tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68815342024-03-13T14:43:26.280-07:00The Rantings of a Thinking ManThe thoughts and comments about just about everything and anything I can think of, which you may or may not care to read.Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.comBlogger99125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-58193060731141144002008-08-01T22:47:00.000-07:002008-08-01T22:58:07.013-07:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">I was like a kid in a candy store tonight...literally.<br /><br /></span>My eldest, Jeni, took me out to dinner tonight for my birthday since she won't be in town next Tuesday when I actually get older. She took me downtown to one of my favorite restaurants, Sticky Fingers...ok give me a second to wipe the drool and barbeque sauce off my chin. <br /><br />When we left the parking garage we decided to cut through Mast General Store because it was still muggy out and we wanted some air. Mast General Store is a store cultivating reminiscing in order to get us to open our wallets. Well, it worked on us tonight. Near the entranced we used were wooden barrels filled with all kinds of candy, many that I had not seen since I was a kid. We started looking and Jeni said, "Go ahead get some. It is your birthday." So I did. It was a fun experience for both of us. I kept seeing candies I had enjoyed and acting just, well, like a kid in a candy store and she felt like the mom, a very candy friendly mom. At one point, I picked up a bag of some chocolate covered something and said, "Oooh" and then set it back down, only to hear Jeni say, "If you say 'ooh' you can put it in the basket." I ended up with a bag full of carmels, bottle caps, licorice, Zots, chocolate covered orange bon-bon things and more, and we both have more laughter inducing memories for the future.<br /><br />So I say..."Thanks, 'MOM'...:D<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-30534691415282614352008-07-09T22:43:00.001-07:002008-07-09T22:55:25.372-07:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">That only happens on TV.<br /><br /></span>I had an experience last week that made me look around for the cameras and director. It was funny and embarrassing.<br /><br />Thursday, I had a prospect fill out an application, but she didn't have her check book with her, so she asked me if I was going to be in the office Friday, the 4th because she wanted to bring her holding deposit by then. I told her I would be and she mentioned that she would bring me a plate of food as well because she was going to go to a cook out. <br /><br />Friday afternoon, the prospect called and asked how long I was going to be there. She had not made it to her cook out and she had been serious about bringing me a plate. I told I would be there until 4. She did not make it by.<br /><br />Saturday, we celebrated Jen's 23 birthday. Laura, Jen and I went to see Hancock (a pretty decent movie). While we were gone, Marla stopped by with the dessert for Jen's party. While she was waiting for us to get back, my prospect stopped by to drop off her holding deposit. She left her number and asked me to call her. When I got back, I called her and she said she would be by in just a few minutes. She stopped by and dropped off her deposit, nothing was mentioned about the plate by either of us. <br /><br />Meanwhile, we had ordered pasta from Pizza Hut (surprisingly tasty and cheap). It seemed to be taking an unreasonable amount of time to receive our pasta, so Laura asked me to call Pizza Hut and find out what was taking so long. I flipped my phone open and punched the last number dialed. A few rings later, the call was answered. The background noise was excessive, so I simply said, "This is Eric and I was wondering where my meal was"<br /><br />A pause and then SHE said, " I'm so sorry. I forgot to get your plate yesterday."<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-27082260256438982922008-07-09T22:28:00.000-07:002008-07-09T22:42:55.673-07:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">Screaming and throwing things at each other!!<br /><br /></span>This phrase was used by Laura over dinner the other day. What was she talking about? A couple she knows fighting? A scene from a movie or TV show? Perhaps a passage from a novel she is reading. <br /><br />NO<br /><br />She used this phrase when she was describing what she found when she was doing research on the presidential candidates. Her conclusion from a day of looking online for solid, detailed information about the candidates was that for the most part political "discussion" or "reporting" is just people screaming at each other and throwing things at each other. I agree! We both long for simple debate. You know, two or more people stating their position, view, opinion and then discussing what they agree or disagree about...honestly<span style="font-weight: bold;">. </span>We know that people will disagree, sometimes vehemently, but it is not necessary to substitute loud voices, name-calling, misleading "facts" and catch phrase in place of truth, facts, details and agreeing to disagree. <br /><br />I have decried the minuscule numbers of people actually voting and I am often told that we are just to busy living our lives. I don't buy that argument, but I can see how it might appear a daunting task to find facts to make intelligent decisions with most on the airwaves, the paper media and the Internet not providing facts, just opinions and not very factual ones. But don't give up. Keep digging, because electing our leaders is more important that finding a good deal on collectibles, downloading the entire White Album or finding when "Dark Night" is showing next week. <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></span>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-52458614419907801372008-07-04T23:27:00.000-07:002008-07-04T23:35:20.796-07:00<span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Ha<span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">pp</span>y B<span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">b</span>q a<span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">n</span>d Fi<span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">re</span>wo<span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">rk</span>s D<span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">a</span>y!! <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">and Happy Birthday to my firstborn, Jen!<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">I really do wish our great country happy birthday and I say a LOUD and PROUD THANK YOU to those who throughout our history served to make our country what it is today...FREE. I want to say to all those currently serving in our armed forces that we owe you a debt. We all do, whether we agree with where you are serving or why we are there, you are our heroes. You are the ones who make the ultimate sacrifice and I salute you! <br /><br /><br />Also, Jen, I am proud of you and wish you a great day. Of course, I still think someone counted wrong because there is no way I am old enough to have a 23 yr old daughter. You are a joy to your parents and I rejoice that you strive to glorify God in your daily life. Love ya!