the same page. One more thing. When going to your favorite place to get your choice of furniture in a flat box be sure to get some extra "dumb bastards" because they are always the first to go. For sure.

Thanksgiving with Paw Paw and the Spurs!

As people get older, some may say about them that "they are not the man (or woman) they used to be." That is not something that could be said of my Paw Paw. He is still funny, wise, ornery, and full of love for his kids and grandkids. My Grandfather has been a huge motivating factor in my life. He helped me get through my first year of college and at many points in my life, I did things hoping that he would end up being proud of me. He has often been my guiding light here on earth.

There was a point in my life when I was younger that I grew tired of the same old advice and stories over and over again. But, after some time of getting the same old lectures about drinking, driving, education, and whatever else came up, I realized that it was because he really cared and he did not want to see me or others go through some of the same mistakes he made when he was younger. To hear his stories and advice is a way to experience a hug without being touched. In fact, this last time that I visited him, I got hugged a lot in the form of 'be careful about riding with the cat in the car because he might get stuck under the pedals... in case you hadn't thought about that.'

The last few years, I have made it a point to go out of my way to see him. This year, rather than with either of our parents, J. Rad and I spent Thanksgiving with my grandparents. Who knows how many more we will have...

This Thanksgiving I planned on an extra special outing, realizing during playoff season what a Spurs fan my grandfather was, I decided I would take him to his first NBA pro basketball game. I called him the week before and asked him if he wanted to go and told him that it would be just him and me. Being that he is a homebody, he had to mull it over for a few minutes when he finally said, "I don't think I can pass that up." I was elated.



The Wednesday before Thanksgiving came along and I asked him upon my arrival if he was ready for the game and his response was, "I don't exactly know what you are talking about." Yikes. I knew his memory was not what it used to be, but he was supposed to remember the game for goodness sake. I had a mental situation to deal with there. As the week progressed, we continued to talk about the game and how he was going and realizing none of us were giving him a choice that he was going, he went along for the ride. J. Rad and Maw Maw dropped us off at the gate and that further confused my grandfather...

"Where are they going?" he asked.
"They are going out to eat and shopping," I said.
"Why aren't they coming with us?"
"Because they are going to go do lady things while we do guy stuff."
"Who said they couldn't go with us?"
"I did."
"Now, how are we going to get back with them?"
"I will call them on the cell phone and they will pick us up where they left us."

We continued to go to Will Call and pick up the tix and then meander to our seats and then leave our seats for snacks and make it back with minutes to spare before the game started. I had a hot dog and a Coke. He didn't want a hot dog but was happy to let me get him a Coke after telling him it was my present for him. He told me he didn't want to share my peanuts either, but happily put out his hand when I had shelled them for him. He sat in the seat mesmerized by the sights and the plays. He didn't really say anything during the game except when I asked him how he liked it and he said it was fine. He let out a little giggle when I kept telling him he had to cheer louder so the team could win. He still sat mesmerized and the team did not win. It was 99 to 106. The Bulls won.



In the end, I had to get a picture because I would regret it if I didn't. He made sure that the picture had the court in the background. Did he have a good time? Yes he did. We talked about it the next morning and he seemed touched that we drug him out by his ear to do something he would not have done on his own. Whether he remembers it now, I know that for that moment he was able to experience something that was meaningful to him and something that he could experience the first time in his life. "Did he have a good time?" I am asking again. Well, as the old saying goes.... A picture is worth a thousand words...

Embracing the Feminine

Feminine Part I

I have never been afraid to be a little feminine. At various points in my life, I have been able to wear women's clothing, makeup, panties (just for J. Rad), and fingernail polish. In fact, every year or so I get to hear my mom talk about the day when I was walking around in a skirt at a band fundraiser carrying my newborn niece. There is a picture of it somewhere that you will not see (the irony of it is that my hair was somewhat long at the time too... Mullets Rock!) Of course I get to hear this story in between all the other goofy things I did as a kid... some of which should be forgotten. Sometimes I cry at movies and sometimes I can even be a good listener. Sometimes I cuddle... but, I usually want some whoopee in the middle of cuddling sessions which reminds me of the fact that I am a normal guy. Though I have outgrown most of those physical expressions of feminism (except for an occasional panty show for J. Rad and the willingness to wear stage make up if ever given the opportunity), I must admit something to the world or the 3 people who read my blog. I wear stockings.

