A Christmas Story

A Christmas story

Christmas is upon us once again. I was thinking about what this day means to me personally. A day of reverence comes to mind first. The birth of our Saviour. It is much more however. It is a day of memories. A day of reflection. A day of peace. It is many things to different people. It is a day when people for whatever reason show something that is noticeably missing, during the other days of the year. Compassion. We as a people go out of our way to be charitable this time of year. We look at what we have and for brief moment in time, are willing to share this with other people that may not have anything. It is something that tugs at the hearts of people who ordinarily may never think of such.

Christmas is a day that brings out the best in us all. When we are able to look beyond ourselves and make a small change in the lives of a complete stranger. To make life bearable for someone who has lost the will to believe in their ability to make ends meet or feed a hungry child when the cupboards are bare. It is a day of hope. A day of giving. A day of gratitude.

It is a day when we can look back and remember a not so distant time when we were once all together as a family. A day of comfort. A day of love. The look in our children's eyes as we gathered around the Christmas tree. A day of happiness. A day when all of the problems that we face, seem to fade away.

I've often wondered what life without Christmas would be like. It is unimaginable to me and yet, there are some of us out there, whose lives are so empty and devoid of hope, that they would try to take this day away from us. To make us and our children believe that to be a people of faith is wrong. Christmas is fading away from this great country at an alarming rate. Christians are being pushed aside by a non-believing minority. This country was founded by men of faith and that very belief has has been under siege now for some time.

Imagine a world without Christmas. I can't. Keep this day alive. Keep hope alive. Remember what this day is about. Spread the word.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

A Chistmas Angel

An interesting footnote on life, for the upcoming holidays.

Yesterday, while working at a business downtown.( I had been up on the roof trying to repair an ancient air conditioning and heating system.) I was taking my extension ladder down and putting it up onto my ladder rack on top of my service truck. I noticed this man walking towards me. He looked like a homeless person. He had on rags for clothes and was somewhat tattered in appearance.

He had a paper cup full of Ramen Noodles, you know the kind that you see in stores, that you add water to and heat up in a microwave. He was walking up to me with that familiar look, like he was going to ask me for a handout and I was preparing myself for my answer. I finally got my ladder up in place. He was still standing there looking at me.

"Can I help you?" I asked him.

He looked at me with this funny expression and said, "No...I help him clean." pointing at the business behind me where I was working.

"Oh", I said. I started to walk away from him to get in my truck, so that I could fill out my invoice. As I got up in the truck seat and sat down, he walked back over to where I was. He was making me a little bit uncomfortable. I looked out the door at him and said, "Do you need something?"

"No". He smiled at me and then he said, "Merry Christmas!"

It sunk in, in an instant how judgmental I had been. I felt humbled. It's funny, I had been in a "Bah-Humbug" state and haven't even felt the Christmas spirit this year. I've been listening to a radio station that has been playing nothing but Christmas carols all month now and in spite of this, just haven't been in a very festive mood.

This man had just about all that he owned, on his back. I have been truly blessed in comparison and in spite of this difference, he had a better outlook at that exact moment, than I did.

"Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares." Hebrews 13:2

God certainly works in mysterious ways.

I thought it was a helicopter

As a guy, some of the funniest moments in my life have centered around the art of passing gas. Flatulence, when well timed, can be insanely funny. The unexpected noise from below, can take even the most serious conversation and and turn it into a comedy routine in milliseconds.

Once, when I was in Jr. High School, right in the middle of the most serious pep talk that our P.E. Coach had ever given, demanding absolute silence {you could have heard a pin drop}, while we were dressed out and seated cross legged, on the wooden floor of our gym; I felt a gas pain and decided to do the old one cheek sneak. It didn't go as well as expected and sounded something akin to a twelve guage shotgun blast on a quail hunt, and seemed to echo throughout the entire gymnasium. All of the kids started to giggle and then it turned to riotous laughter, before the coach threw his clipboard to the floor in a fit of anger, but even he succumbed to the effect and started to laugh.

My dad could pull one off as well as the next guy. He was walking out the door in front of me and my brother-in-law one afternoon, with his ever present pack of Redman Chewing tobacco, loading up his cheek, when he paused for a brief second and blew one out towards us. A real stinker. Without the slightest hesitation he retorted; “Sounds better, since I had it worked on!”