</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span><br /><br /><br /></span></span>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-22822455635823094272008-06-26T23:10:00.000-07:002008-06-26T23:40:25.418-07:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">Going <span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">Green by Accident.<br /><br /></span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Ok maybe <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);">turquoise <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">and maybe accident is not the right word. How about without planning.<br /><br />Let me explain. I'm not a tree hugger, or a Green Peace hero. I don't Save the Planet on a regular basis, but awhile ago, I came to the realization that conserving energy, and not trashing the big blue ball we call home were probably good ideas. Not wanting to do anything radical, I made a couple simple changes. I bought a pack of those curly fry looking light bulbs, bought a battery charger and rechargeable batteries and got a bin for recycling from my local trash man. The last item is what led me "go green by accident". Here in Greenville, the Sanitation commission will recycle plastic bottles, cardboard, and paper. I got my bin and started separating my trash. The first week, I had very little in the bin when it went to the curb on Friday. Tonight when I set it out, I realized I might need another bin. Now, I'm not drinking more soda or unpacking more boxes. What I have discovered is how much we actually throw away which could be recycled. I finished a box of Kashi Autumn Wheat cereal(which by the way is right tasty) and started to drop the box in the trash can, when it hit me that the box is cardboard so it can be recycled. Ok, now before you think, "Duh!" I just had never thought about the box. It was my cereal container and when it didn't hold cereal, it served no purpose and things that hold no purpose go to the trash. So the cereal box led to paper towels which led to memo pads. So I recycle more now, but it didn't stop there. I needed to write down a phone message and my note pad was nowhere to be found. What was in front of me, was my power bill still in its roughly torn open envelope. I grabbed it and wrote the message on the back of the envelope. Then I took the bill out and left the envelope by the phone to take other messages instead of simply chunking it in the trash and buying a new memo pad. This led to me thinking twice about how I can use scrap paper, or partially written on paper. I realized that I wasted a lot of paper. I scratch a number on the front of a note pad sheet and then throw it away. Now , I use it all up and then throw it away...in the bin. <br /><br />I've even had a positive effect on others recycling without bull horns or After School programs, just example. When a friend who works with me stopped by tonight, his 3 yr old son dropped his soda and spilled most of it out, so my friend made sure the can was empty and then walked across the parking lot and dropped it in my bin. He did this because it has become habit when he is here.<br /><br />So my little efforts are having positive results, maybe not cooling down all this global warming, but a little step in taking care of our home.<br /><br />So let's get <span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Green!</span></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"></span><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"></span></span>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-13885127264513108152008-06-25T23:13:00.000-07:002008-06-25T23:27:05.342-07:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">Rearranging the book wall.<br /><br /></span>So Marla told me that she thought i should swap the bottom shelf books for the top shelf. I did and she was right. I also did a little other rearranging. What do you think?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_s7tzSfh0hFQ/SGM1R9rc7gI/AAAAAAAAADU/IZs34IFgD2Y/s1600-h/book+wall+3.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_s7tzSfh0hFQ/SGM1R9rc7gI/AAAAAAAAADU/IZs34IFgD2Y/s320/book+wall+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216071376156028418" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_s7tzSfh0hFQ/SGM1SP0tjvI/AAAAAAAAADk/mT4JApertGo/s1600-h/book+wall+5.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_s7tzSfh0hFQ/SGM1SP0tjvI/AAAAAAAAADk/mT4JApertGo/s320/book+wall+5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216071381026705138" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_s7tzSfh0hFQ/SGM1R3gGdYI/AAAAAAAAADc/ovSKOCylJwU/s1600-h/book+wall+4.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_s7tzSfh0hFQ/SGM1R3gGdYI/AAAAAAAAADc/ovSKOCylJwU/s320/book+wall+4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216071374497805698" border="0" /></a>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-66441757445737918972008-06-25T14:42:00.000-07:002008-06-25T15:46:47.932-07:00<div><strong>We interupt this blog to bring you this breaking news...The book wall is finished!</strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><br /><div><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_s7tzSfh0hFQ/SGK8TBq7WzI/AAAAAAAAADM/DxNwT6oVbY0/s1600-h/bookwall.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215938353500478258" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_s7tzSfh0hFQ/SGK8TBq7WzI/AAAAAAAAADM/DxNwT6oVbY0/s320/bookwall.bmp" border="0" /></a><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_s7tzSfh0hFQ/SGK8SxVHRzI/AAAAAAAAADE/E-dkBSJFKfw/s1600-h/bookwall2.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215938349114017586" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_s7tzSfh0hFQ/SGK8SxVHRzI/AAAAAAAAADE/E-dkBSJFKfw/s320/bookwall2.bmp" border="0" /></a></div><div> </div><div>When I was planning my move to the remodeled town home, I knew I would have to do something about my books. I had outgrown my worn out, Wal-Mart special, 1980's book shelves. I had books on counter tops, desks, tables, etc. When I saw the design for the remodeled town home, I saw the perfect place to put my books. The design of the shelves is a collaboration between Robert, the construction supervisor and yours truly. We ahd to alter it a bit, when I failed to find individual piecs of thick timber. The building of the shelves was a team effort from Robert's step-dad, Robert, and Jake and Mike(our 2 great framers). The look of the finished shelves benefitted from my labor and Laura's color choice. And finally, the walls actually look the color they should and covered with splotchy red spots thanks to Jason, our painter, carpet man. </div><div> </div><div>THANK YOU ALL FOR YOU HARD WORK!</div><div> </div><div>I am so pleased with how this turned out. Hope y'all enjoy them.</div>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-3829518111974867522008-06-21T08:41:00.000-07:002008-06-21T09:16:19.634-07:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">On the road again...<br /><br /></span>Well, not quite yet. In about a year, it will be "Road Trip...YEAH!...time again. <br /><br />Let me explain. When Jeni, my oldest, graduated from high school, I wanted to give her a different kind of graduation present, something that would stick with her for years to come. Knowing that she loved to travel, I gave her a Road Trip. We rode Amtrak to New York City and spent 4 great days there before hopping in a rental car and visiting Cooperstown New York and Baseball's Hall of Fame. Then because we were in the state of NY, we had to visit Grandma in Buffalo and then we drove back to Greenville, SC. It was a fantastic trip.