I wear peds... foot coverings made of shear material. My wife encouraged me to wear these after we spent some cash on some leather sandal/shoes that left my feet raw and prone to blistering. But, Peds came to the rescue for me. My feet can breathe and I am happy. They are not visible, but I can snicker at the fact that they are there. My secret is known only to one other person. While I was at a curriculum training session, one of my supervisors was there. In the middle of the session, she had to trade shoes with a nice lady in another department, because her shoes were blistering her bare feet and she had to stand up for the training. Being the helpful person that I am, I asked her if she wore peds while showing her mine at the same time.


Feminine Part II.

The names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Three guys riding in a single cab pickup in a country college town...

Jace (passenger right): Something smells good.
Jim (driver): It smells like apple.
Donnie (passenger middle): It's my shampoo.

Behavior Patterns

This next blog is for me and hopefully the benefit of others.

I have patterns and the older I get, the more I recognize them. I can't avoid them and when I can't understand them, I need to dig and dig and dig until I get it. And then I need to mold, refine, conquer what it is that is bugging me inside or keeping me from being all that I can be.

Rather than suffer failure, it is easy for me to be a quitter. Rather than speaking my opinion, it is easy for me to be quiet. Rather than being responsible, it is easy for me to ignore things or blame others. Rather than be active, it is easy for me to be passive. Rather than being criticized, it is easier for me to be invisible or critical of others.

But, if I fail (as I tell my students) I learn from my mistakes. If I voice my opinions, others may become better because of me. If I am responsible, I am truly in charge of my life. If I am active, I truly experience what is in store for me. If I can face the criticism and conflict, I may grow from the experience.

What inspired me to put up this personal mirror is the recognition that I have been avoiding any significant blogging the past few days. After the recognition of a few successes (a few good entries in my blog), I begin to fear that I won't be able to keep up anymore so I run away. I press the next button and read whatever interests me until I run out of time and can't do my own.

Some of you out there are thinking... "Dang it Donnie, it is just a freakin' blog" and though that is true, it also helps me recognize something about me that I would act this way. Even though I am a teacher, I am a performer at heart and when I have gotten off my rump and done something, whether it is writing, acting, singing, or playing and instrument, I usually do well and get the praises of those around me. Sometimes I do these things on a whim or for goofy fun and other times I have truly been concerned about the art and excellence of what I am doing. But, either way there often comes a point when I freeze, procrastinate to the nth degree, or quit.

A few years ago, at the cusp of becoming a local church minister with a seminary degree (had some nibbles on my resume and a few churches wanted a visit), I ran away. Though there were a lot more issues than fear (what I believe or don't believe is a big issue), I recognize that fear was a big factor in my change of track. After all, if I take them the best sermon I have, they may hang me later if I don't deliver. So, it is easier to run. This is just an example of something I have become accustomed to doing. So, rather than sitting idly in front of this computer and quitting, I had to break through and have a sharing session. I know that at the root of all this is insecurity and my neediness. So, right here right now on my blog I will have to claim a victory. I wrote something and that is better than sitting on my butt and doing nothing.

To continue this progress, I need to remind myself why I started blogging in the first place....
I was encouraged by a good friend.
I wanted to practice my writing rather than talk about practicing my writing.
I wanted to bring joy, help, happiness to others.
Occassionally, I would like to engage others in serious thought.

So, in this little thing called a blog, I will not run away. I will write when I have something to write and I won't when I don't. I will be happy to write whimsical masterpieces and I will be content when I list off the mundane events of the day. In the mundane, someone may find a nugget of truth or something they can snicker at or just say... "Me too, I am glad I am not the only one."

(For a little fun, be sure to read comment #1)

Holiday Festivities Begin.

