It had been a funky week, with schedules flopping around like a 9” freshly stocked brown trout that decides his first lake meal will be your #14 bead-headed, weighted prince nymph with a caddis-pupa dropped 6” behind. The night went fast and I crawled into bed, exhausted and wondering if my daughter was going to be ok. No one knew so I went to a place that I liked in the mountains.
The trout were hopping, once landed it served as a slight relief of the heat of the morning sun as it got higher in the day. Splashes from the crisp mountain lake felt good on the hot face and arms. A biker speeds by along with a down-hill skier. Aggie was snoring as well and we both rambled through our memory banks like two lost people trying to find their car in an airport parking lot. The visions of camping, barking, chasing cats and sky-diving raced through our tired minds almost in synchronicity. Perhaps we were inside each other’s dream?
BANG! BANG! BANG! NOISE THAT IS UNUSUAL. Jim, you need to wake up.
I ambled out of bed in one fluid motion with the rehearsed scene now being played on center stage and it was my time to act. I instinctively grabbed my .380 automatic hand-gun, which contained 6 rounds in the cartridge. Should I take the second cartridge? NO. Just make it downstairs, don’t turn on the light and let the dog keep barking behind. I venture to look outside and see some car in my drive way. It is 2AM and someone is violently rapping on my front door. I peek around the stair case and put the gun down in a nano-second. It ‘s my son, Nathan and his wife standing on the front porch.
They look upset.
Almost before I could open the door Nate lunges through along with Lindsey telling me to get dressed. “Aimee’s in trouble. We don’t know if she’s going to make it. We have to leave now.”
Those cold and truthful words severed me in a new way. The trout were now really a dream and reality sucked. Then it hit me; this is what other people felt the night I got hit, and this is equally painful, except in a mentally torturing way. Questions were rapidly exchanged and dogs were watered, fed and let out by Lindsey as Nate escorted me upstairs to get dressed, informing me of the changes in Aimee’s condition even just since I’ve fallen asleep. I escaped in a dream, turned my phone off and thought things would be fine. Beth was with Aimee. Turns out things were almost as bad as they could get.
Almost.
Wrong. It turned out totally different. It’s never like you imagine, I thought. Never. What is going on? Thoughts, confusion, prayers and emotions cave in as my grogginess and fantasies of mountain fishing in Wyoming are soon replaced with immediate male problem-solving thinking. But I could not solve this one. All I could do is watch and I’m not even close enough to do that yet. I need to get to Boulder.
At faster than the posted speed signs, we traveled together to the hospital in Boulder, Nate continuing to answer my insisting questions. It was 2:30AM, cold, dark and my daughter was 40 miles away and dying. I could not drive fast enough. Emotions continued caving, prayers were violently launched and an email barrage was sent as we sped through the early morning ink. I called my mom to pray, which is to say we brought in the heavy artillery. We ignited the world to pray for my daughter and her baby, not to mention what JD must be going through. We have ignition. We have lift off. Almost immediately, replying emails from all parts of the globe were coming back and now we had the first glimpse of the army of God unleashed, yet we still were afraid.
My thoughts kept surging back to that other evil night on 3-August-07 when I got hit by a car. This feeling I’m experiencing now must have been how they all felt when I was in my accident. I keep trying to figure out which is worse; the physical pain of going through such an ordeal else the mental anguish of watching, helplessly. Both ends of this stupid spectrum suck, so I dismiss the analysis.
We finally arrive at the hospital and make the journey through the stale and empty corridors that would soon be filled with UPS drivers, doctors, patients, visitors and the occasional clergy. Hospitals all have the same ‘fragrance’ of sickness, health, pain, love, happiness, grief and despair all blended together. They all smell the same just like airports only different.
We made it to Aimee’s room and then Beth informed us of the set of events that transpired just hours ago where Aimee began bleeding internally, unknown by any nearby medical employee. As it turned out, had Beth not have spent the evening with Aimee, this note would have certainly taken on a much different twist and one that I care not entertain in my mind for more than a few seconds. When my wife discovered Aimee listless, pale and with blue colored lips a bit after midnight, she became a 5 Star General commanding a platoon of medical staff. Not only did my wife give life to my daughter, she saved it again some 30 years later, and this time along with our grand-baby.
Aimee eyes were closed, yet she peered out from under her (still) beautiful eyes every so often to see who was around. I could tell that she was upset. All of her work, all of her effort to have a baby, all of her life…this was almost the price that was at least being initially ‘bartered for.’ I move over to Aimee, securing that she knew it was me and gently held a part of her had that was free from some sort of a needle. This limited my slight grasp to just a few outside fingers, but we made the connection.
“Aimee, you were right next to me when I was right next to death. Do you remember that?”