<br /><br /> When Laura, that's my youngest, graduated from high school there was no question as to her graduation gift.(She's a travel lover as well) This time we got a bit more ambitious and we brought along my 'adopted' daughter (Laura's best friend, Marla) to round out the Wood family road trip. After decking out Dad's van with cushions, bean bag chair and pillows, we drove to see Grandma in Buffalo. Then it was Niagara Falls, a drive across Ontario, a brief stop in Detroit and then on to Chicago for a four day stay there. Another great trip. <br /><br />Jeni graduated with her Bachelors in History just a year ago, so we took off to Washington D.C. for a week, with a day trip to NYC. Once again, the road trip did not fail to excite and please.<br /><br />Now Jeni has begun her Masters in Teaching which she will finish in one year, so I have a graduation trip to plan. Originally, Jeni had asked to travel to Europe, which held all kinds of possibilities, but a few weeks ago, she told me that she wanted to get to know her own country a bit more before she went overseas. She suggested a road trip across the US attempting to hit all the states west of Indiana that she has not been in. I loved the idea and began plotting courses. <br /><br />The results of my first route included all the states in the continental US that Jeni has not visited west of Indiana. It also would have taken 19 days of an average of 8 hrs of driving time. Not a workable plan, so it was back to Yahoo Maps. I finally came up with a route that included 18 new states for Jeni and only 12 days of driving, which if broken up between early in the morning and later in the evening leaves plenty of "tourist" time and the drives will allow us to actually see the beauty that is America. So the route is set, or close to being set, now the details. Which I will discuss later, because my stomach is growling and it lunch time.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-20430714360669673392008-06-14T22:32:00.000-07:002008-06-15T07:20:45.365-07:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">How can you just sit there?<br /><br /></span>Friday night jazz, downtown Greenville, live band, drums, awesome blues guitar, singer with a cool powerful voice and far too many people doing a great imitation of statues. Friday night, Laura, my youngest, took me downtown to listen to some great jazz and blues. She wanted to dance, a lot of her fellow swing dances come out on Friday night and dance in the street, well, actually on the sidewalk or piazza in front of the Hyatt. I am too proud to attempt to dance with an audience of strangers watching, although they probably wouldn't pay attention to me, but you know how sensitive guy's egos are. Anyway, I will be learning to swing dance because it looked like a barrel full of fun.<br /><br />It was interesting to see the effect that the music had on individuals in the crowd. The range of effects was staggeringly wide.<br /><br />First, you had the dancers. There were the swing dancers, or some variation of that, dancers with steps and order. Then there the couples that just had to move their bodies to the music even though sometimes, their movements made me think I might need to call 911 to help them with their seizure. The amazing thing to me about this second group of dancers was how uninhibited they were, which might have been aided by liquid courage, but I think it was just natural response to the music. I envied their lack of foolish pride.<br /><br />After the dancers, you had the seat dancers, or the shimmiers and shakers. These were the folks who, even though they were sitting down, or leaning against a tree or pole, could not sit still, they moved their legs in time with the beat, bobbed their heads, with animated facial expressions or lips mouthing the words. It was clear that these folks were moved by the music, but just could not bring themselves to join the dance floor, dance sidewalk, you get the point.<br /><br />Then there were the toe tappers. Folks that liked the music and kept time with the feet. If you looked just at their upper body or face, you might have assumed the music didn't have anything for them, but one glimpse toward the ground reassured you that they were feeling the music as much as hearing it.<br /><br />The final group amazed me, they never moved, not at all. I wanted to walk up and hold a mirror under there nose before calling the coroner. I don't understand how you can not move to music, maybe not as dramatically as a dancer, or with as much emphasis as seat dancer, but, come on, toe tapping is not hard and hardly draws attention to yourself. I don't know if it were a conscious decision to not look common by showing that you enjoyed the music or if they were deaf. Ok, maybe that is a little harsh, but I was stunned.<br /><br />So that leaves just one more thing to report, my actions. I'm a seat shimmier, or in this case a concrete pillar dancer. I could not stop moving, of course Laura told me later that at one point she almost broke into a laugh because my head bobbing looked more like "Doing the Chicken" than any kind of dancing.<br /><br />In conclusion: I had a blast!<span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></span>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-53608242320925493762008-06-08T23:01:00.000-07:002008-06-08T23:23:57.228-07:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">On my way to work, I ended up in a horror movie!<br /><br /></span>Ok, not quite, but close. I went to scrub the floors in a defunct textile mill for the company that owns the town homes I manage. We entered the mill through the well lit office area and proceeded deeper into the mill, by the time we entered the main area I was to work in, light had fled like a child at bath time. Sergio, our guide led us to a hall that was so dark, I swear, it didn't couldn't have spelled "light". As he walked into the hall, almost immediately disappearing from sight, he said, "I don't know where the light switches are. I decided I could help, so I pulled out my trusty cell phone and flipped it open using the screen light to look for switches. As I moved into the room, I shone the dim light on the wall intending to find illumination, but instead found a dark matter splashed against the wall and window. Now, I know I have watched too much CSI because the first thought I had was, "That's a blunt force blood splatter. " I decided to look at another wall and found more splatter. That was when I stopped. A minute later, Sergio found the lights, revealing a very dirty floor and walls splattered with...paint, food and grease. So no horror movie after all. Although through the job, I got glimpses of horror movie 'props' like the wall that looked like someone had died on the ceiling and bled out down the wall leaving long dripping lines of a reddish color, or the color of the water pooled up near the end of the job that I swear looked like the Nile after a visit from Moses.<br /><br />I also saw some interesting things on the way to the job, not horror movie related at all.