OK...I promised...

All right. I promised. I have to deliver. Now that I'm back in the States, I'm going to be writing a bit more about France, from the point of view of this vacation. It has been 7 years since my last trip, so I was curious if anything had changed. I must admit that it has, and I'll be trying to chronicle some of the "misadventures" that took place on this trip.

However, that's to come. As for now, I'm just going to place a bit of updated information here.

Today is "kitteh day" in our household. Our rescue kittehs are here, and they have refused to be timid and wait in the single room that we had set aside for them. Instead, they decided that running down stairs and investigating everything was far more fun.

They are still a bit skittish when it comes to noises and being held, but as time goes by we hope that they will relax and become people cats. They already have some of those inclinations, and after the newness wears off, I'm sure they will let it show.

What have I learned about kittehs so far? First of all...poop stinks. Even with deodorizing litter. It stinks. But it isn't as bad as the bathrooms at work can smell, so that's good.

Second, they are indeed "kittehs". I use this spelling as a salute to the "ICanHazCheezburger" website. These two, Jezza and Stig, are already showing major personalities and I can see lots of photo ops in the future. They are nuts and are truly of child/adolescent age, and will attack anything within the immediate area that needs attacking.

Finally, I wish I hadn't waited so long to get cats again. I forgot how wonderful it is to see these creatures at play, and while they can be a pain in the keister, they are also well worth the effort. So, the "kitteh years" begin in our household.

By the way, if you are interested in very helpful information about cats, be sure to check www.about.com and search for the section written by Frannie Syufy. It's quite good.

Back to the kittehs, and watch this space for the vacation observation complications.

Coming Attractions

I can't give any details here, but I will be posting some very new stuff shortly. Give me about 10 days from now. I can't promise you'll enjoy it. I can't even promise that you'll want to read it. But at least it will be new!

Ready For Kitties

You know what? First pets are expensive! When you stop to total everything you need to own a cat, it really adds up.

First, there's the adoption fees. In our case, $75 per kitten. But for that, we have 2 healthy, neutered, well-taken-care-of-and-well-loved little buddies. But let's add the rest, shall we?

Dry food (not the cheap junk that will ruin their health), a variety of healthy canned food to see what they like, litter box, litter, litter disposal container (not required, but huge benefit), pet bed (they have to be comfy), scratching posts and toys (to keep them from destroying what they shouldn't), food bowls, collars, tags...man! It's like preparing a nursery!!

Still, when one considers the cost, one also has to consider the benefit. You get two little creatures who can actually show affection, who lower blood pressure (in some cases), who amuse...I think it's worth it. I don't deal well with losing a pet, but hopefully that's a long way off in the future. For now, I find it amazing that God created creatures like this who can provide humans with happiness and who have such amazing abilities. (How do they jump like that??) And, let's face it, kitties are cute. They are. Even the most jaded heart can't look at a kitten and think, "What an ugly creature." No way.

So, I'm looking at 2 weeks and counting until we have our new little friends. Life will never be the same. And I'm glad.

Long Time, No See

Okay. I admit it. I got lost. Somewhere between recovering from injury and learning French and taking care of everyday mundane matters I forgot that I had a blog.

I do that a lot.

Still, it isn't all bad. Very few people read this blog, and those who do haven't said anything. Until today. Until I got a frowny face with a tear from Asiavou. (Sorry, Asia.)

So where do I go from here? I think I'll try to get back into this over the next few weeks, with new observations about culture shock, cultural differences, and a variety of experiences. One of the newest experiences will be that of raising pets again. No, not children...pets.

My wife and I have gone ahead and arranged to be adopted by, not one, but two kittens. They are about 5 months old and were rescued by an organization called Itsie Bitsie Rescue. We will pick them up at the end of the month, but have already met, and fallen in love with them. I'll give you a brief description in today's blog.

The kitten that caught my eye was a beautiful little orange tabby. He was named Cheeto at the time, but we have decided he will be called Jezza (a salute to Jeremy Clarkson of Top Gear). This kitten's markings were so unusual that I had to adopt him. He has a circle on either side of his body, with stripes around them, and three racing stripes down his back. He is a purr-machine and seems to think that he is part parrot, as he loves sitting on shoulders. Why? I don't know. He's a charmer, though, and we can't wait to have him running roughshod over our house.

We were worried about Jezza being lonely, though. So we asked if he had a best friend at the rescue organization. They gave us an enthusiastic "yes" response, and with that we met a cute little white male kitten with a dark gray mask and "cape". The name "Stig" was a natural. He is much calmer, and is a bit hesitant around people, but he was very glad to be held and is best buddies with Jezza. The "foster parent" was worried that Jezza was a bully to Stig, until she watched them interact for awhile. When Jezza would playfully attack Stig, Stig would wait until a bit later when Jezza wasn't looking, and then...revenge! (Best served cold, eh?)