(very faintly) “Yes, Frog. God never puts us through more than what we can endure.”
Aimee kept repeating this mantra as if she was at the precise moment where the actual question of “living” was offered to her as a choice; and she was choosing life. I cried. She kept repeating this truth. She was correct.
“Aimee, I don’t know what you are feeling. I don’t know what you are going through. But you may feel trapped inside your own body and that’s the way that I felt when I got hit. It’s a repulsive thought to be trapped inside your own body, but that’s at least the way that I felt for a long time and it really made me feel alone. No one understood this.”
I could tell by the faint murmurs of Aimee that she not only agreed with this, but it seemed to relieve her anxiety a bit, knowing that I may understand a tiny fraction of what she must be processing. She agreed. By now she had received multiple units of blood and her color was coming back. She was still bleeding and the decision-set was now centered on the next steps to deliver baby Bettie. Plans were laid to complete this task, but Aimee’s condition would not dramatically improve for over 2 weeks.
The birthing of Bettie was nothing short of a miracle. Nothing short. Two people almost died, both of which are my daughters.
Something happens to a person that comes directly face to face with death. They realize how fragile life is. They realize how fast things can change. They realize how little they *really* control. They always thank God for another day of life each morning before even crawling out of bed.
As we celebrated Bettie’s first birthday this past weekend, I see the miracle of two healthy daughters and I see deeper love than I ever could imagine. There is a special Heckel/Markwardt love that bonded 3 people together, eternally.
That love combined with a global prayer assault was the only medicine from God that was truly needed, and it worked.
God has plans for this family.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Long's Peak
I love Long’s Peak. I have pictures of it on my wall, I’ve read books on it and even have it tattooed on my right shoulder. Every day I look to the West and am amazed at how beautiful it is. I never get tired of looking at it. Its majesty is simply beyond words. On occasion when I’ve flown over it, I am proud to think that I’ve stood atop and, if the opportunity arises, may even brag to the passenger in the next seat about that fact. Long’s Peak means much to me and I feel I have a special and personal relationship with it. On my over 30 treks on its trail system, I get amused when I see some of the wanna-be mountain climbers that are ill prepared for the weather or not in good enough shape to enjoy the mountain. Most of them end up back at the parking lot when they’ve had enough “fun.”
I love Jesus Christ. I have pictures of Him on my wall. I’ve read books on Him and even have a cross tattooed on my right shoulder. Every day I look to the mountains and appreciate His creation. The parallels continue, however.
Much like flying over Long’s Peak at 35,000 feet and admiring its majesty, we cannot really say we love the mountain until we experience the grueling 16 hour round trip of climbing it. Then, maybe, we can have the “right” to say we appreciate or even love the mountain. The Christian life is much like climbing Long’s Peak. It looks nice from a distance, yet the physical and mental act of its climb requires a lot.
2 years ago, the Crossroads Peak was pretty cool. The music blarred loud, the messages were really relevant and we could menu drive this Christian experience. We could easily go back to the car if we got cold or if the wind came up and we forgot a coat. No problem. As time went on, our progress on the pathway continued. We went by beautiful water falls, took a bunch of pictures and checked our maps along the way. Being a Jesus Freak was ok.
The Longs Peak trail is a tough one, no doubt. The first section in the tall Ponderosa Pines, however, while steep in places, is pretty easy. Most people can make it to Columbine Falls with little or no trouble. I’ve even seen some people in dress shoes at Columbine Falls! They probably pay for it with a blister or two, but the point is, it’s not that huge of a deal.
Enter treeline:
Directly after Columbine Falls is a sign post that reads, “Danger! Avoid lightning storms. Take shelter….” Around 200 yards past the falls things change. The trees are gone and the wind is fierce. There are little shelters save some boulders and the next 5 miles are rocky, steep, washed out, exposed to the elements and with a decreasing amount of Oxygen with each step. In our aggregate familial Christian experience, we have hit tree line. And each one of us trekkers has our own set of problems; boots, wet socks, pebbles in the boot, sweat, hunger, thirst, breathlessness, on and on the list goes. We are now in the unique position to make some choices. Unlike the choices made on the Long’s Peak trail, where continuing on despite a snow/hail/thunder storm may be lethal, the continuance of the Christian journey makes all the eternal difference. To retreat to the car back in the safe parking lot is to give up. It’s to say, “I’ve had enough of this trail, let’s go back to the car, turn on some tunes and warm up with a cup of hot chocolate.” Such will never know the true meaning of “loving” the mountain. To love the mountain, you must endure it. To endure the mountain makes you stronger and gives you the right to claim it. To endure the Christian experience past treeline requires stamina, strength and faith. To endure it gives you the right to claim you love Christ.