<br /><br />As I we pulled near a town that sits near the border between NC and SC, I saw a 6' pole that was topped with a satellite dish and had one more just below it, with a sign that read, "Television Center" Slightly to the left and back off the road was the "Center", a 15' long beat up trailer, you know mobile home. You had to be there, it was funny. On the way back, there was an overgrown field and thin forest where a run down shack lived, right in front of the shack was a plastic deer, which made me wonder why someone would put a plastic deer near what was obviously an abandoned house. That was what I thought until the deer moved its head.<br /><br />The textile mill I worked at today had closed a few years back, but the building owners tried to get some revenue by renting parts of the mill out to businesses and even the city. Just inside the door to the part of the mill where we worked, was a posted an official sign listing the location of various court officers and rooms:<br /><br />"Superior Court Judge-----><br /><-------Family Court Clerk of Court------><br /><br />On a 8 1/2" x 11" sheet of paper written with a magic marker just below that official sign was the following sign:<br /><-------Yard Sale<br /><br /> Have a great day!Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-31806818032193806352008-04-06T21:46:00.000-07:002008-04-06T21:52:54.936-07:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">Home Sweet Home<br /><br /></span>I am officially in my new town home. I have to get dressed to take a shower, in my old place, until the hot water gets hooked up and one of my kitchen cabinets is sitting on my counter instead of hanging proudly on the wall. There are a host of minor items that need addressing, but HALLELUJAH, I'm in! They did a fantastic job on this place and after almost nine years in the old place, this is heaven. Walking on this carpet makes my old 9+yr old carpet feel like walking on fuzzy concrete. <br /><br />My youngest daughter and my 'adopted' daughter are in paradise because they get to decorate. They have some really great ideas and some, well, we will see. I had to pull back on the reins a little or they would have spent my next 5 paychecks. <br /><br />The office is also almost ready. I can show it, but there is no furniture and there is no office type items like desk, internet, phone, computer, but soon.<br /><br />I would describe myself right now as ...Ahhh, I'm home!<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-28780900554748562072008-03-19T21:57:00.000-07:002008-03-19T22:15:01.822-07:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">I can smell the food. I can see the food. When do I get to eat it?<br /></span><br /> Being a fat guy, the illustration I used the other day to describe my feelings about the state of progress on the model unit for my apartment complex seems apropos. I said I feel like I am sitting at the dinner table, enjoying the pleasing aromas of a well cooked meal. I see someone bring my plate of food to the doorway of the dining room and the meal looks divine! As soon as the person bringing my meal walks through the doorway, they stop. They stand there allowing the fragrance of the meal to overwhelm the room, filling my nostrils with heaven. I can see the juiciness of the pot roast, the creaminess of the mashed potatoes, the fluffiness of the biscuits, but the plate is still resting on someone else's hand just out of my reach. HUNGRY YET?<br /><br />As I mentioned in an earlier post, the model unit is close to completion. Today, I walked through it and made a short list of items that still needed completion. The place is looking incredible. Imagine that greasy diner your family quietly left before ordering on your last vacation, then imagine the 5 star restaurant you raved to friends and family about until they begged you to take them there. Got the pictures firmly embedded in your mind? Those two places are closer to each other than what the old #2 and the new model unit are. I exaggerate only slightly. <br /><br />I have lived in this same town home for the last 9 years. I have been working in some capacity on this complex for over three years and I can not express how overjoyed I am at having a 54 town homes that look like the model and the property being a place people vie to live. <br /><br />So while I am still drooling, it is a happy drool, because I know in a very short time, I am going to eat!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-50118115173038108832008-02-17T23:12:00.000-08:002008-02-17T23:18:19.532-08:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">It's written in the clouds!<br /><br /></span>Tonight, after a long, hard, exasperating, disheartening day, I decided to take a walk in the cool of the evening. As I was just about to end my stroll, I looked up and was greeted by low lying, thin clouds rushing across the sky like a teenage boy late for his first date. It was then that the Lord brought this thought to my mind, "It's over." My day was done and all the frustration was over. What a glorious thought! The people who I allowed to dampen my day, the experiences that were less than enjoyable, the struggles I had dealt with were now done. Sure, I will have to deal with some of these people again, and yes, some of the struggles will reappear, but, for now, it's over. I can lay my head on my soft pillow and rest. Thank you, God, for bringing me through another day, and thanks for the message in the clouds!<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-46160845208962661652008-02-15T08:41:00.000-08:002008-02-15T08:51:28.494-08:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">Why is it taking sooooooo long?<br /><br /></span>So I'm feeling like an overeager child waiting for Christmas, but as an adult, I have to be excited about more work. I'm the property manager at a small town home complex that is currently undergoing renovation. Right now, I have 11 tenants, so basically, my job is cake. The remodeling that is going on is extensive and greatly needed. The new owners decided they wanted a property that people didn't run screaming away from once they got inside. I like their philosophy. I have lived on the property for 9 years and am almost beside myself waiting to see what a nice place looks like. The model unit has been in "It will be ready by Friday" status for over a month and I am going crazy waiting. It is particularly annoying recently as I can see how great it is going to look. but there is just a long list of details to finish. ARGGGGHHH. Funny thing is, once this model is done, I will actually have to start working, marketing and the like. What an adult...jumping up and down for more work...:D<span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></span>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-70420911835037402672008-01-16T23:41:00.000-08:002008-01-16T23:49:00.816-08:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">Old Man Winters takes a trip down South!<br /></span>...Greenville, SC to be exact.<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_s7tzSfh0hFQ/R48H_7b3TAI/AAAAAAAAAC8/sOcHgj9gBF0/s1600-h/So+that+is+what+my+street+looks+like+with+no+traffic,+Jan,+16,+2008.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_s7tzSfh0hFQ/R48H_7b3TAI/AAAAAAAAAC8/sOcHgj9gBF0/s320/So+that+is+what+my+street+looks+like+with+no+traffic,+Jan,+16,+2008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156348893230222338" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_s7tzSfh0hFQ/R48Hcbb3S-I/AAAAAAAAACs/Ynd4tps72_4/s1600-h/the+van%27s+in+for+the+night,+Jan.