At our wedding in Vegas, my future father-in-law and his wife, whom I had just met, were steps ahead of me, in the lobby of the hotel where we were staying. We were heading to our cars to leave for the ceremony. Fred and I were pulling suitcases and Bonnie was in the lead. Quite by surprise, Fred tore one off, that nearly made me have a seizure. Bonnie, his loving wife, casually remarked; “Fred...was that you bubbling?” To which he replied; “Yes dear...don't stop, it might catch up with us!”

After spending three, long, exhausting days in the hospital, after my son was involved in an automobile accident. Eating cafeteria food, consisting mostly of broccoli. Drinking coffee and chain smoking Marlboro's. I made my way back to the CCU waiting room and confined myself to the floor for some long over-due rest. I took off my jacket and used it for a pillow, drifting off into a thoroughly exhausted sleep.

Have you ever woke your self up farting, and weren't really sure if it was you, or a bad dream? When I finally regained my senses, I realized that I was tearing them off, one right after another. Apparently, in rapid succession, and in my state of exhaustion, I must have thought that I was back in my own room and that it was okay. Then I heard the following conversation behind me, whispered between to elderly black ladies, that must have stayed all night in the waiting room with me; “at first...I thought it was a helicopter...landing on the roof.”

I crawled up under my jacket and laughed until I cried.

take two of these and call me in the morning

The note on the calender said; doctors appointment tomorrow. Oh boy. One of the biggest thrills of my life is the regular visit to my doctors office. I find that the more appointments that I keep, the less that I am inclined to want to go back. I build up some kind of anxiety, that just won't go away. I realize that the whole deal is deigned around keeping me healthy, but it plays hell on my nerves.

I think that it all starts off in the waiting area. After walking up to the receptionist and getting that cold stare from her and the robot-like commands of; “I need your insurance card and ID.” Then the line that drives me crazy; “Have a seat, someone will be with you shortly.” Right...I will spend an eternity out here, thumbing through back issue of Cosmo, looking at the clock and trying to sit comfortably in a chair that is one size too small. I don't understand the concept. Why not leave some playing cards out or have a pool table in the room? Anything but magazines. Right? You know...you have all been there.

When they do call you back, you have to wade through the evil stares of the people that are still waiting and you know that they are cussing at you with their thoughts. It's kind of creepy. Normally I have to go to the lab first, to visit my very best friend; the phlebotomist. The guy with the needles. The blood-letter. I'm a big guy, but my Kryptonite is a hypodermic needle. Want to watch me turn instantly into a three year old? Follow me in there!

After that mind numbing experience, the nurse will lead me to the exam room and have me step up on the scales, but not before I unload; cell phone, keys, wallet and all of the other things that might make the scale cringe. Then the blood pressure and temperature readings. “Your temperature is good but your pressure is a bit high.” she tells me.

“No shit? I mean...really?” Who would of thought that?

My doctor is a sweet lady. She smiles a lot and asks me how have I been since I last saw her, but inside I get that horrible feeling that she is hiding something from me. I don't know why this is. Call it paranoia. Every time that I go there, she pulls up my file on her lap top and asks me the same questions as she did the last time that I saw her. The list is as follows:

1. Have you been taking all of your meds?

2. How has your appetite been?

3. Do you have any tingling or numbness in your feet?

4. Have you been sleeping well?

5. How has your energy level been?

6. Any new aches or pains?

As I reply to these questions, she is continually typing something into my file. Shaking her head a bit as I try to answer. I don't think that she believes me. “We are going to have to up your blood pressure med. You are a bit high today,” she says.

I'm thinking: look; your office is on the third floor, your lab tech just jabbed a hole in my arm and I'm pretty certain that I have something that you are not telling me about. Sure my pressure is a bit high. Sometimes I think that I am her Guinea Pig. “Just how many pills can I get this guy to swallow?” {followed by an evil laugh}

But, the worst thing; the bill is even more frightening. However, that is another story.

Smokers

Almost everyday during the week, you can find me at a particular restaurant. The meals are great, the staff is awesome and after a while, you become part of the regular crowd that hangs out there. We are now to the point, that the waitress has our drinks set out on the table before we even sit down if she sees us walk in the door. Its pretty cool to walk over to our regular table and find that everything is waiting for you. It gives you a warm fuzzy feeling inside.

I am a people watcher and the crowd there is an interesting mix, but there is one group that I am totally enthralled by; the smokers. They sit just outside a window, at an area just for them to enjoy what they enjoy the most. Now I'm not critical of them at all, because I used to be one of them.