Anyway, we are hooked on these two kittehs (the lolcat word for kittens) and can't wait to get them home. It should be fun, and it will certainly create some experiences to blog about. Stay tuned.

A Waste of Time

It's amazing. I have lost a month. Oh, I've been relatively conscious and aware during this lost amount of time. However, I realized today that a month of recovery time has passed and I have accomplished absolutely nothing. Nothing!

Sure, I've been doing my physical therapy to try to regain mobility. But other than that? Not a heck of a lot.

I have asked myself why this may be. Why have I gone over 30 days without even trying to write a chapter of my book, doing more ancestry research, or even starting a hobby such as trying to build a model using only one foot and no hands? I don't know. I guess it could be some form of depression. Perhaps it is merely incredible Garfield-type laziness. All I know is that I've done nothing.

I still have a few days. Can I do something? Probably not. The only writing I foresee is the writing off of this rehab time as a complete waste.

Yeah...some form of depression. I'll buy that.

Working My Way Back

It has been nearly a month. During that month, I have spent about 95% of my time in my living room downstairs. Stir crazy? Me? Absolutely.

Still, there have been some positives during this time of rehabilitation. For example, I have discovered that the insurance companies that I chose for my health coverage and my motorcycle coverage have been top-notch. Aetna has been great, and I have not had to worry about what is covered and what is not. Sutter Hospital has also been fantastic. I was treated great and had full confidence in my doctors and nurses. When you consider that I am scared of hospitals in themselves, it was nice that they made me feel so comfortable. Finally, I was covered by Allied Insurance for my motorcycle coverage. Not only did they not make me feel like slime for filing a claim, but they processed matters quickly and professionally and seemed genuinely concerned for my recovery. All in all, I was very impressed with all parties involved in helping me get back on my feet.

My motorcycle is dead. The insurance company has determined that it is irreparable and are "totaling" it. Even though I am glad that I don't have to deal with the repair and sale of the bike, I am still saddened by the loss of my pretty little motorcycle. What a waste.

So where am I on my recovery? Well, I am in a walking boot, even though I am not supposed to walk in it. (Should it be called a walking boot?) My right arm is doing better, even though I still have some pain. My left shoulder is still in bad shape. It's going to take a lot of physical therapy to get it back to semi-normal. And yet, I am very grateful that it wasn't worse. I am hoping to get back to work shortly, perhaps as early as next week. I have to get to the point where I can use my left arm to move my wheelchair around my workplace.

Thanks to everyone who has offered words of support and has helped me in concrete ways as well. (e.g., those who provided dinners for two weeks after I got out of the hospital.) I don't wish an accident like this on anyone, but I'm glad it isn't worse. To those who think that riding motorcycles without proper protection is a fun and "free" thing to do...think again. Please...wear armor. Spend the money for a high-quality helmet. Recognize that all it takes is a moment for you to be badly injured or killed. You may not always think so, but it is certain that someone would miss you if you died. And it is also certain that if you were badly injured that someone would have to change their entire life to take care of you. If you won't wear protection for your own benefit, at least consider others.

Broken, But Not Gone

I have found the strength and ability to move my arms to write a quick note here. Why have I been gone?

About 1 1/2 weeks ago, I learned the dangers of motorcycle riding. On a nice Thursday morning, my daily, weekly, and monthly schedule changed, as somehow I ended up hitting the back of a car at 40 miles per hour. I was in and out of consciousness for about two hours and remember nothing of the incident. All I know is that I was transported to the ER of Sutter Roseville Hospital and then to the Trauma ICU. The result of the accident was gruesome in ways, but far better than it might have been.

Here's the scorecard: Dislocated foot/ankle, broken ankle, 1 broken left rib, 2 breaks in my left shoulder blade, broken right radius (elbow), and a mild concussion with a slight bleed in the brain. (No jokes about the exploratory scan needed to find my brain first, okay?)

So, an accident at 40 mph resulted in those injuries. The doctors and nurses were amazed that it wasn't worse. Why wasn't it? Because when I bought my bike, I took the advice of the salesman and bought the best quality helmet I could find (Arai), I wore armor, and was completely covered. But I did not end up unscathed.

Nevertheless, I will not be on a motorcycle ever again. Not because I'm afraid; I don't remember the accident so I really have no fear of it. No, the reason I will not be on a motorcycle again is due to the look on my wife's face, the tears in her eyes, and her fear for my life. No motorcycle is worth that. She is my best friend and my life, and I will never do anything that would cause her to be anxious every day that I leave the house.