+16,+2008.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_s7tzSfh0hFQ/R48Hcbb3S-I/AAAAAAAAACs/Ynd4tps72_4/s320/the+van%27s+in+for+the+night,+Jan.+16,+2008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156348283344866274" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_s7tzSfh0hFQ/R48HArb3S8I/AAAAAAAAACc/vbvKieZf8_w/s1600-h/Addison+in+the+snow,+Jan.+16,+2008.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_s7tzSfh0hFQ/R48HArb3S8I/AAAAAAAAACc/vbvKieZf8_w/s320/Addison+in+the+snow,+Jan.+16,+2008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156347806603496386" border="0" /></a>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-23030094031145138732008-01-06T01:18:00.000-08:002008-01-06T01:28:30.857-08:00<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /><br /></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pick my new profile picture.<br /><br />I can't decide which of these pictures to make my profile picture, so could y'all help me out and tell me which one you prefer?<br />Thanks<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">So I am a monkey's Uncle<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_s7tzSfh0hFQ/R4CeWLb3S7I/AAAAAAAAACU/rEofi-P-XRk/s1600-h/Jen%27s+Washington+Road+trip+014.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_s7tzSfh0hFQ/R4CeWLb3S7I/AAAAAAAAACU/rEofi-P-XRk/s320/Jen%27s+Washington+Road+trip+014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5152292077575818162" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Always sticking my head where it doesn't belong<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_s7tzSfh0hFQ/R4Cdf7b3S5I/AAAAAAAAACE/b4O6XG44QKU/s1600-h/Jen%27s+Washington+Road+trip+013.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 240px;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_s7tzSfh0hFQ/R4Cdf7b3S5I/AAAAAAAAACE/b4O6XG44QKU/s320/Jen%27s+Washington+Road+trip+013.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5152291145567914898" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-25484987776597660292007-12-31T23:17:00.000-08:002007-12-31T23:18:06.890-08:00<p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>So another year has past and a new one has begun.<span style=""> </span>It’s time to reflect on the past and plan for the future.<span style=""> </span>Ok, that is what everyone says and few do. I did a little of both yesterday and this evening.<span style=""> </span>I remember that 2007 was a year full of big failings, large mess-ups and great disappointments and if I stopped there depression would be my best friend, but 2007 was much more than that.<span style=""> </span>There were small victories, like losing 30+ pounds, being slightly more consistent in daily routines, and going to church more often.<span style=""> </span>This year was also a year when God showed Himself to me in mighty ways and with grace beyond measure.<span style=""> </span>The entire ordeal of my herniated disc showed me much of God and led me to a closer relationship with Him.<span style=""> </span>He taught me faith, chastised me for failing to bring glory to Him through my relationships with my employees and partner.<span style=""> </span>He burdened me to be content in whatever situation He places me. <span style=""> </span>2007 was a good year.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>Now on to 2008.<span style=""> </span>The question on my board for this year is: “Where are you?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">God asked Adam this when he sinned, not because God didn’t know where he was, but He asked to make Adam consider his actions and decisions.<span style=""> </span>I will be asking myself that question this year to make me think about what I am doing every day.<span style=""> </span>Am I closer to God?<span style=""> </span>Am I more disciplined?<span style=""> </span>Am I closer to being debt-free?<span style=""> </span>Am I closer to finishing my novel?<span style=""> </span>I could go on, but you get the point.<span style=""> </span>I spent an hour or two tonight writing out a list of goals for 2008.<span style=""> </span>I am on the second page and am not done.<span style=""> </span>I know ‘they’ say not to bite off more than you can chew, but I know that I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.<span style=""> </span>I also know there is a lot that Eric has been slacking on and it is time to wake up and get to work. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Well, the party is over, the reveling is done.<span style=""> </span>It’s time to buckle down and make 2008 remarkable.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><span style=""> </span>Happy New Year, y’all!<o:p></o:p></span></p>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-58457295556591346422007-12-26T23:52:00.000-08:002007-12-27T00:35:04.873-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_s7tzSfh0hFQ/R3NjoLb3S4I/AAAAAAAAAB8/lSwGSWAc_qE/s1600-h/Swinging+Daddio.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_s7tzSfh0hFQ/R3NjoLb3S4I/AAAAAAAAAB8/lSwGSWAc_qE/s320/Swinging+Daddio.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5148568340930186114" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">A swinging good Christmas!</span><br /><br />I celebrated Christmas with my daughters and one daughter's boyfriend today. It was FANTASTIC! I have two daughters, <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Jeni</span> & Laura and a 'daughter', Marla that I sort of adopted. My youngest daughter's best friend, is basically a part of my family now,so I say I have 3 daughters. When the girls came over this afternoon and added their presents for me and each other, my tree looked like it was being overwhelmed. The girls were insightful in their gift buying, not only buying things off my list, but since I like to cook and they like it when I cook, they decided I needed some things to cook with and filled my kitchen with new kitchen wares. This is especially nice, since I will be moving into a new town home in a month or so and would love to start my kitchen off right. I was able to give them a surprise or two, so the gift giving was great.<br /><br /> The highlight of the evening came with their final three gifts for me. First, I opened a gift to discover a silk white tie, then another revealed a pair of white suspenders and finally a five dollar bill. I was literally scratching my head trying to figure out the significance, when Laura gave me the clue that tied the gifts together, swing dance lessons and dancing. Laura has been swing dancing for sometime, she met her boyfriend swing dancing. She has wanted me to go for the longest time and I have wanted to, but have always been too busy. The girls decided to find the time for me. They wanted me to look the swing dance era part and they all wanted to dress up, so that explains the gifts. I must say, I did look dapper! Now, if all it took to be a good swing dancer was looking good, I would have been a star. Unfortunately, you have to learn some steps and put them together with some spins and a partner and music and well, let's just say, I need more practice. I had a blast, even being nervous about having 3 left feet, didn't stop me from having fun. This was Jeni's first time as well and she took to it like a fish to water. I am so busy concentrating on the steps that I lose the music, so my natural rhythm is stymied and when I focus on the song, I forget the steps and then get flustered. I am going to find some links that teach this and practice, so I can catch up to Laura & Robert (her boyfriend) and keep up with Jeni & Marla. This wasn't Marla's first time and you could tell. She helped me some with keeping my body centered. Marla's brother Michael-b went with us. He has learned some from Laura and Marla, but this was his first time at the club. It was like pulling teeth to get him to leave when we were headed to Denny's. He was good and smooth with the ladies.