Smoking was a real pleasure to me. Nothing like a hot cup of coffee first thing in the morning and a Marlborough for desert. I used to love the act of lighting one up and taking that first long drag, then a sip of my favorite brew. Black of course! Nothing added to cut the taste and flavor. I was a purist! There was a certain ritual that I followed every morning and since I have quit, there is a emptiness, a void so to speak. My days just don't start out the same any more.

One fellow wears a cowboy hat and drives an old Mustang convertible. There is another guy that looks at a newspaper through his entire lunch and rarely looks up except to light another one. A particularly standout individual is a fellow that looks as if he is a high school coach, maybe football, but the ones that tweak my curiosity the most, are these two lovely ladies, that drive up in a short wheel based pick up truck. Both have silver hair and they look quite a bit alike. I would guess that they are sisters.

One is usually just a step ahead of the other, and the first one to light one up. The second one is carrying the first ones oxygen tank. I have never seen such dedication to a sport, than these two women. They are hardcore fans of the art of smoking! They have taken it to a new level. When you can sit there in front of fellow smokers, while wearing an oxygen tube around your neck, and light one up without the first sign of trepidation, then you are all right by me.

I am however concerned for their safety. I am pretty sure that one day, one of them will spontaneously burst into flames and turn into a small pile of ash in the blink of an eye, and I do not feel that anyone sitting even remotely close to her will be able to extinguish the flames in time to save her. There may even be some collateral damage, and the fact that none of the others seem concerned about it, makes this lady and her sister, in my opinion, the coolest chicks that I have ever encountered!

Sweatiness

As I sat today and pondered the mysteries of life, one thing became abundantly clear to me. It was damned hot! I was sweating profusely. The humidity here is wretched. Do you know, that if you have problems with sweatiness and you don't take precautions, you could develope a phoenomenon known as SSS {Sweaty Sack Syndrome}. I highly recomend a good talc based powder for those troublesome areas, but caution is advised. To much of this product will result in crack spackle. I personally like the medicated kind with all of the essential oils, like menthol and eucalyptus. It'll make you tingle. Nothing like tingling. Try it.

Don't get me wrong, a good sweat can be beneficial. It clears your body of all of the toxins that you have ingested during your day in the real world. Like french fries, quarter pounders and sno balls. I used to sweat a lot at the gym. I was just like the rest of them. You know who they are. The all swole up, cut like Cena, just one more rep, all dressed up in mismatched Nike apparel, with a doo-rag on, weight lifter men. One day me and some of my fellow sweat-niks, were standing there at the bench press doing one more {I swear} rep, when this NFG comes walking in. He was wearing Spandex. I'm not sure what would possess a grown man to slip into a suit made of shiny nylon with colored stars across the front, blue stripes down the back and walk out into the middle of a bunch testosterone spewing muscle heads. You might have heard a few giggles at this point. I'm sure of that. I have to admit though, it took a lot of balls.

If you are going to do this, at least look the part. No pot bellies. Please. Also, no color coordinated accessories. That's just not good form. Even the chicks will give you a funny look.

I used to go to the gym for all of the right reasons. I wanted to get back into shape for one thing. Then it kind of became an obsession. After I muscled up a little bit, the first thing that I did was go out and get a really massive tattoo on my arm. A Dragon. Cool. Everone knows when you have a new tattoo. It's all covered in cocobutter. It's shiny and swolen. You can cover it with a hoodie and show it off when its healed up. Then, they don't think that you went and got one just because you go to the gym. A new tattoo is a sure sign of gym obsession. In fact it's one of the first signs. It only gets worse from there. Sports logos, cut up t-shirts and then most ominuous of all; belly shirts. It's over then. You are obsessed.

Then comes the muscle enhancers, creatine was my favorite. Mix it in a health shake. Man, your veins pop all out in you neck and the effects are awesome. Pretty soon you look like the Hulk, just as he's getting all angry and ripping out of his pants. Your bro's will look at you and whisper behind your back; "He's on roids, I bet he's got small nuts."


Funny things happen at the gym. One day I was in the hot tub enjoying a good soak. It's great. There was this old man on the other end of it. He was sitting there talking to me. We had a pretty cool talk going on for a good while. Then he looked at his watch and said; "I gotta go...see ya". He stood up and stepped out. Butt naked. He was all saggy and stuff. Old men don't need to walk around with their junk hanging out, it's just not right. I'm scarred from that.

Here in South Georgia, the humidity is nauseating. Things start to mildew if you don't keep them dry. I try to remember that.