Our family has successfully blown by Columbine Falls. We are actually quite a ways into the treeline trail probably at the Chasm Lake turn out. It’s cold, tough and we know it’s only going to get worse because we can see all kinds of storms brewing atop the peak. But, unlike the casual tourist, we are prepared. We have trained for this hike and we have all of the equipment to keep warm, dry and hydrated. We have the tap into a power source that created the mountain upon which we stand! And we must make the right and intelligent choices. We know right and wrong methods. While we have been at this turn out many times before, we have never been as prepared as we are now. We know it’s going to get worse, but we also know that we love the mountain. Also, Christ is walking with us, that is if we allow Him to do so. I have the confidence that, if I walk with Him, He will direct my paths because He promises that in His Word.
I can honestly and proudly claim that I love Long’s Peak. I have earned the right since I’ve reached the summit 3 times. I have endured the pain and agony of other trips where I turned back and headed to the car because of things beyond my control. Nevertheless, I know that mountain.
I also can honestly and proudly claim that I love the Lord. I know that He walks with me even though the storms of life can be brutal. I may fall, but He will be there to pick me up. I know that as long as I trust in Him, stay close to Him, he’ll guide me to a summit that will give me true and lasting peace, not just a walk up to Columbine Falls. So as our family ventures beyond the treeline, we should expect challenges, falls and even some brief turn backs. But as long as we keep pressing on and keeping into clear focus that beautiful peak, we will be victorious.
Now when I see Long’s Peak, I see my Jesus. Come to think of it, maybe we’re on the Everest Trail…
I love Jesus Christ. I have pictures of Him on my wall. I’ve read books on Him and even have a cross tattooed on my right shoulder. Every day I look to the mountains and appreciate His creation. The parallels continue, however.
Much like flying over Long’s Peak at 35,000 feet and admiring its majesty, we cannot really say we love the mountain until we experience the grueling 16 hour round trip of climbing it. Then, maybe, we can have the “right” to say we appreciate or even love the mountain. The Christian life is much like climbing Long’s Peak. It looks nice from a distance, yet the physical and mental act of its climb requires a lot.
2 years ago, the Crossroads Peak was pretty cool. The music blarred loud, the messages were really relevant and we could menu drive this Christian experience. We could easily go back to the car if we got cold or if the wind came up and we forgot a coat. No problem. As time went on, our progress on the pathway continued. We went by beautiful water falls, took a bunch of pictures and checked our maps along the way. Being a Jesus Freak was ok.
The Longs Peak trail is a tough one, no doubt. The first section in the tall Ponderosa Pines, however, while steep in places, is pretty easy. Most people can make it to Columbine Falls with little or no trouble. I’ve even seen some people in dress shoes at Columbine Falls! They probably pay for it with a blister or two, but the point is, it’s not that huge of a deal.
Enter treeline:
Directly after Columbine Falls is a sign post that reads, “Danger! Avoid lightning storms. Take shelter….” Around 200 yards past the falls things change. The trees are gone and the wind is fierce. There are little shelters save some boulders and the next 5 miles are rocky, steep, washed out, exposed to the elements and with a decreasing amount of Oxygen with each step. In our aggregate familial Christian experience, we have hit tree line. And each one of us trekkers has our own set of problems; boots, wet socks, pebbles in the boot, sweat, hunger, thirst, breathlessness, on and on the list goes. We are now in the unique position to make some choices. Unlike the choices made on the Long’s Peak trail, where continuing on despite a snow/hail/thunder storm may be lethal, the continuance of the Christian journey makes all the eternal difference. To retreat to the car back in the safe parking lot is to give up. It’s to say, “I’ve had enough of this trail, let’s go back to the car, turn on some tunes and warm up with a cup of hot chocolate.” Such will never know the true meaning of “loving” the mountain. To love the mountain, you must endure it. To endure the mountain makes you stronger and gives you the right to claim it. To endure the Christian experience past treeline requires stamina, strength and faith. To endure it gives you the right to claim you love Christ.
Our family has successfully blown by Columbine Falls. We are actually quite a ways into the treeline trail probably at the Chasm Lake turn out. It’s cold, tough and we know it’s only going to get worse because we can see all kinds of storms brewing atop the peak. But, unlike the casual tourist, we are prepared. We have trained for this hike and we have all of the equipment to keep warm, dry and hydrated. We have the tap into a power source that created the mountain upon which we stand! And we must make the right and intelligent choices. We know right and wrong methods. While we have been at this turn out many times before, we have never been as prepared as we are now. We know it’s going to get worse, but we also know that we love the mountain. Also, Christ is walking with us, that is if we allow Him to do so. I have the confidence that, if I walk with Him, He will direct my paths because He promises that in His Word.