<br /> I think for me, the best part of tonight was simply having the family together and having fun. I miss that and thoroughly enjoyed.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-12499625036402238232007-12-24T22:04:00.000-08:002007-12-24T22:08:50.406-08:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">God gave what man needed even when man didn't want it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"> Merry Christmas, Everyone</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-12488853319076867762007-12-11T09:00:00.000-08:002007-12-11T09:02:42.879-08:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">A proud dad showing off his daughter's work.<br /><br /></span>I'm going to be a typical dad and show off a paper my youngest daughter recently turned in for her English class at North Greenville University. She is an excellent writer and this paper really shows that. <br /><br />Enjoy:<br /><br /> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;" align="center">Harmonious Dissonance:</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;" align="center">African-American Cultural Hybridity in the Harlem Renaissance </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">Voices heard or unheard, voices of different tone and pitch, voices from different walks of life, voices lyrical and poetic, voices direct or even mundane have called out, intertwined in struggle and purpose, exposing the harmonious dissonance that is African-American identity. Pulled from a swamp of oppression, ill treatment, and shame, African-Americans in the 1920’s faced a social atmosphere of racial tension, which required them to face head-on the problem of double consciousness. Would the black man become “white” in order to gain acceptance in culture? Would he dull his “African-ness” and become a whispered African in order to become a shouted American? Did only the racist majority define a black woman by the color of her skin or did she confine herself to be dictated by her exterior in the name of black pride or supporting the beauty of her race? </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">The voices of the Harlem Renaissance speak to this plight. Looking through the lens of American literature, specifically that of the Harlem Renaissance, one can gain incredible insight into the struggle of cultural hybridity for the African American. The literature exposes the precarious balance between African and American and the fight for the ability to enjoy one’s current country and yet remember one’s roots. Not every voice within the era sang the same tune. Some voices rang out deep and strong for the beauty of the African race and defied any attempt to be made white, while others sang their own song as an individual and sought to keep race on the exterior instead of internalizing it into who they were as a human being. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><b style="">Langston Hughes<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“One of the most promising of the young Negro poets said to me once, ‘I want to be a poet – not a Negro poet,’ meaning, I believe, ‘ I want to write like a white poet’; meaning subconsciously ‘I would like to be a white poet’; meaning behind that, ‘I would like to be white.’ And I was sorry the young man said that, for no great poet has ever been afraid of being himself.” (Hughes 1512) This quote from Hughes epitomizes the driving force behind Hugh’s mentality. Langston Hughes possessed a strong African voice. He spoke out against the black culture of the day that, in his eyes, tried to be as white as possible in order to fit in and have a successful life. Hughes saw this as a denial of an African-American’s true identity and an affront to black culture. To Hughes, the greatest thing was to be black and to be proud of it. In his poem “I, Too” he unveils this superior mentality through the smug laughter of the narrator. Even though the white men had always demeaned the black man, he stood strong and proud of his beauty and worth. Hughes wrote a series of short stories entitled, “Laughing to Keep From Crying” in some of which he portrayed multiple situations of black men with white men and the ensuing events depicting the social landscape and attempting to bring out the superiority of African-Americans. Hughes’s voice was very clear on his opinion concerning race. The black race was a beautiful race that had been suppressed and denied the right to glory in their worth. Hughes used his pen to paint African colors and emotions in such a way that would inspire his race to rise up and take a stand. Hughes’s works teemed with the theme of African-American identity and he pushed with all of his might that African-American’s might recognize their heritage and beauty instead of assimilating into the colorless world around them.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><b style="">Claude McKay <o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“For the dim regions whence my fathers came / My spirit, bondaged by the body, longs.” ( 1922) Claude McKay’s voice joined Langston Hughes in his support of the African portion of the African-American identity. Although not an American by birth, McKay’s literature addresses keenly the struggle of the African-American, and his work speaks to suppression of African culture. The above quote is from McKay’s poem “Outcast” which bemoans the loss of the African-American’s identity due to the influence of the west. When McKay penned the words, “My soul would sing forgotten jungle songs. /<span style=""> </span>But the great western world holds me in fee, / And I may never hope for full release / While to its alien gods I bend my knee, / Something in me is lost, forever lost, / Some vital thing has gone out of my heart, / And I must walk the way of life a ghost” (1689) he vibrantly illustrated what occurred when, from his perspective, African American’s became “Americanized.” The “whitening” of a black man was more than just an accommodation or assimilation; it was a stealing of soul and worth. A black man under the intense pressure of a white world was not free to be who he really was. McKay, like Hughes, depicted this struggle and painted pictures of African-American culture. He used his voice to sing out in harmony with Hughes to support the African of an African-American.