My introduction to the two new livewires at kids' club started on the playground. I wandered out there in hopes of, you know, hanging out and stuff. Well, it wasn't long before I met Klara and Chloe. Sisters, 15 months apart. And Chloe promptly informed me that whatever she does, it's because she's already seen Klara do it.
"You're a monkey," I told Klara as she tried to emulate me climbing up the playset.
"Oh no I'm not. I'm an elephant!" she replied without obvious embarrassment.
She didn't look much like an elephant to me, I told her. She was blonde, thin, and with the normal stature of a seven year-old. Not large, cumbersome, gray, or with large ears and long trunk. (Kinda' like the old joke: What do a grape and an elephant have in common? They're both purple except for the elephant.)
Towards the end of the evening we generally have food, and this time was no different. Pizza, chips, whoopie pies, and pop. Yes I know this is a coronary waiting to happen, but they're still young. ;-)
Well these girls must have gotten a hold of something that "wired" them, because next thing we knew they were chasing Mr. Tim all over the basement. Unfortunately, Klara laid hands on his cell phone and made off with it. She was busily engaged with her new toy when . . . it rang. So she immediately returned with the ringing phone while saying something about "Ron Miller calling". That would have been Mr. Ron's method for the return of the phone.
Later Chloe would somehow find Mr. Tim's wallet and be running around the basement clutching $59 in cash. Kids' clubs and valuables: How well do they mix?
Probably about as well as "wired" kids and sugar.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Pouring His Own
I love concrete, but it does not love me.
The other day I had the audacity to schedule 12 yards of concrete to be poured out at various spots at the place of my abode. My storage building; my sidewalk; my footer for a retaining wall. My ducks were in a row and life was good. I did, however have a couple of fleeting thoughts questioning the wisdom of not bracing the one form, but not being one to let common sense hold me back, I forged optimistically ahead.
Ten yards showed up at 8:45 a.m. Fortunately, Lavern, a guy I had suckered into helping, was there by then. And we began to pour.
Now every time I pour, enough time has elapsed between any past concrete experiences (enough with the pun) and the current one, that all memories related to these borderline traumatic experiences have faded into oblivion. And I start anew, blissfully ignorant yet again. I forget how heavy concrete is. Or how much work is entailed. I don't work it; it works me. Or I forget the constant feeling of being on the verge of losing control of the situation at any moment. If anything can go wrong with pouring concrete, it probably will. Concrete seems to be a magnet for catastrophic results.
Well, the storage building slab went fine, and I began to wonder if this would be the day when everything goes well for a change. Then we moved to the sidewalk.
Yes, the sidewalk.
We had a pad to pour on the porch, but the chute wouldn't reach that far, so we had to run a wheelbarrow loads up a 10' ramp. The first load went up uneventfully. On the second load, when I lost forward motion on my wheelbarrow, Lavern hooked the comalong on the axle to pull it up. But it threw me off balance, and well, let's just say the concrete did not quite make it to its intended destiny. Also, because of the low angle of the chute, the concrete was not flowing into the wheelbarrow. Instead, it was going whithersoever it desired, not wheresoever I desired.
At least we managed to pour the rest of the walk without further premature wheelbarrow inversions, and things were looking up. We moved to the footer part and got it all poured in a short amount of time. And we were DONE? Less than 10 yards? How much was left, I wondered? He didn't know, so I instructed the driver to dump it out on a pile, and I would find a place for it. So he poured and he poured. Was I sure I wanted him to continue, he wondered? Yeah, I figured I'd move it around with my skid loader. He looked at me like I was from Jupiter or something, but he dumped the rest of it out anyway.
Whoa! I was now the owner of a small concrete mountain. I could have made snow and sold lift tickets. And to think I figured this would not be anywhere close to enough concrete. I must be short on some math skills, I guess.
While Lavern floated the sidewalk, I floated the storage building slab. Hmmm, it was setting up about right. This was contrary to the nature of concrete. Usually, it sets up too fast or not fast enough, not just right. Something was wrong. It was probably lulling me into a false sense of security before suddenly hardening, and thus effectively throwing me into a state of panic. This wouldn't be all negative because as far as I know, this state does not levy an income tax.
It was time to move the "Mound Saint Helens" over to an area I had graded for parking. Seeing that I was desiring its assistance in moving about 2+ yards of concrete, my loader took this opportunity to not start. However, perserverance paid off, and it finally ran half-heartedly. Surprisingly, it spread nicely enough, considering the whole "afterthought idea".
Yes, things were going strangely well. The sidewalk finished out okay. The storage building slab finished out even better. Maybe my idealistic expectations weren't so far off after all. Then I noticed this one form bowing out about an inch . . .
The other day I had the audacity to schedule 12 yards of concrete to be poured out at various spots at the place of my abode. My storage building; my sidewalk; my footer for a retaining wall. My ducks were in a row and life was good. I did, however have a couple of fleeting thoughts questioning the wisdom of not bracing the one form, but not being one to let common sense hold me back, I forged optimistically ahead.
Ten yards showed up at 8:45 a.m. Fortunately, Lavern, a guy I had suckered into helping, was there by then. And we began to pour.
