The sacred Garbage Man

If a picture paints a thousand words, then this one is a whole tome in itself~~

W. Eugene Smith WORLD WAR II. // The Pacific Campaign. June 1944

This photo from World War 2 is iconic and, in my mind, is one of the most important comments on war in general.  The picture, by W. Eugene Smith, is of an American Marine finding a desperate infant still astonishingly breathing among the dead in Saipan. They passed the baby from soldier to soldier until the child arrived at the top of the hill.  I wish I could find out whatever happened to the child, but have not been able to do so as yet.  Perhaps the child’s history is now lost to us.

Meet you at the Dung Gate (bring your own shovel)

We have what’s called “Third Stage” water treatment in our small town. (I don’t know what stages one and two represent, and possibly would prefer not to.)  Suffice it to say that living next to the water treatment plant isn’t a choice area due to the sulfur-like fragrance that wafts in once in a while.  (Who likes eating their morning Wheaties when everything smells like rotten eggs?)

Evidently, the water was A LOT worse before we moved here, before the water treatment plant started doing its thing.  I’m sure the natives who remembered the old water were grateful.

I tend to shy away from nasty things, except that being a nurse has probably strengthened my olfactory resolve a bit.  Nevertheless, given a choice…

Office hours 24/7

My husband, Bob, is a biology prof at a small college in a small Midwestern town.  His classes have been very unique, sometimes only comprised of, say, five or so students learning genetics or molecular biology.  I mention this by way of context, since despite the small size, he also has plenty of office hours, and even with those, is quite flexible and available, and has even had an occasion of a personal phone call or two about an upcoming test. 

In other words, he makes his knowledge very accessible to his students. 

Unfortunately, in the 25+ years that he has prof’d at this college, I have heard plenty about the genre of students who don’t bother to utilized what he so generously offers, don’t even show up for lecture or lab…and thus the “down notices” go out needlessly.  He hates that, because he does everything he can to help his students succeed.

So, I get a little confused when the greatest Teacher

God’s wide-angle lens

I don’t mean to sound like an old time horse trader, but I have been summarily blessed with good teeth.  If you are not one of those in my camp, then you know that’s not something to be taken for granted, period.  In fact, one dentist once told me that the thickness on the enamel of my choppers is only about one in 100,000.  Translated, that means I have really no viable excuse of any cavities.  But I have a few, cavities that is.

Which means I’ve taken my teeth for granted….

Until now.  This year I had to get my first (hopefully only) “crown” for a fractured tooth.  OUCH to both the process and the bank account!

I’m thinking of an older friend from church many years ago who had saved a sum of money for some dental work, when she unmistakably heard her Lord tell her to give it to someone.  All of it. 

WHAT?!?  But, Lord?!!  (We’re all really good at “but, Lords”.)  She did, however, obey, and of course, the money returned back to her very quickly, from an unexpected source, and if I

“Gentlemen, start…your…engines!”

Race fans, let’s play name association.  I say Memorial Day weekend, and you say—

Okay, if you’re not well versed in racing (which, in truth, I’m not either, it’s just that I grew up in Indianapolis), I’ll give you this clue…

credit:http://sploid.gizmodo.com

Now, the individuals who purposefully strap themselves into these death traps to hurdle themselves around the Indy 500’s “Greatest Spectacle in Racing” two and a half mile oval at 220mph are, well,…there are several adjectives that come to mind.  At least they wear helmets, (which is more than I can get my middle schoolers to do when they ride their bikes.)  This year, there was an impressively colossal two-car wreck around lap 55, with the second car doing an airborne 360 (open cockpit, mind you) into the inside railing and safety net.  By design, the car shatters to absorb the impact. 

And the rider gets up and walks away.

The next day, I’m working peacefully in my yard and

The “Like” button

Bob and I have an ongoing debate about the “like” button.  He will peruse a post but not necessarily fully read it, hitting the “like” button “to encourage” the writer, and then of course, he will leave a comment only if he has something more substantial to say.  I’m not saying I’m always above doing that, but I’m more along the lines of “liking” something only if I “read” it.  Perhaps I am being a bit legalistic here?

Akin to that discussion is the “follow” button.  Hitting the follow button is likewise effortless, but authentically following is something else, because to really get to know someone takes time.  I want to “read” what’s on their hearts: how they process and interpret their experiences, and how they position themselves for the future.  I want to understand our disagreements, and guess what!  I might even change my mind on some things, or vice versa—how cool is that?!?

Unfortunately, the various WordPress conveniences seem to

Biblical coat check

He doesn’t have to wear them ALL the time.

My husband, Bob, is forever misplacing his glasses.  I was not at the lake with him when one pair of glasses took a dive into the water, never to be found (by him, anyway, but maybe by a hungry large mouth bass).   Another time his expensive prescription sunglasses went missing from the car, and guess who got blamed for that one…??  Our house isn’t really that big, but enough so that treasure hunting for a pair of spectacles can make you late for work. (Has that ever happened?  Perhaps I shall