I can honestly and proudly claim that I love Long’s Peak. I have earned the right since I’ve reached the summit 3 times. I have endured the pain and agony of other trips where I turned back and headed to the car because of things beyond my control. Nevertheless, I know that mountain.
I also can honestly and proudly claim that I love the Lord. I know that He walks with me even though the storms of life can be brutal. I may fall, but He will be there to pick me up. I know that as long as I trust in Him, stay close to Him, he’ll guide me to a summit that will give me true and lasting peace, not just a walk up to Columbine Falls. So as our family ventures beyond the treeline, we should expect challenges, falls and even some brief turn backs. But as long as we keep pressing on and keeping into clear focus that beautiful peak, we will be victorious.
Now when I see Long’s Peak, I see my Jesus. Come to think of it, maybe we’re on the Everest Trail…
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Merry Christmas Bashing Alternatives
Usually about this time of the year we see a flurry of radical religious nuts donning their normal defensive posture of attacking anyone that fails to use the words, “Merry Christmas” in favor of “Happy Holidays,” or some other phrase. This time of the year many are overly sensitive to the words that people speak and make severe judgments on their spiritual worth, based on simple vocabulary. I can recall when the word “Xmas” was the final confirmation that Christ was officially “Xed” out of the season. Later in life I learned the historic fact that the Greek letter “Chi” was simply an abbreviated “C,” which still stood for Christ. So Xmas is no different than any other abbreviation or acronyms such as WWJD, PYW or even the ancient Ichthys (ΙΧΘΥΣ) fish that you see on the back of some cars.
This season seems to be a bit different, however, as I see a lot of businesses using the “Merry Christmas” phrase. I was just shopping at WGs and the cashier actually wished me a “Merry Christmas,” and this has been happening in many stores where I’ve been shopping. What’s up with this?
Rather than immediately assuming that the world has turned its faith-ear toward our creator, my hunch is that with all of the infuriated (and many times wealthy) religious zealots, the marketing departments decided that to re-introduce this phrase would be a huge and positive marketing strategy, not cow-towing to those that may be offended. It’s a simple matter of statistics and once one business goes down this path, then the others must follow. Just go to your local mall and you’ll see many businesses following suit.
Enter “Merry Christmas” again.
So assuming that this is at least a partial explanation regarding why we’re hearing more “Merry Christmas’,” it begs the question, ‘what are the radical fundamentalists going to gripe about during this Christmas season?’ Here are some Holiday suggestions:
•Admittedly, this assumed marketing strategy has not been universally adopted so there still is room for chastising those businesses that still do not embrace the “Christmas” words, so there’s still some “Happy Holiday” bashing that is available.
•Another griping option would be to attack the Salvation Army’s bell ringers that clearly are a distraction when going into retail stores. They are noisy and are just after your money. I never wanted war anyway, and so why do we need such an army?
•Or how about a huge gripe-out for the crowds of idiots at the shopping malls or the traffic jams in parking lots; never mind that people are simply trying to share some love or that they are searching for that perfect gift for that special someone.
The Christmas season started when Jesus was born, which is an undeniable historic fact.
No other person, ever, has made such an impact on the planet. What other individual’s birthday generates over 18% of our annual GDP? And we’re still arguing over the whole deal some 2,000 years later. Instead of trying to ‘make a statement’ this season by criticizing, condemning or complaining, why not try something different this year? Love.
This season seems to be a bit different, however, as I see a lot of businesses using the “Merry Christmas” phrase. I was just shopping at WGs and the cashier actually wished me a “Merry Christmas,” and this has been happening in many stores where I’ve been shopping. What’s up with this?
Rather than immediately assuming that the world has turned its faith-ear toward our creator, my hunch is that with all of the infuriated (and many times wealthy) religious zealots, the marketing departments decided that to re-introduce this phrase would be a huge and positive marketing strategy, not cow-towing to those that may be offended. It’s a simple matter of statistics and once one business goes down this path, then the others must follow. Just go to your local mall and you’ll see many businesses following suit.
Enter “Merry Christmas” again.
So assuming that this is at least a partial explanation regarding why we’re hearing more “Merry Christmas’,” it begs the question, ‘what are the radical fundamentalists going to gripe about during this Christmas season?’ Here are some Holiday suggestions:
•Admittedly, this assumed marketing strategy has not been universally adopted so there still is room for chastising those businesses that still do not embrace the “Christmas” words, so there’s still some “Happy Holiday” bashing that is available.
•Another griping option would be to attack the Salvation Army’s bell ringers that clearly are a distraction when going into retail stores. They are noisy and are just after your money. I never wanted war anyway, and so why do we need such an army?
•Or how about a huge gripe-out for the crowds of idiots at the shopping malls or the traffic jams in parking lots; never mind that people are simply trying to share some love or that they are searching for that perfect gift for that special someone.