Now every time I pour, enough time has elapsed between any past concrete experiences (enough with the pun) and the current one, that all memories related to these borderline traumatic experiences have faded into oblivion. And I start anew, blissfully ignorant yet again. I forget how heavy concrete is. Or how much work is entailed. I don't work it; it works me. Or I forget the constant feeling of being on the verge of losing control of the situation at any moment. If anything can go wrong with pouring concrete, it probably will. Concrete seems to be a magnet for catastrophic results.
Well, the storage building slab went fine, and I began to wonder if this would be the day when everything goes well for a change. Then we moved to the sidewalk.
Yes, the sidewalk.
We had a pad to pour on the porch, but the chute wouldn't reach that far, so we had to run a wheelbarrow loads up a 10' ramp. The first load went up uneventfully. On the second load, when I lost forward motion on my wheelbarrow, Lavern hooked the comalong on the axle to pull it up. But it threw me off balance, and well, let's just say the concrete did not quite make it to its intended destiny. Also, because of the low angle of the chute, the concrete was not flowing into the wheelbarrow. Instead, it was going whithersoever it desired, not wheresoever I desired.
At least we managed to pour the rest of the walk without further premature wheelbarrow inversions, and things were looking up. We moved to the footer part and got it all poured in a short amount of time. And we were DONE? Less than 10 yards? How much was left, I wondered? He didn't know, so I instructed the driver to dump it out on a pile, and I would find a place for it. So he poured and he poured. Was I sure I wanted him to continue, he wondered? Yeah, I figured I'd move it around with my skid loader. He looked at me like I was from Jupiter or something, but he dumped the rest of it out anyway.
Whoa! I was now the owner of a small concrete mountain. I could have made snow and sold lift tickets. And to think I figured this would not be anywhere close to enough concrete. I must be short on some math skills, I guess.
While Lavern floated the sidewalk, I floated the storage building slab. Hmmm, it was setting up about right. This was contrary to the nature of concrete. Usually, it sets up too fast or not fast enough, not just right. Something was wrong. It was probably lulling me into a false sense of security before suddenly hardening, and thus effectively throwing me into a state of panic. This wouldn't be all negative because as far as I know, this state does not levy an income tax.
It was time to move the "Mound Saint Helens" over to an area I had graded for parking. Seeing that I was desiring its assistance in moving about 2+ yards of concrete, my loader took this opportunity to not start. However, perserverance paid off, and it finally ran half-heartedly. Surprisingly, it spread nicely enough, considering the whole "afterthought idea".
Yes, things were going strangely well. The sidewalk finished out okay. The storage building slab finished out even better. Maybe my idealistic expectations weren't so far off after all. Then I noticed this one form bowing out about an inch . . .
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Which Gospel?
This is a pretty incisive parable by a blogger on some of the modern Christianity we see in our culture.
----------
Brian McLaren decided to open his own Whole Foods store. He started small, and the business grew. After a struggle through the early years, he had his own storefront with the sign in the parking lot and everything: Whole Foods.
More and more, though, people complained about the high prices, and they were a little disappointed that while the food was supposed to be healthy, it just didn’t taste as good as what they were used to eating. McLaren wrestled with the problems of price, access, taste, and image, and after much turmoil he began to move toward a solution that he was sure would address the issues.
The change didn’t happen all at once, and McLaren didn’t announce what he had decided to do. In fact, there are some indications that this was, we might say, an organic development, a slow transformation. Once it had happened, though, the results are clear for all to see.
Though the sign out front still says Whole Foods, things are very different within. Instead of all that expensive, healthy, tasteless food, inside you can buy what looks and tastes just like fast food burgers and fries. In fact, Brian’s stuff is just like McDonald’s! And now the shelves of the store are stocked with things that people really want to eat, things that people can afford, things that are easier for McLaren to acquire and market, and things that taste just like what we used to eat when we didn’t bother about health food at all. Perfect! Affordable prices and food that tastes great—healthy to boot.
---------
To read the rest go to:
http://jimhamilton.wordpress.com/2010/03/10/brian-mclarens-new-kind-of-whole-foods-store-a-parable/
----------
Brian McLaren decided to open his own Whole Foods store. He started small, and the business grew. After a struggle through the early years, he had his own storefront with the sign in the parking lot and everything: Whole Foods.
More and more, though, people complained about the high prices, and they were a little disappointed that while the food was supposed to be healthy, it just didn’t taste as good as what they were used to eating. McLaren wrestled with the problems of price, access, taste, and image, and after much turmoil he began to move toward a solution that he was sure would address the issues.
The change didn’t happen all at once, and McLaren didn’t announce what he had decided to do. In fact, there are some indications that this was, we might say, an organic development, a slow transformation. Once it had happened, though, the results are clear for all to see.
Though the sign out front still says Whole Foods, things are very different within. Instead of all that expensive, healthy, tasteless food, inside you can buy what looks and tastes just like fast food burgers and fries. In fact, Brian’s stuff is just like McDonald’s! And now the shelves of the store are stocked with things that people really want to eat, things that people can afford, things that are easier for McLaren to acquire and market, and things that taste just like what we used to eat when we didn’t bother about health food at all. Perfect! Affordable prices and food that tastes great—healthy to boot.
---------
To read the rest go to:
http://jimhamilton.wordpress.com/2010/03/10/brian-mclarens-new-kind-of-whole-foods-store-a-parable/
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