The Goose Poop 5K

So…being the person I am, I figured that I would lay on my bed and blog while I wait for my phone to charge so that I have music to listen to (or someone to talk to) while taking my evening walk.  However, I realized as I began to type that I have choices of things to blog about!  What choices, you ask?  Well…three main topics: 1) Random words creating thoughts, 2) The corpse flower, and 3) Why so many people love glitter.  However, after putting a lot of time and effort into it (approximately 3% of an iPhone charge) I have decided to talk about…duck poop…more specifically goose poop.  Well…bet you didn’t notice that I went away for another 10% did you?  I did, and with further review the discussion about goose pooh has been dealt a veto.  When Googling goose poop, there are very few references…in fact only one that stood out, which is the Goose Poop 5K in Terre Haute, IN.  Now THAT is one race I will pass on.  Can you imagine what your shoes would smell like afterwards?!

In any case, the second place train of thought is the corpse flower (do you see a pattern here?  Hint: sense of smell).  I was interested to see that they have a corpse flower blooming in Belgium today (its bloom dies tomorrow).  Ironically, its bloom stinks like a rotting corpse and is drawing hundreds of visitors over its three day blooming cycle.  Now, funny thing is that two years ago there was a corpse flower that bloomed in Springfield, MO.  It made the local news…but not the International AP.  Seriously!!  One has to assume that those of us in Missouri are just a little less interested in taking our time to go visit a plant that smells like something that crawled up and died under a house…we can walk down the street to smell that. 

Which doesn’t remind me of a story I once heard (or made up) about this woman who was walking on the beach in sunny California… but I will share it anyway. She was a modestly built lady, probably 135 lbs and 5’10.  Her sandy colored hair was tangled across her face as she paced her way toward the water.  As she continued on her trek she ran smack dab into a tall, dark, and handsome man…yet bald.  She looked in his face and saw the most piercing blue eyes and gasped for a breath of air.  He reached his soft hand toward her face to touch it ever so slightly and then yanked her tangled locks.  “Excuse me miss.” He said, “My hairpiece flew off and was stuck in your hair.”  With a look of disdain and disgust she held high what dignity she had left, pointed her finger to the sky, and with the most distinguished accent she could muster proclaimed, “Hair today, gone tomorrow.” 

Yep.  This is what happens when one is slightly bored and unable to walk without something in their ears.  It is a painful existence…however, I have taken up the baton and will carry it high with pride and dignity.  Maybe I will do it at the Goose Poop 5k in Terre Haute…unless it is on a beach, at which point I need to make sure it is not a flaming baton…those can catch hair on fire.  And…wait for it…by the time you have finished this random blog, the corpse flower will have stopped blooming, as it is now Wednesday in Belgium.  Ironically, the dead corpse flower does not smell like something dead.  So, in closing, and with props to Mr. Ed...a corpse smells of a corpse unless of course, the corpse flower is dead.  What does it smell like then?  Yep, you guessed it:  Goose poop.

Peace.

I Like Wearing White Pants

You know...once in a while, I enjoy reading my own writing.  Not too often, but I read this post from some time ago and seriously made me wonder where I get this stuff.  Made me laugh at myself.  Hopefully it will allow a giggle for some of you too!  So, without further ado, and with wishes of a safe and enjoyable Memorial Day weekend, here is the re-release of "I Like Wearing White Pants."

Enjoy (I hope)!

Yep.  That would be me.  The guy who likes to wear white pants.

Watching Fashion Star tonight made me want to wear my white pants every other day.  Of course, on alternating days I would like to wear salmon and sea foam green (for good measure, obviously).

Why do I share this love for white pants?  Because I can.  Yes my friends.  I CAN love white pants.  Not ALL white pants though.  I am not a fan of white denim.  I mean, really, can you really make white denim look that good?  I guess if they were very full, and you wore them with some really awesome shoes and had abs of steel so you could go shirtless (then you would also need a kickass tan)...you MIGHT be able to pull it off, but I, personally, will not be wearing white denim on my even numbered days.