The Christmas season started when Jesus was born, which is an undeniable historic fact.
No other person, ever, has made such an impact on the planet. What other individual’s birthday generates over 18% of our annual GDP? And we’re still arguing over the whole deal some 2,000 years later. Instead of trying to ‘make a statement’ this season by criticizing, condemning or complaining, why not try something different this year? Love.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Alles in Ordnung!
The other night my daughter was visiting and accused” me of having an obsessive/compulsive disorder when it came to cleaning stuff and keeping things, in what I term, a state of order. My German heritage (Alles in Ordnung) coupled with being a Virgo may account and lend some good credence to this accusation. In reflecting on this potential truth, I took a quick inventory of some of my behaviors.
I’ll report, you decide:
1) my garage has 3 vacuum cleaners, all used for expressly different purposes and labeled accordingly,
2) my cologne is arranged in a cost descending order such that the cheaper stuff is used first whilst the expensive (Givenchy Pi) is used only for those special occasions,
3) my email in box never has anything older than 1 week in it,
4) my breakfast routine is carefully organized for the expedient and quick morning execution plan,
5) my morning “sit down” is scheduled in my Outlook,
6) my work desks (home and at the office) are free of litter and unwarranted paper refuting the axiom “a clean desk is a sign of a sick mind,”
7) my public restroom behaviors NEVER touch anything (don’t get technical here, please!) without a paper towel insulator,
8) I enjoy hanging around organized people and listen for tips (& write them down) on ways to get more organized,
9) I make many lists, then sticky notes reminding me to read the lists,
10) my truck is washed at least 3 times/week and dusted nightly and
11) most of my writing is about things that repulse me (except for when I write about myself, like this piece).
So maybe my daughter is correct in her assessment. In actuality, I would re-term the aforementioned “accusation” and re-term it an attribute, of which I wish more people possessed. Nothing is more disgusting than to walk into a colleague’s cube and see piles of paper and a cutesy little sign that reads, “the buck gets lost here!” Dirty cars should be illegal and public restrooms should be designed “touch less” (eg DEN airport). I do struggle with this as the world seems to be moving more toward of a state of entropy versus organization, but that’s my problem. I enjoy my little neurosis and feed it regularly. I am sick, but organized!
Despite this disease, the worst part of it is that I actually don’t feel in control of anything (listen up here all of you Pscyh majors, this may be a thesis!) and I tend to lose things or misplace things. It’s like I’m so fricken organized, that I am out of control. The other day I had to replace a sink fixture because, in the spirit of organization, I tossed a .39 cent washer thinking that it was taking up valuable garage space and that I’d never need it again. $243 dollars later after a trip to Home Deep, I started to feel guilty.
1) my garage has 3 vacuum cleaners, all used for expressly different purposes and labeled accordingly,
2) my cologne is arranged in a cost descending order such that the cheaper stuff is used first whilst the expensive (Givenchy Pi) is used only for those special occasions,
3) my email in box never has anything older than 1 week in it,
4) my breakfast routine is carefully organized for the expedient and quick morning execution plan,
5) my morning “sit down” is scheduled in my Outlook,
6) my work desks (home and at the office) are free of litter and unwarranted paper refuting the axiom “a clean desk is a sign of a sick mind,”
7) my public restroom behaviors NEVER touch anything (don’t get technical here, please!) without a paper towel insulator,
8) I enjoy hanging around organized people and listen for tips (& write them down) on ways to get more organized,
9) I make many lists, then sticky notes reminding me to read the lists,
10) my truck is washed at least 3 times/week and dusted nightly and
11) most of my writing is about things that repulse me (except for when I write about myself, like this piece).
So maybe my daughter is correct in her assessment. In actuality, I would re-term the aforementioned “accusation” and re-term it an attribute, of which I wish more people possessed. Nothing is more disgusting than to walk into a colleague’s cube and see piles of paper and a cutesy little sign that reads, “the buck gets lost here!” Dirty cars should be illegal and public restrooms should be designed “touch less” (eg DEN airport). I do struggle with this as the world seems to be moving more toward of a state of entropy versus organization, but that’s my problem. I enjoy my little neurosis and feed it regularly. I am sick, but organized!
Despite this disease, the worst part of it is that I actually don’t feel in control of anything (listen up here all of you Pscyh majors, this may be a thesis!) and I tend to lose things or misplace things. It’s like I’m so fricken organized, that I am out of control. The other day I had to replace a sink fixture because, in the spirit of organization, I tossed a .39 cent washer thinking that it was taking up valuable garage space and that I’d never need it again. $243 dollars later after a trip to Home Deep, I started to feel guilty.
But this feeling soon disappeared when I realized that I was 3 minutes late for fertilizing my lawn.