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><b style="">Zora Neal Hurston<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“But I am not tragically colored. There is no great sorrow dammed up in my soul, nor lurking behind my eyes. I do not mind at all. … Even in the helter-skelter skirmish that is my life, I have seen that the world is to the strong regardless of a little pigmentation more or less. No, I do not weep at the world – I am too busy sharpening my oyster.” (Hurston 1711) In dissonance with the songs of Hughes and McKay, the song Hurston sings sounds less strongly of black pride, and heavier of individuality. Rather than depicting the pain, sorrow and oppression of African-American culture and allowing the promotion of her race to drive her, Hurston used her knowledge of her culture and study of the oral narrative tradition to present balanced pictures of African-American life. She did write about her culture and history, but not with the same driving passion and burning anger and resentment of Hughes. Hurston sought to balance her life as an individual with her roots and her depiction of that in her writing. In “How It Feels to Be Colored Me,” Hurston uses the analogy of colored bags containing basically the same contents, give or take an item or two to describe humans of different skin color. Unlike Hughes’s and McKay’s poetry intertwining so deeply the color of a man’s skin to his soul, Hurston uses this analogy to show that the color of skin, the exterior need not define the soul of a being. While not dismissing the culture and totally assimilating into a white world, Hurston’s voice sang a different tune than that of other authors during the Harlem Renaissance by pulling a step back and identifying herself as an individual rather than a black woman. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><b style="">Phylis Wheatly<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="color: black;">“'Twas mercy brought me from my Pagan land, / Taught my benighted soul to understand / That there's a God, that there's a Saviour too: / Once I redemption neither sought nor knew. / Some view our sable race with scornful eye, / "Their colour is a diabolic die." / Remember, Christians, Negro's, black as Cain, / May be refin'd, and join th' angelic train.” (Wheatly) While not actually a writer of the Harlem Renaissance, Phylis Wheatly was the first black woman poet and offers a distinctly different song. In the struggle of African-American hybridity and the fight for identity, the voice of Phylis Wheatly sings a sweeter, calmer, more peaceful song. Wheatly herself was a slave and of all of these writers seems to have the most reason to be bitter and fight for black freedom and pride. However, while in slavery, Wheatly was introduced to Christ and became a believer. This transformation in her life caused her to find blessing in what others considered the worst curse. Wheatly’s treatment of America within her literature was gracious and loving, for it was the place that brought her to her Savior. The slave ship was not a ship of death and oppression for Wheatly. She even chose to keep the name given her by her owners, which is something that would have been an affront to the later African-American writers like Hughes. This first published black woman author presents irony when contrasted to the later Harlem Renaissance authors, but her calm peaceful tone as a result of the change Christ had made in her heart might be a healing balm in the wounds of present day African-American culture if one looks deeper for the reason, and sees Christ, not an African-American woman selling out to the white world around her. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><b style=""><span style="color: black;">Jazz<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Jazz to me is one of the inherent expressions of Negro life in America: the eternal tom-tom beating in the Negro Soul – the tom-tom of revolt against weariness in a white world, a world of subway trains, and work, work, work; the tom-tom of joy and laughter, and pain swallowed in a smile.” (Hughes 1512) Langston Hughes’s “definition” of jazz begins to touch on the importance of this music to African-American culture. With so many voices intertwining in this identity struggle, jazz was almost a centralization, a unified voice of African-American identity. Rooted in the Negro spirituals and some would claim, even deeper in African music, jazz is truly African-American, truly hybrid. The rise in urbanization brought spirituals to the city and intertwined the city life of black men and women with the rhythms and soulful expressions of African music. Langston Hughes viewed jazz as essential to African-American culture and used it as a voice to speak the heart of his people. “The Weary Blues” takes on the form and rhythm of the music it depicts and the reader can almost feel more of the meaning within this poem than he could read straight off of the page. Zora Neal Hurston, in “How it Feels to be Colored Me”, seems to claim that one of the differences between her race and others is contained within the ability to relate to jazz. As an African-American, this music speaks deep into her soul and pulls from within her the African that sometimes lies sleeping, while a white man simply enjoys the toe-tapping tunes he hears. The syncopation and improvisation of jazz broke into the heavily structured music around it and awoke something within listeners that gave it a communicative ability unmatched, some would claim even to this day. Jazz affected the form of literature by infusing a musical strain into words, but it also dug deep into the struggle and soul of a culture. The music that originated simply within the African-American sphere spread like wildfire and transformed the whole of musicality. “The ability of African performance arts to transform the European tradition of composition while assimilating some of its elements is perhaps the most striking and powerful evolutionary force in the history of modern music.” (Gioia 8) The power that jazz possessed within culture could have stemmed from many things, but when considered in conjunction with the literature and the social landscape of the time, it seems that some of its power comes from the fire it was born out of. Jazz is not simply a little tune someone came up with one day; Jazz is the expression of thousands of souls, the cries of millions of voices, the heartbeat of a culture steeped in turmoil. With that source, it is no wonder that it transformed the landscape of music. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">The unique, harmonious yet dissonant song of hybridity for the African-American weaved throughout a tumultuous landscape in the 1920’s and further and left that land forever changed. What is an African-American? No unified answer responds to that haunting question. Even into the present authors and artists still fight for a definition. The struggle, however, left behind a beautiful legacy and inspired a nation. This battle for identity continues almost inevitably because the tension forever remains. The hyphen always separates the African from the American, but somewhere along the line there comes a recognition of an identity that does not lose itself in that struggle.<o:p></o:p></p> <br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-88300218049051953732007-12-05T21:37:00.000-08:002007-12-05T21:48:42.258-08:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">Things are seldom what they seem.