my life is bliss... except I feel obligated...

My life is bliss...
I don't have to work.

I can play tennis
or whatever.

I am very free.
I can do as I please.

Yet I feel obligated.
To share what I've been given.

I am a complicated mix
of faith and reason.

I've experienced deep spiritual feelings,
as well as serious cynical doubts.

If one can reconcile faith and reason
... and find synergy... great things are possible.

If Providential power can be directed for good,
rather than for evil, we could be free.

A Business Idea: a cellphone emergency system

You're walking into a poorly lit, unknown neighborhood... and there are teenage boys out smoking.

You pull out your cellphone and set your status to 'dark and dangerous'.  The phone starts taking video, a light beside the camera lens comes on.  The phone mirrors your alertness.

Some boys notice your presence and head toward you.  You sense you're about to be accosted.  Fearing the worst, you set your cell status to 'emergency'.  The video starts streaming to the emergency response unit.

At ten feet, you shine the camera and light at them and tell them firmly: 'Stand Back. Your actions are being recorded.'

The boys stop, say some mouthy things, but they back off.  Shaking, you head on your way and reduce your status to 'dark and dangerous'.

Your phone pings, emergency response is checking up.  You answer.  You think you're okay for now.  Okay they say, we were just checking.  Stay safe out there.

(This idea is given to the world freely by Marty Miller, March 5th, 2011.)

My Day... mourning for a cat.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

I had to dig a grave for a cat today.  Her name was Dali.  I met her last May... and she was skinny-thin then. Sixteen years old and wasting away.  But I grew to love her.  She had a really sweet spirit for a cat.  I remember the feeling of her frailty as she climbed on my lap.  But now she is gone... and I had to dig a grave.  I shed some tears in the process.  We'll miss you Dali.  You'll be mourned.

---

My shoulders are sore.  After the grave-digging... and the burden of sorrow there, I helped some friends move.  Thank goodness I was only a secondary source of muscle.  Two younger guys shouldered most of the load.  The small share I took is causing a serious burn in my upper trapezius.
---
But I have my 'trade secret' project that I am working on... I did a little research.  I think I need a stainless steel nut with the following specs: 1/4"-20.   

Mr. Pathetic

As we drove away from the concrete jungle of BWI and into the wooded rolling hills, the love of my life asked me how often I cry.  She had written a story on crying and her sources had said there were benefits to crying.


She asked me: had I cried this year?  Had I cried this decade?


Boys aren't supposed to cry.  I wondered if she had seen me in the movies.  Surely she had.  I had tried to hide it.  But I tear up at the stories.  When the "awwww" moment comes, I can see sadness... the beauty ... and the hope.  And I cry.


Maybe she hadn't seen it.  The theater is dark.  But the truth was I had read a really sad book that day named 'The Lovely Bones'.  A fourteen year old girl had been murdered by a serial killer and it tore her family apart.  There was so much sadness, I couldn't help but tear up multiple times.


So I told her: maybe you should ask me, "how many times have I cried today?"


She had loaned me the book so she understood.  She told me I was empathetic.


But boys aren't supposed to cry.  So I asked her: did you spell that like M. Pathetic?  Monsieur Pathetic.  Mr. Pathetic.


It has been a long time since I have cried for myself.  I've whined and complained for my lot, but not cried.  I shouldn't have even whined and complained.  My life has been one of very many blessings.


I have never been truly hungry.  I have never felt unloved.  I've been blessed with the opportunity to self-actualize.  I cannot cry for me.


But... if you've ever been truly hungry?  I have cried for you.


If you've ever been truly oppressed... or beaten?  I have cried for you.


For those innocents killed?  I cried for them.


For those who grow up only knowing hate and misunderstanding?  I cry for them as well.  And then I cry for us.


Call me pathetic if you will, but this boy cries.

Perfect is the enemy of good...

The love of my life tells me I should write.  But there is the hassle of the need for a perfect product.  Well, maybe not perfect... but at least well-polished.


But even the standard of well-polished can be overwhelming.  Daunting.  Forbidding.  At a minimum, an obstacle to progress.


So my perfectionism has been an enemy of good.  I have not produced nearly enough.  How much time have I wasted because I was afraid to share?  Or because I feared the response?


But this blog, 'Chillaxing With a Drink'... is my response to that.  If I write anything that I later regret... I have a built in excuse: I was probably under the influence and not thinking clearly.


So I've given myself the grace to make a mistake.  And that is empowering.  You should give yourself the grace to make mistakes, too.  Be empowered.


So in this blog I intend to share my semi-filtered speculations about truth.


One guarantee I am willing to make: In life, there are no guarantees about the truly important things.  Some things you just have to accept on faith... and that makes it better.


So I will write this blog with love in my heart... Peace out, baby!