Then the ultimate question comes up.  How do you keep white pants clean throughout the day?  This is a very valid question and one that I thought of numerous times during my routine this morning.  I apparently wipe the side of my sonic cup in the morning to displace any condensation and then set the cup in between my legs while driving.  I caught myself before wiping the condensation on my pants...you never know if that water has pooled with a galactic mass of dust, which as you touch your white pants expands into a light brown stain, formerly known as clear water.  So...I caught myself in mid-air and slapped my hand away from the pants.  Yes, my right hand did, in fact, know what the left hand was doing.  Obviously the homeless fellow with the Sharpie written sign did not know what I was doing, but seriously, doesn't he have other important things to think about?

Actually, that brings me to the question we all want to know.  Where do many of the people on the off-ramps find Sharpies to write with?  I can never find a Sharpie myself, IN MY HOUSE, let alone if I were homeless.  And, they usually do not use those fine-point Sharpies...they have to use the kind that give you a high immediately upon opening the lid.  Well, I guess maybe there are people, who instead of giving the people on the corner money, give them Mega Sharpies.  I have never observed this happen, but it could be possible.  For now, I am still going to save my dollars for those who have used a pen and the bottom of the beer carton they found in the ditch.

I guess, though, I can't read their signs, so in theory they could say, "Hey you.  If you can read this sign, you are too damn close...watch the road" or "I don't want your stinking dollars...I just want a Mega Sharpie."  In any case, I hope they are okay with the dollar.

The dollar.  Yes, we are wandering through a very random thought process tonight. Kind of like word association.  The almighty dollar.  Let us trace how the dollar I just gave the homeless man got there.  First of all, our government decided that they were going to print a zillion dollars and sent them out to the banks to be shared with the masses.  The dollar was then passed on to Mabel.  She is 92 years old and thinks that she is a very powerful business woman (she actually lives in a Motel 6 on the interstate in Bakersfield, CA) and goes to the bank every day to pick up 40 'crisp' business cards.  Did I mention that she thinks her name is George?  Thank goodness she didn't think her name was Ben...that would get expensive...but her clients would LOVE her.  Anyway, Mabel (aka George) goes to the city park and talks to the pigeons about her brilliant plans to create macramé covers for the Model T seats.  As she shares this brilliant idea she passes out her business cards to the listeners.  Of course, after one taste of the 'cards' the pigeons politely pass them on to the children who gather round daily and learn about Henry Ford, or wait on dollars...whatever.

So, the dollar ends up in the hands of Rodney Maurice Guiegenhenker III, a 10 year old child prodigy who invests a dollar a day in penny stocks.  Rodney (or 'R' as his close friends call him), takes his dollar to his broker, Bob.  Yep, 'R' has a broker named Bob.  Bob takes the dollar, buys 100 stocks at an even penny a piece.  Within 30 minutes 'R' has made $34,298 and heads back to the park where his Nanny will just be waking up from her daily nap.

Meanwhile Bob runs up to the convenience store to buy a bottle of gin.  Yep, Bob always bets against 'R' and daily drinks away his animosity toward the 10-year-old.  The clerk at the convenience store takes the money from Bob and shakes his head as he watches Bob hobble back to his workplace (did I mention that Bob has one leg six inches shorter than his other?  Hence the name Bob.  Yep...he had parents with a sick sense of humor).

So, now the dollar changes hands with the clerk at the 7-11, a little old man who had to run in to buy a bag of M & M's before his sugar crashed, a gang member who mugged the little old man, but who was kind enough to leave the M & M's (can't have little old men going into comas in my blog), then we end up in the purse of an as-of-today-former prostitute, Candy.  Yep.  Candy.  Real original, right?  Well, Candy had made her final dollar on the streets of Bakersfield and loaded up on the Megabus and headed to Amish Country in Pennsylvania.  On her way there she stopped in Kingston, AZ, Amarillo, TX, OKC, OK, and Springfield, MO.  In Springfield, she had to stop the bus so that she could visit the restroom, where she realized that she was pregnant.  In a state of panic she bought ten pregnancy tests and realized that it was just gas.  Before getting back on the bus, she gave the clerk ten ones for two fives.  She really likes to have 'bigger' bills, of course.  The Amish like that, she has heard.

The clerk at the station is immediately staring at the end of a pistol.  The customer behind Candy was getting ready to hold the station up.  The clerk hands over the contents of the cash register:  11 ones and three stamps.  (Way to hold up the wrong gas station, weirdo) As the attendant watches the robber drive off in their Hummer, he calls the cops.  Not 5 miles away the cops pull over the Hummer and arrest the man...but not before he tosses all 11 of the dollar bills in to the wind.  "There goes all your proof!" he exclaims, right before the police throw him onto the ground.  Really, this one was not the brightest crayon in the box.