My nieces are in a little home school band and they were playing one of their holiday shows out in a place called Old Town Spring, north of Houston. We got to go and watch them stand in a parking lot, music held by clothes pins to their stands, blowing their horns with all the holiday cheer they could conjure up. It was a nice experience. I have watched them grow up. The oldest is almost 16. I guess I was 14 when she was born. It is nice to watch them get older and become the nice young ladies they have grown up to be. While we were there, I took a few pictures around OTS, a small collection of shops stuffed in turn of the century (the last century, not this one) houses and store fronts. This was my first time there. A few of the pictures I could not resist trying to make some pun of... here we go......


And Jesus said unto thee.... After I ascend to the father, I shall returneth unto you as an inflatable yard ornament for suburban America.



Tiny Tennis Balls... All the balls a guy needs for playing tennis!
(Though I would like to learn tennis someday, I could not resist trying this one out)



No pun for this one... just my wonderful wife on the butterfly bench striking a proper pose.
Later.

Texas Pride!

This should prove to the other 49 states that things really are bigger in Texas.... I found this at Riscky's BBQ in Fort Worth. Only 1 per package!

Stryper!

I have been blessed with a lot of friends in my life, but none so close to me as my "brothers" from college... Jim, Maury, and Dave. Since college, we have all gone our separate ways and I seriously covet the time that I can spend with them carrying on like our heros Beavis and Butthead. College was great with these guys and truly when I am around them, I know I am safe to be myself even if it results in the occasional "Dang it Donnie." I was often the one to take the humor to the "Ooops" level. But, nonetheless, they have been friends of mine for a long time now and words cannot express how dear to me they are. Any chance I get to go and hang out with them I do. This weekend, I took a trip to see my friend Dave in Fort Worth and go to the Stryper concert. While I was there, I also saw Jim. Maury had a wedding to go to so he could not make it.

Stryper - Cool Christian music before any Christian music was cool.
Stryper - Musically Excellent.
Stryper - Brings back nostalgic memories when I saw them on MTV as a youngster.

Here are a few pics from the Weekend.

Will the bet pay off?

When I was younger, I went through the instabilities of family life that many people go through and they really do have an affect on a person. My parents divorced when I was five. I moved in with my late step dad Mike (who was wonderful) when I was around 10 and while Mike was around, he and Mom kept me busy tagging along with them to square dances during the week and the added after party on the weekend. We were busy and on the run. Being around such instability as a youngster can play a toll on one's academic performance.

At my second new school within a few years, I did what I could to fit in. I was a clown, a milder version of what I deal with everyday (I would at least like to think) and I probably was not passing everything. I was the new kid on the block (no intended references here) and found it hard to make friends in my new setting where I was really a comparatively poor person at the time. All that at once, can create an interesting situation.

With much care and concern or maybe frustration.... Okay, Frustration .... my pod of teachers (the four teachers responsible for giving me their expert part in the 5th grade curriculum) decide to have a meeting about young D. Rad. They believe that I was not being successful in my present (1985) academic setting and want to move me to a better place. Yes, I was momentarily a special ed. candidate (the irony is that the year before, I was a Gifted and Talented candidate).

But, one of the teachers in my pod spoke out. She knew she could get work out of me and was not about to let them do what they intended. She spoke to my mom and stepdad about the situation and mom made sure to let me know that Mrs. R. pulled my but out of the fire. If I had been given that opportunity, I may have used it to get by with as little as possible. But, Mrs R's bet payed off.

I graduated HS with honors (after moving again and going through the death of my stepdad Mike). I graduated college with honors. I went to grad school and had a 3.7 GPA. Not perfect, but definitely something to be happy about. It wasn't until recently that I could say with confidence that I am a smart person. It feels pretty good. Then, after I moved back to town, I invited Mrs. R. over (close to 20 years later) to my nice little house to meet my wife and show off my degrees that I may not have received if she had not rescued me... or it would have been a lot harder to get the label off.

Tune in another day for Part II. This was supposed to be a short entry after all.

Cup of Flower

Sometimes, it is necessary to eat your words. Recently, I reacted to one of my friend's blogs in a holier than thou way because I percieved him to be holier than thou about his blog. I told him that "It is better to empower than to belittle." Those are true words that we should live by and I cannot take them back. But, as irony would have it, I had an opportunity to prey on the weaker and I took it. I jumped on the chance to eat this person alive.