<br /><br /></span>Like most people, I make snap judgments about people based on their surface behavior. I bark at the woman who takes my spot at the gas station. I shake my head at the parent that appears to be neglecting their child at the store. I listen to people say things about family, friends, co-workers, bosses, neighbors, etc. and decide I know enough about these people to form an intelligent opinion. When in reality, I don't know enough, I don't have all the facts, I may very well be wrong in my opinion. <br /><br />We tend to forget that people are the sum of their life experiences, that people can be annoying and endearing, lazy and hard working, polite and rude all in one body. We seldom can be defined by one action or one series of actions. Sure, people have distinct personalities, they display repetitive behaviors, but these things are not necessarily who they are. <br /><br />The clerk that does not fawn over you like you are the greatest person she has ever met when you buy your soda and candy bar might not even be responding to you. She may be sad and distracted because her child is at home sick and she can't be there to take care of him. She might have just been cussed at by the last three customers and is simply wanting to avoid #4. She might be attracted to you, but is painfully shy. She might also be a rude, arrogant person. The point is, give people the benefit of the doubt. Also, it is not all about you. <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-29739540601974369162007-12-04T00:26:00.000-08:002007-12-04T00:37:25.770-08:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">All restrictions lifted.<br /><br /></span>Sounds like I was just let out of "time-out". In actuality, that was what my surgeon told me today. She said that since she was certain that she removed all the offending disc, and since I appear to feel absolutely, positively no pain, that I can resume my old life style. Ok, not quite my old life style. I realized after I left her office that I will have to adjust how I do things if I want to see her again only in the supermarket, theater, etc. I have always been the "big guy", the guy everyone turns to when they need to move or they need some heavy work done. I also am the guy that gets frustrated waiting for help moving things and simply muscles through. No more! I have to be smart, lift properly, wait for help, allow others (preferably younger "big guys") to do some of the work. This will be especially trying when I am on a job site, wanting to get started and there is some over-sized file cabinet that MUST be moved before we can start. I will fight the urge to just shove it out of the way myself. I think I can adjust. I also have to begin the stretching and strengthening exercises that Dr. Mina gave me. I need to make this as much a part of my daily routine as brushing my teeth. Problem is, brushing my teeth never takes 45 minutes, so I will have to work on it.<br /><br />I am so blessed and can not stop praising Him for his help in all things disc related.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-81111983311802690812007-12-02T22:14:00.000-08:002007-12-02T22:30:44.514-08:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">So much happens on the way to blogging!<br /><br /></span>I have intended to, planned to, decided to, etc, blog for days now. Lately, I have felt that my life was like a journey down a river. Sometimes, I have enjoyed floating carelessly in a sturdy paddle boat on a slow meandering river, being lulled into a peaceful state of mind. Other times, I have been desperately clinging to a thin piece of cardboard as I hurtle down a Class 6 white water rapids, certain that things couldn't get worse, only to find that they can! I know that sounds overly dramatic, but at times, it fairly describes what is occurring in my life. I am learning to be content in both situations and the myriad of experiences that fall between the two extremes. Often, I have wanted to stop and blog about things, good, bad and indifferent, but I don't. I come to this page, sign in and stop, wondering, "Do you really want to hear this?" "What should I say?" "Forget it, I will do this tomorrow." Thus, no new entries. Maybe I will write again soon.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-25620118090620535532007-11-11T23:17:00.000-08:002007-11-11T23:27:25.733-08:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">Ahhh, finally a great work weekend!</span><br /><br />How do I express my immense satisfaction at how this past weekend's work went? I had two potentially difficult jobs to do. Jobs where I would have to rely one of my helpers to run the buffer because I have not been released by Dr. Mina to do work. Adding to my possible migraine was concern about whether I would have sufficient numbers of workers to accomplish the tasks and whether those workers would be up to the job, physically and mentally. <br /><br />Not only did I not run into the problems I envisioned, the jobs ran smoother than any had in a long time. The guys worked together like cogs in a well-oiled machine. My #1 man ran the buffer and basically, the job, like it was second nature to him. Oh, and the floors turned out fabulous.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6881534.post-64583865512602489402007-11-10T23:59:00.000-08:002007-11-11T06:53:23.089-08:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">Irony is life's gift to the arrogant!<br /><br /></span>A friend of mine related this story recently and I had to post it here. He owns a small business and has a valued employee who is very sure of himself. His opinions are golden. Wrong is a word from a foreign language to him. My friend mentioned that he had hired a guy to help them on one job. His employee said that he was not happy about the hiring. He had seen the guy before, had brief, meaningless small talk with him and had concluded that there was something wrong with him, some character flaw, something that he knew would make him not be able to work with the new guy. This employee mentioned his displeasure with this one time addition on a number of occasions, not being able to point out a specific problem, but reiterating that he KNEW that this new guy was going to say or do something on the job that would cause him to get upset and it would not be a good thing. My friend held firm to his decision feeling that his own assessment of the new employee, based on observing him working elsewhere and comments by others who worked around him were more valid than a nebulous 'gut-feeling' The day came for the job and my friend started the day with a small sense of impending doom, fearing a clash of personalities. His fears were unwarranted. The new guy worked well with the 'knowing' employee and the rest of the crew. They all got along seemingly well, even to the point of the valued employee talking about using the new guy on another job, bigger and more important. My friend said the highlight of his day came as the crew sat around and chatted. The new guy mentioned that he had decided that the valued employee was not the friendly type and was a bit surly. He said that he just knew this from the few times they had briefly spoken, said he could tell things about people from just one or two meetings. He said he sometimes just knew that some folks were a certain way, by merely meeting them.<br />Can you say IRONY?<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Erichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16647372428624905546noreply@blogger.com1