The dollars fly away down Chestnut and over Kansas Expressway, where an unsuspecting bicyclist is on their way to work (it is Walk, Bike, or Bus to work week after all).  The dollar hits him smack dab in the face.  He grabs the dollar and immediately heads to Sonic.  It is Happy Hour!  Down to Commercial Street he goes where he orders a Cream Slush treat, only to find out that a Cream Slush treat is not actually a slush when it comes to Happy Hour (should have picked the Diet Coke).  Grudgingly he gives his dollar, plus two more, to the very happy car hop.  She runs inside and takes the next order.  It is a Route 44 Diet Coke with easy ice and lime.  As the driver pulls up and hands her a five, she reaches in her pocket and hands me the dollar bill.

As I drive off, I see a fellow on the corner with a sign made out of what appears to be white denim with pen writings on it.  I respect a homeless person who uses a pen (and does not think white denim is for wearing), so I give him the dollar as I drive past.  He yells something to me, I assume a "Thank you kind sir."  I drive off.

The man on the corner was actually not saying "Thank You."  The real words he yelled were, "Hey!  I know the lady who hands out these business cards!"

White denim, Sharpies, and a dollar bill.  The morale of the story:  If you are going to feed the pigeons your business cards...next time please think that your name is Ben! :)

Peace.

They Raised me Well

You know, today I was put in that situation where you see that lady stranded in the middle of the expressway and you have to make that decision whether or not you are going to help or if someone else will surely come along the way.  Well, I made that decision to pull over without giving it much thought.  However, afterwards, I wondered to myself what makes that a knee-jerk reaction in me?  My response to someone's post on facebook was that I was raised right...and as I thought about it, it occurred to me that it was in fact very true and I felt led to share exactly what I mean.

I know that in life I have 'ragged' on my family for those tiffs that all families seem to have...you know when you just don't seem to see eye to eye on something.  However, I am not sure that I have ever written about how absolutely marvelous they are.  So, today, I am going to.  I am also going to tell it like it was an obituary.  You know...that is when we seem to really share about how wonderful people were...long after anyone gets the chance to thank them in person for being that way.  So, even though I KNOW they would not wish to be thanked, I am going to share it anyway...because, frankly, my family deserves it.

First, my Father and Mother, Bud & Linda Evans.

My dad was always involved in sports, loves coaching and mentoring, giving back to his hometown, and just being an all around 'man's man.'  He connects with people very well.  He can, for lack of a better term, 'shoot the shit' with just about anyone and has never met a stranger.  Most of all though, my dad has been a wonderful son.  I do not know many men who make sure that they are at their parents each morning for coffee...like clockwork, he always went to Mammaw and Pappaw's before heading to work.  While the other fellas were headed to the coffee shop or going straight to the office, he always managed to stop by and make time for his mom and dad.  That is the kind of respect that most people think only happens in the tv shows from the 1950's, but I am here to tell you that he IS that tv show and I am most honored to be his son.

My mom...she is what many people might call the modern day Mother Teresa.  Now, she would be absolutely embarrassed to be called that and would also tell you that she is far from that, she missteps every day and is so thankful for the good Lord's grace and mercy.  That might be true, but if I were to tell anyone who to emulate in the world...it would be my mother.  I remember every Sunday we would drive out to the Texas County Rest Home (an group home for adults who in many cases worked at the sheltered workshop).  She would take them to church with us (sometimes we would have 3 ladies in the car with Misty and me in there too).  After church sometimes we would take them to get a treat at the Dairy Queen.  Mom taught us that we were all perfect in God's eyes, and these ladies, though Misty and I (at a young age) couldn't quite understand how you would consider them perfect.  Later on in life we understood, as they were as perfect to God as anyone else in the world.  I also remember mom visiting the shut-ins from church, 'making' Misty and I sing on occasion when we would go to their houses, we hated that, but it brought those folks a lot of joy.  One night, I even remember our mom going down to the county jail.  I have not a clue who it was for, but someone had called for her to come down and help them.  Misty and I sat in the car annoyed that someone else had asked mom for help...but looking back, that is what made (and still makes) mom so special.  She is never one to think of herself first, but rather her service to others, and not to sound cliche, but she asks herself daily 'what would Jesus do?'.  Finally, that is what makes her such a phenomenal funeral director.  She really does care for EVERY person who comes through those doors...as did everyone in the family.  If you take a look at her in a service, you will probably see her eyes with a few tears.  She feels so wonderfully for every person...she laughs and she cries with them.  She is an amazing person and what a blessing it is to call her my mom.