Periodically, a man named Ernie visits our campus to help ease the pain and stress of our daily drag. Though I have never partaken of Ernie's services, he must be pretty good at what he does because they keep letting him come back. For about a buck-a-minute, you could have your muscles melt in Ernie's hands. I am sure you figured out what Ernie does for a living. I am also sure you can figure out why I have not partaken of Ernie's services (yes, I would rather have girl hands on me than someone named Ernie. Besides, Ernie probably spends a lot of time playing with his rubber ducky. Wait a minute, wrong Ernie. (FYI Ernie #2 is from Sesame Street)).

Since the person who used to notify us of Ernie's visits went on to Admin. Heaven (this means she has a cushier job at the administration building of our rather large district) the nice older lady named Maria, who works as the receptionist in the central building of the school spews out the emails that signal Ernie's coming. The email's subject line said "Ernie the measurer."

Being the smartass that I can be sometimes, I sent a reply to her that said something like "What is he measuring? I need a cup of flower?" A little bit later, I realized that in my attempt to be smart, I ended the second sentence with a question mark. The next day, I emailed a friend of mine about this and typed out what I typed to Maria, because I was concerned about having possibly taken a big dump on someones day (someone I really don't even know). Here is what I typed....

Nancy,
I don't know this person, here is what I typed to her.... "What is he measuring? I need a cup of flower." Do you think she will be mad?

I was smart this time and changed the question mark to a period. But, today the thing that should have been most obviously wrong hit me about this email... I should have educated her that it was Masseur or Masseuse and not measurer, because it is better to empower than to belittle. Hehehe.

Pet Peeve.

This post is dedicated to my friend who will be named Maury to protect the innocent.

A pet should be a thing most pleasurable,
like a cat who shows his love most measurable.
Or a dog with a warm tongue to kiss you hello
and to whine for you when you must go.
A pet is the something you can touch
who can bring warm feelings and such,
but a Pet Peeve is an entirely different story,
when you invite it in it will bite you sorely.
Instead of love, it will bring you aggravation and pain.
Its presence will drive you insane.
Instead of being your toy,
it will rob you of all your joy.
As crazy as it may sound,
because we know your love for it abounds,
it is time to take your pets to the pound.

I was curious about what a pet peeve would look like and this is what I found....



Someone actually named their dog Peeve.

The booby

When I was younger, the booby was the most mysterious object of my imagination. I was always able to look but not touch... unless it was by accident and really these following accounts were accidents. One time in high school, I was taking off my back pack and at a point that I had my arm outstretched to release my back pack, my fist met a unforeseen boob of some strange girl with her boyfriend. Oops. Another time, I was walking out of the band hall and called a friend of mine, who will be named Michelle to protect the innocent, and at the same time I called her I was reaching out my hand to tap her shoulder. She turned around at the wrong time. I guess I do not need to explain what happened next. Thank goodness, Michelle knew me enough to know that I would never do that on purpose.

But, the creme' de la creme' (sp?) came when I was in college. I was in Austin with my friend Jeff during my freshman year. We went to a great Mexican restaurant that was called Chuy's. We were with his dad who I had just met that weekend. While we were sitting down at a table. I was facing a wall. His dad said, "It does not look like they are that crowded." I said, "How do you know that?" He said, "Because there is not a long line of folks standing out there." "Out where?" I asked. "Oh, behind that wall." he said. A stood up to check behind the divider wall that was blocking my view and as I propped myself up at an angle to get a peek of the uncrowded lobby, I hit something hard with my head and remember thinking "what in the world just happened?" When I looked up, the nice waitress was grabbing her booby and shouted for all the restaurant to hear, "You Hurt My BOOB!"

I hid my face in my napkin until she took my drink order. When she asked my what I wanted, with a red face, I said...."Tea."

It was later agreed that if I had been clever enough at the moment, I would have ordered milk. It was five or so years later that I could touch them legitimately and not get a red face about it. I became a member of the boob club in 1999 at the age of 24 and I pledge that I will never turn back as long as we both shall live. Amen.