Sick, very sick.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Gas Line Rage and The Fall of the Rights of a Pedestrian
Gas lines are everywhere and I’m not sure why. I think a lot of people are traveling this summer despite the record high oil prices, and that must account for some of the traffic at the gas pump. The interesting social dynamic at the gas pump, however, is what this blog is about. I go to a gas station that is tied to a large grocery conglomerate and if you spend a certain amount of dollars per month, they give you a considerable discount on the price per gallon. I absolutely despise going to this gas station, however, because it is, by far, the rudest place to trade. It’s not the gas station’s fault, it’s the consumers that seem to take great pleasure in jockeying for the next ‘in line’ purchase. It’s much ruder than the type A people in the store check out lanes that zip back and forth to expedite their purchase. You know who you are; you’ll jump 8 lanes of lines to save a few seconds on your checkout time. Wow. What an accomplishment!
At this particular gas station, it’s just plain obnoxiously rude. Cars line up on the adjacent street so as to get the jump at the next available pump. This creates a backed up traffic jam on the particular street. Once a filling spot is open, people will jump to that space in order to save precious time. Yesterday I had the unpleasant task of buying gas. I was in the line and with one car in front of me. A spot became open, but it was “bass-ackward” to the guy’s gas tank. He violently gunned his car, grinded his reverse gear and backed into the space almost killing a patron in the process. Fortunately the patron was nimble on foot and managed to avoid a near death experience. The driver of the car said nothing to remedy his rudeness and only proceeded to glare at the walking patron for being in his way.
What’s wrong with this picture? I think it has to do with the de-personification of courtesy when one gets behind the wheel. The larger the vehicle, it seems to be the less need for courtesy and politeness. I drive a small Toyota so I’m humbled at every intersection! My solution to this gas station problem is simply to queue up behind someone gassing and then let it be. I may take 3 minutes longer, but it solves the road rage problem and the street jam. Turn off your engine, take some time and don’t jeopardize lives in the process of filling your tank. Road rage is nothing more than the lack of courtesy and politeness to our fellow human beings that happen to share our planet during our time here. The challenge for us all is to slow down, take it easier and don’t act as if our time at the gas pump (or check out lane for that matter) is a life and death situation. Not doing so may indeed make it a life and death situation for some pedestrian.
In Boulder pedestrians have the right-of-way. I like that. In Northern Colorado, pedestrians are simply obstacles to overcome or over-driven. When I moved to Colorado some 35 years ago, I was impressed at the patience people used when driving. Pedestrians were king. Can we return to such a state? Yes, if each one of us simply slows the pace down a bit, realizing that our vehicle is an extension of our personality and that we should never do anything in a vehicle that we wouldn’t do face to face with a fellow human.
At this particular gas station, it’s just plain obnoxiously rude. Cars line up on the adjacent street so as to get the jump at the next available pump. This creates a backed up traffic jam on the particular street. Once a filling spot is open, people will jump to that space in order to save precious time. Yesterday I had the unpleasant task of buying gas. I was in the line and with one car in front of me. A spot became open, but it was “bass-ackward” to the guy’s gas tank. He violently gunned his car, grinded his reverse gear and backed into the space almost killing a patron in the process. Fortunately the patron was nimble on foot and managed to avoid a near death experience. The driver of the car said nothing to remedy his rudeness and only proceeded to glare at the walking patron for being in his way.
What’s wrong with this picture? I think it has to do with the de-personification of courtesy when one gets behind the wheel. The larger the vehicle, it seems to be the less need for courtesy and politeness. I drive a small Toyota so I’m humbled at every intersection! My solution to this gas station problem is simply to queue up behind someone gassing and then let it be. I may take 3 minutes longer, but it solves the road rage problem and the street jam. Turn off your engine, take some time and don’t jeopardize lives in the process of filling your tank. Road rage is nothing more than the lack of courtesy and politeness to our fellow human beings that happen to share our planet during our time here. The challenge for us all is to slow down, take it easier and don’t act as if our time at the gas pump (or check out lane for that matter) is a life and death situation. Not doing so may indeed make it a life and death situation for some pedestrian.
In Boulder pedestrians have the right-of-way. I like that. In Northern Colorado, pedestrians are simply obstacles to overcome or over-driven. When I moved to Colorado some 35 years ago, I was impressed at the patience people used when driving. Pedestrians were king. Can we return to such a state? Yes, if each one of us simply slows the pace down a bit, realizing that our vehicle is an extension of our personality and that we should never do anything in a vehicle that we wouldn’t do face to face with a fellow human.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Technological Devolution in the Corporate World of HR
(Written several years ago)
Automated phone systems suck.
Automated phone systems suck.