Then there is Pappaw, Clydie Evans, Sr. He was married for 57 years to my Mammaw Jean before she passed from this earth.  In those 57 years they spent a TOTAL of 8 days apart from each other.  7 days in the 50's when Pappaw went on a moose hunting trip in Wyoming and then one day when Pappaw was in the hospital in Springfield and Mammaw had to come home.  I drove her that day and she cried so much because she didn't want to sleep without him by her side.  They were madly in love until her last breath.  If I can only be blessed to have a love half that strong I will count myself as a most fortunate man. However, I think the story that tells of their love is not of their own, not of the love they showed to families at the funeral home (which they really thought EVERY family that came through that door as their family), but actually over 50 years ago in a furniture store.  This is something that will possibly really upset my Pappaw that I am telling, but like I said, I am not wanting to tell everyone when he is dead.  I want to thank him for it while he can still get the gratitude he deserves.

In any case, in the 50's he and Mammaw had a furniture store.  It made them a good amount of money at the time, or so they thought.  It was just prior to the recession in 57-58 and people were buying all sorts of furniture on credit.  Well, they were purchasing it, but to ensure the creditor got paid, Pappaw and Mammaw had to sign for it as well.  Well, the bottom fell out and people stopped paying their bills.  So, the creditor, who was a fellow from Lebanon, came down and told Pappaw that they needed to go to each of the people's homes and collect the money or repossess the furniture. One by one they would go to those houses week after week.  The guy would pull up and Pappaw would go in.  He knew all of those folks by name and had great relationships with them all.  He would come out of the house and get back in the car.  The guy would ask him how it went, get out his list with two columns on it and Pappaw would tell him to move their bill into his column.  Those people didn't have the means to pay for it and he would figure out a way.  This went on until the pages were basically transferred over to Pappaw and Mammaw.  I won't mention the amount of money it was, but will say that it wasn't chump change. I know that he and Mammaw spent the next 20 years paying back that money, making sure it was always paid on time.  They got it paid off and never made a fuss...as it was the right thing to do.

There are many of these stories that I could tell about my family.  They are downright wonderful people.  We tend to disagree on a few things that really impact me; however, I KNOW they are such awesome folks and deserve a lot of gratitude for being such great and caring people.  I also know that I did not get to the rest of my family, but this took longer than I anticipated, so I might just have to continue at a later date.

All in all, thinking back to today, I helped push a lady out of the street. Good deed? Yes.  What I should have done? Yes.  Living up to the standards set before me? Not even close...but trying every day to get closer to that mark.  Because...yes...they raised me well.

Give What You Can...When You Can.

You know some days…you just can’t seem to go to sleep.  That has happened to me ever since I came back from California.  I guess they call it jet lag…but you think that it would pass faster than this.  In any case, it seems that the more I stay awake the more I seem to want to write.  So…I guess I am just going to do that.

Tonight, I think that I am going to revisit a post that I wrote over a year ago.  It was on our responsibilities as human beings to give to others.  I compared it to voting and fans at ballgames back then.  Today…I am going to say that giving to others is not a ‘right’ or a ‘privilege,’ such as voting or supporting our teams, rather…giving is an obligation. 

When I was spring cleaning today (which consisted of packing away a lot of Christmas stuff that was sitting in the spare room) I noticed how much I have been given.  So much…from snowglobes and decorations, to clothing, candles, candy, and more I have received from others.  I have been given a lot, and in life, God has blessed me in abundance (family, friends, good fortune in so many ways).  I remember the saying that ‘to whom much is given, much is expected.’  That is so true.  Whether we are given material things, money, a wonderful job, great friends, or any of so many things, we are expected to give back.  We don’t have to pay it forward, as we have already been paid.  We should want to give back in some way. 