The Wonder Bar

In the past several years, I have been afforded the opportunity to go hang out at bars and see what all the fuss is about. All this time, I have been working on becoming the next American Idol on karaoke night as I sing Hendrix's "Foxy Lady", Toby Keith's, "I wanna talk about me," and "For what it's worth" by Bufallo Springfield. I have a lower voice and have to pick things that are low or sound decent when I can shout them out a little. So, in other words, I can't sing hardly any songs from my favorite group Rush whose singer must have some clamps in his pants or something (Just kidding... I am actually envious. I would love it if I could sing that high, along with some of my favorite songs. Hey Geddy, if you are reading this, tell me where I can get some clamps... ouch, nevermind.) Until I go through some kind of puberty reversal or get a lifetime supply of helium, I will just have to stick to the baritone voice instead.

Before I was a bar hopping teacher, I was a preacher, chaplain, music minister, youth minister, missionary, whatever the religious occasion afforded. I went to seminary, graduated with the M. Div. in 2002 (Paul said that he was the Hebrew of Hebrews and maybe I was the Baptist of Baptists), and it was not to long after that I went through some soul searching which was afforded me by my chaplain internship process (otherwise known in chaplain circles as Clinical Pastoral Education). When you get into CPE, they tell you that you will be filayed both psychologically and spiritually. But, that will be a subject for another blog. But until then, I will go ahead and tell you about my bar hopping (and the rock star status that I have because of my singing... I am well known by about 20 people now),

No matter where my faith may lay on a given day (alive, dead, or lazy) I cannot help but reflect on things theologically because of my background. What does God really think about this based on what I have learned about scripture from my teens to late 20's? Even though I would get fired immediately if I were employed at a typical Baptist church, the Pop culture churchy question still comes to mind..."Who Wants Jack Daniels?" No, What would Jesus do?

After all, if one believes the Bible, you have to admit that Jesus is probably the greatest bartender ever. We know how he turned the water into wine at the wedding. On one hand, it was a miracle to show who he was. On the other hand, you have to admit that he must have been concerned about the merriment and good time of the wedding guests, otherwise scripture would have to tell us that Jesus did it the Baptist way.... he turned water into grape juice. No, that is not the case. And wine had to be alcoholic, otherwise the Bible would not be so concerned about drunkenness. So, as we analyze the situation, I could say that Jesus would not lose his self control or get drunk. I have not done that when I go out. I think that if you drink too much to make it home and end up crashed out at a friends house then you drink too much. There are plenty of practical reasons to use this as a guide. Who knows what family emergency would pop up and need our presence.

Now, aside from enjoying the libations and being a rockstar, I think that going to bars can provide us an opportunity to be more like Jesus than we ever could in a church. I have been able to be friends and see richness in different people that in the past I would have condemned in a sermon or in my heart. My heart has become more open to people in the last few years. Some experiences I have had at the bars have caused me to realize that I may have been a chaplain to people who are in real need. One time, while I was actually having a water, I was with a co-worker providing a listening ear and giving good advice for some of the dire things he was going through and then I realized that I was being a minister in a bar.

Another time, a local KJ caught wind that I used to be a preacher. He passed me in the bathroom and after he told me of his divorce, losing a girlfriend to suicide, and spending his birthday alone, he asked me to pray for him. After making sure he realized that I was not better than him but actually a fellow struggler with bourbon and coke sitting back at my table (he assumed I was not drinking) we said a prayer together in the bathroom.

Jesus ate and fellowshipped with people like me and those who I find at the bar... sinners and those who struggle with life. The people with real needs will often never step into a church. But, they have found a family of friends and support at their local bar and even at a bar, ministry can take place; even if it is just being there with a friend who hates being lonely and making sure they get home safe. That is the wonder of the bar.

Even when my faith was firm, I often fathomed going into a bar and doing "ministry" and now without the pressure of the church, I can feel free to love and associate with a greater variety of people. Isn't that ironic. One of the things that fueled those thoughts was a book I read in seminary where a British evangelist, who wanted to reach "today's generation," spoke of sharing Christ over a drink at the pub. On the lighter side of things, look up the lyrics to Cheers (at least the first verse) and "I Love this Bar" by Toby Keith. When I hear these songs I cannot help but wonder if the church as we know it could be more like the scenes described in these songs. Hmm. Chew on that for a while.