I’m talking about the automated/voice activated/touch a number/never-talk-to-a-human type of a system. We have one here at work in our E-HR department, which, by definition, is not really a department but a web-site.
The overall concept of Electronic Human Resources (aka ‘Personnel,’ the 1980 term that absolutely repulses some of the left-behind-carbon-based-units) is an oxy moron. Our HR department is a web-site with a few nerds that keep the content up to date. If you want to know about your benefits, you go to a web site. If you want to fire someone, you visit another website.
Nary has a human entered into the equation.
To make matters even more insulting, our E-HR now has a automated phone system interface, which now settles the even slightest possibility of encountering a carbon-based-unit (CBU) with even the most drastic “life-changing event.” If you die, you are suppose to let your significant other know of these websites such that you can be properly removed from the payroll and deleted from all PDLs. You can automatically program the website for a “level on non-activity period,” which will make the assumption you’ve croaked. “if you are dead, press or say 9…if you are dying, press or say 911…if you have to fart, press your butt or say PPPFFFTT…if you are suicidal, please hold for the next available agent. Your call is important”(unfortunately not to anyone here).
The other day I was having one of those potential “life changing events” (severe pains in my chest) from navigating my arse off trying to find out if my prescription hay fever medication was covered under my e-insurance. After around a half an hour trying to navigate the 1,000 layer deep web site, I finally tried the “contact-us” button and got this ominous looking 1-800 number. I called it and ended up in another phone system from hell for another 38 minutes. I never did reach a CBU and finally ended up putting the call on hold and going to bed, hoping to screw their system somehow.
The other day I was having one of those potential “life changing events” (severe pains in my chest) from navigating my arse off trying to find out if my prescription hay fever medication was covered under my e-insurance. After around a half an hour trying to navigate the 1,000 layer deep web site, I finally tried the “contact-us” button and got this ominous looking 1-800 number. I called it and ended up in another phone system from hell for another 38 minutes. I never did reach a CBU and finally ended up putting the call on hold and going to bed, hoping to screw their system somehow.
For about 2 years I had this method of simply hitting the pound key multiple times until something happened to kick me into the waiting arms of a CBU, but they’ve now disabled that functionality and it drops you back to the main starting menu asking your sex, mother’s maiden name, passwords and sperm count. If you miss anything, then it gives you a cryptic website where your profile may be updated. Problem is, you need the same logon and pw to weed through the web site.
This is progress or, said another way, technological devolution.
And what happened to the “rotary phone question?” This was another way around these idiotic systems; pretend you have a rotary phone, don’t do anything, and then they have to talk to you. They’ve disabled that function on our E-HR automated phone system as they believe no one really has such an antique.
So I’m fed up with our fancy technological lunacy that is seeking to substitute human contact with electrons. E-HR is stupid, yet it saves a bunch of money so I guess it’s the right thing to do. After all, if we paid people to talk with other people, that would be a real waste of money and, therefore, be an excellent candidate for being “cheap-sourced” somewhere else in the world, with more lost jobs...
So I’m fed up with our fancy technological lunacy that is seeking to substitute human contact with electrons. E-HR is stupid, yet it saves a bunch of money so I guess it’s the right thing to do. After all, if we paid people to talk with other people, that would be a real waste of money and, therefore, be an excellent candidate for being “cheap-sourced” somewhere else in the world, with more lost jobs...
Press 5 if you are feeling lucky. Press 3 if you just robbed a bank. Press this, press that. I'm not IM-pressed.
"If you wish to speak with a humanoid CBU, we are sorry, but there are none left. Please visit our website where you can solve your own stupid problem. Have a great day!"
I give up.
I give up.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Garage Golfing
Some time ago I had this terrific idea on how I could create a mini-driving range in my garage. I had seen the idea done before at a golf shop in the Bay Area where they hit real balls with real drivers against a wall lined with mattress-like material. The balls hit the soft stuff and the balls simply died. I actually woke up one day thinking that there's really NO reason why I couldn't do something of the same right in the ole garage. The idea continued to build as my creativity worked imagining that I could simply use a large fishing net, some string and an existing tee mat that I use outside in the summer when driving whiffle balls. I sped home from work, left my truck parked outside and began stringing up the large fish net to the garage ceiling, the 67 Classic Mustang front drivers side wheel spinner and its antennae, a ladder and a 2 x 4 board. For the ball-collection base I used an old fitted sheet, thereby making a safe haven for the balls when they died on the net. Beth wondered if she should put her Camry outside, but we (other friends and my son arrived on the scene) assured her that "...we've been golfing long enough to be able to hit a net from 3 yards away!"
We had been golfing for a little over 6 months.