The catch, that I believe gets most people, is automatically it is assumed that to do this you must be able to give money.  Not true.  Many of us do not have two extra dimes to rub together, let alone two dimes to give away.  However, we do have a talent, some time, or expertise that is needed by somebody or someplace in order for them to thrive.

Take for example, my organization, CASA.  You don’t have to have a lot of money to give back to children who are abused and neglected.  You can give of your time to help one out, you can volunteer an hour to help with an event sometime in the year, or you can even give 15 minutes (the time it would take to wait in line at Steak’n’Shake) to run in and help with a few office related tasks.  It really isn’t that hard.

Another couple examples (I use these because they are organizations that I am very familiar with and are dear to my heart)…Lost and Found.  They provide assistance to children and families who are grieving.  You don’t have to give money to help these families.  Maybe you know someone who is in the counseling field and can suggest that maybe they help provide support services for these families. Money or time out of your life? No…but a connection that might make the difference in a life of a child who just lost their Mommy or Daddy? Yes.  And, THAT is really a huge difference!  Then there is Wish I May, providing birthdays for children in need.  Do you have to give money to help them?  Nope.  How about having your own birthday party and asking people to bring a special gift for a boy or a girl?  You don’t even have to give up your own gifts!  You can give back at the same time you are receiving.  Wow!  What a great way to celebrate YOUR life! 

Now, don’t get me wrong…each of these, and so many other worthy organizations need your help financially.  Money is tight, as we all know.  However, think about this, which is a concept that we are working on right now through CASA.  Give what you can…when you can.  You don’t have to be a big spender to help make a difference.  Did you know that an organization still rejoices when they receive a $20, $10, or $5 check in the mail?  Seriously, that check goes to help the same people the check for $10000 goes to help. 

Remember the woman who gave all that she had in the Bible and the Pharisees mocked her?  Would THEY have given all that they had?  Had THEY not been given much?  Was not much expected from THEM?  In fact, she had given her all, and her two coins may have been the equivalent of $10000 to them.   Our non-profits know this and recognize their large and small donors as one very equal group: Those who are giving and who are making a difference.

So, on Monday, when you are out and about, reading the paper and seeing people who might be spending their money frivolously on the latest IPO, a lavish boat, or electronic surveillance devices…make a choice to give back.  Be the bigger person.  There is no IPO, or boat, or bug that can bring you the great satisfaction of giving back to a child, your neighbor, your community.  I promise. 

This Monday let us all remember to give what we can…when we can.  It’s so easy to make a difference…so let’s start doing it today.

Peace

The Music is All Around Us...

I haven't blogged in quite a while, and this one is short...but true...but figured I would post anyway.

“The music is all around us…all you have to do is listen.” – August Rush

Sometimes the noise all around drowns out the simple and sweet songs that make life so special.  That special friend who is always there to lift you up when you are feeling down, the child’s smile that brings a joy and warmth to your heart, or the simple thank you received when checking out at the grocery store. 

Many times the ‘noise’ of wars, threats of war, taxes, budget disputes, violence, turmoil (the list goes on and on) is so loud that we forget to listen to the beautiful music around us every day.  Honestly, even I have had a lot of difficulty with that as of late.  When things aren’t going the way I would like to see things go, I really lose focus on the small miracles that happen every day and tend to only see the negative and bad.  I lay here in bed thinking that I need to really find that focus again.  Just because we lose something special does not mean that we have to give up on everything else. 

It is like with death.  When someone you love dies, it is so hard to focus on anything positive and good.  You see the ill effects it has on the people who loved that person and are hurting and begin to focus on that as well.  With relationships it is often the same, whether personal or professional…love or just life.  Losing anything is always hard.  Time heals the loss.  The most difficult part, as humans, is that we often tend to allow ourselves to lose the moderation that is necessary to heal.  We become depressed and downtrodden.  We lose focus on the great and good things and only see the rest. 

Coming from the funeral home, I know this to be true.  You can tell anyone that time will heal and that someday they will be able to move on.  However, those are just words, heartfelt, but just words.  We all must take our time to heal.  We just have to remember to look forward, find the good and recognize it, and through those recognitions…we will be able to heal.

So, even when the dark seems like it is taking over and the negative thoughts are so loud that they seem to pierce your every fiber…remember, “The music is all around us…all you have to do is listen.”

Peace