After setting up the netting and getting out my clubs, I was thinking that I need some practice on the new 3 wood that I just purchased, but my son talked me down to a 7 iron for warming up. This turned out to be a very good piece of advice. One of the distinct advantages of the newly designed "garage driving range" was that one could literally watch the garage TV whilst practicing driving a ball! The netting was about 5 feet in front of the TV and we were watching the Simpsons. My son even commented "...just aim for the TV" as we could see it through the fish net. How cool!
I started with my 7 iron so as to 'feel out' this new driving range. I think I was a bit too excited and put a bit too much on the first drive. The ball struck like a lightning bolt under the 2 x 4 anchor, peeling like thunder through the netting and careened under my work bench at a velocity of around 98 MPH. Not good. Well at least I missed the TV and the dent in the dry wall can hardly be seen since it's behind my workbench. Next I secured the 2 x 4 anchor with more nails, which I knew would solve the problem of low flying shots.
I never thought of slices, however.
The next shot was a slice totally missing the netting and fired through my tools, hitting the peg board and knocking off several bags of cement screws. My son was there dying of laughter watching all of this so he tried a few shots and they were ok. My confidence was re-built so I tried another shot with my 7 iron. This shot was really not nice. Never mind that the ball bounced back from the net and almost killed me, I nearly wrapped my Calloway 7 iron around the nearby ladder on my follow through stroke. I had inadvertently moved a bit too close to the ladder. My coach tells me to follow through on my swing, yet I think he's making the assumption that I'm playing outside in the clear of any ladders. The ball actually ended up flying very fast under the 67 Mustang making very nasty sounds as it was losing its energy on the undercarriage of the car and careening over the perfectly finished paint job.
We sold the car shortly thereafter. And it had nothing to do with my golf game.
I never imagined that I could lose golf balls in my garage, but to this day 12 of my new Top-Flite balls are somewhere in my garage. We decided to migrate to the whiffle balls, which would be an order of magnitude safer. Not so. Let me just say that a whiffle ball traveling at over 100 MPH in a garage can be very dangerous and damaging. I really believe that the dents in the Camry can be pounded out with minimal effort and the broken light fixtures are not that expensive. The group was choking up with heinous laughter by now so I decided that I had done enough damage for the evening and that I should just wait until the weather clears and golf on a real golf course.
While we all had a good laugh, I learned a very good lesson tonight; effective garage-golf may be more expensive than simply going to the driving range!
We had been golfing for a little over 6 months.
After setting up the netting and getting out my clubs, I was thinking that I need some practice on the new 3 wood that I just purchased, but my son talked me down to a 7 iron for warming up. This turned out to be a very good piece of advice. One of the distinct advantages of the newly designed "garage driving range" was that one could literally watch the garage TV whilst practicing driving a ball! The netting was about 5 feet in front of the TV and we were watching the Simpsons. My son even commented "...just aim for the TV" as we could see it through the fish net. How cool!
I started with my 7 iron so as to 'feel out' this new driving range. I think I was a bit too excited and put a bit too much on the first drive. The ball struck like a lightning bolt under the 2 x 4 anchor, peeling like thunder through the netting and careened under my work bench at a velocity of around 98 MPH. Not good. Well at least I missed the TV and the dent in the dry wall can hardly be seen since it's behind my workbench. Next I secured the 2 x 4 anchor with more nails, which I knew would solve the problem of low flying shots.
I never thought of slices, however.
The next shot was a slice totally missing the netting and fired through my tools, hitting the peg board and knocking off several bags of cement screws. My son was there dying of laughter watching all of this so he tried a few shots and they were ok. My confidence was re-built so I tried another shot with my 7 iron. This shot was really not nice. Never mind that the ball bounced back from the net and almost killed me, I nearly wrapped my Calloway 7 iron around the nearby ladder on my follow through stroke. I had inadvertently moved a bit too close to the ladder. My coach tells me to follow through on my swing, yet I think he's making the assumption that I'm playing outside in the clear of any ladders. The ball actually ended up flying very fast under the 67 Mustang making very nasty sounds as it was losing its energy on the undercarriage of the car and careening over the perfectly finished paint job.
We sold the car shortly thereafter. And it had nothing to do with my golf game.
I never imagined that I could lose golf balls in my garage, but to this day 12 of my new Top-Flite balls are somewhere in my garage. We decided to migrate to the whiffle balls, which would be an order of magnitude safer. Not so. Let me just say that a whiffle ball traveling at over 100 MPH in a garage can be very dangerous and damaging. I really believe that the dents in the Camry can be pounded out with minimal effort and the broken light fixtures are not that expensive. The group was choking up with heinous laughter by now so I decided that I had done enough damage for the evening and that I should just wait until the weather clears and golf on a real golf course.
While we all had a good laugh, I learned a very good lesson tonight; effective garage-golf may be more expensive than simply going to the driving range!
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