I am off work on LOA right now, but the 3+ month original timeline has been destroyed. I told the doctors that I would return to work in 3 weeks, and the most recent estimate holds with that. I give credit to the numerous friends in my congregation and former congregation whose love and kindness have encouraged me. They have given practical assistance, and just as importantly, they have given me spiritual assistance and a wonderful demonstration of love. I owe you all more than you can ever imagine. You have humbled me with your kindness.

More important is the love, attention, care, and strength that my wife has given me. She is the best woman I have ever met, and I am grateful that she is in my life. I have no way of expressing what I feel for her in the lines of a blog.

Anyway, please be careful when riding. Even if you are a careful rider, accidents are just that...accidents. They happen. If you ride, wear protection. I got lucky. Several others delivered to the hospital that weekend by LifeFlight weren't as lucky.

The Doctor Has Regenerated. Long Live the Doctor!

I have been a fan of Doctor Who for as long as I can remember. How big a fan? Somewhere in this house of mine I have a VHS recording of the made for TV movie with Paul McGann as the 8th Doctor. For real! (I wish they would have made some BBC episodes with McGann as the Doctor. He would have been great.)

When the BBC decided to resurrect the series, I was pumped. I didn't know what kind of job they would do. I only hoped that they would treat it with respect. Enter Christopher Eccleston as the Doctor. Fantastic! (With apologies to Eccleston for stealing his tag line.) He had energy, smarminess, and just the right feel for the role. Then, after a solitary season, he was gone. What? One season? Come on! Even my wife, who was new to the series, was ticked. Still, she was willing to give the show a chance once she understood how things worked in the world of Doctor Who. Eccleston was the 9th actor to play the role, and the whole concept of regeneration meant that the new actor would still be the Doctor, but could bring a new take to the role. And he did...

David Tennant, the skinny Scottish Doctor number 10 was great as well. Amazingly, his popularity surpassed just about every other Doctor, except maybe #4 Tom Baker. Still, he was great, and his intensity, humor, and energy carried the series along through Rose, Martha, and Donna as sidekicks. The wife loved him. And then, at the height of his popularity, David decided the time was right for him to leave. Allons-y and goodbye. (Yes, I'm stealing again.)

Oooh. Was my wife mad. Me? I was fine. I have been a fan long enough to know how this works. But when I saw the actor they chose for the role, I must admit I was taken aback. He was a skinny, long-faced...well...kid!! Matt Smith was chosen for the role, along with Karen Gillan as Amelia Pond, the new companion. But, despite my somewhat hesitant acceptance, I grew more excited as the first new episode neared.

I won't go into details about the episode. Watch it yourself, for goodness sakes! But I will say the following:

Matt Smith (the Doctor): PRO - Funny (fish fingers and custard after spitting evil beans into the sink), energetic, expressive, with just a tad bit of overconfidence (that appears well-deserved...DUCK!). The swimming pool IS in the library. "Is this world protected?" "Yes." "Now...run" Raggedy Doctor. CON - He's so young! Don't say "hell" so much. Terrible outfit.

Karen Gillan: PRO - Beautiful, great accent, her own person...not the timid scaredy-cat. Love the look on her face as the Doctor was undressing. Priceless! CON - None yet. Really like the character.

Overall, I give the new series very high marks to start. Even the wife has decided she really liked the show and the new Doctor. Now THAT is high praise! If you have never seen the show, watch it, preferably from the season starting with Eccleston. As for me? I'll be in front of the screen, every week, eagerly anticipating whatever comes next. Or, as Matt Smith is fond of saying..."Geronimo!"

UFL in Sacramento

OK...I admit I'm glad to see football in Sacramento again. Even if it is the UFL.

But come on...the Sacramento Mountain Lions? Really?? That's the best you could come up with? That's almost as bad as the California Redwoods. (Last I checked, trees aren't really good at running.)

Why not bring back a bit of Sacramento history? I suggested the classic "Sacramento Surge". The only problem is that the NFL might not give that up from the WLAF days. Sacramento Gold Miners is another part of history (remember the CFL in the United States?). But they might not want to give that up either.

Still...the Mountain Lions? Couldn't use the Pumas? Is there some conflict with Nike or Reebok here?

No wonder the UFL stinks.

No Word Yet

Earlier, I said that whatever my biological mother decided was fine with me. I was simply hoping to get some information about my biological father. So, last Monday, I sent my letter with little hope of response.

As of today, almost two weeks later, I still have no response. I expected this...really. And yet, I find myself a bit annoyed. Why? If I expected nothing, I should be fine with nothing. But I have to admit to myself that I was hoping that she would come through. I was hoping that her interest would be piqued enough to scribble a note or something to acknowledge my existence. Is she rude? Was she traumatized by her pregnancy at the time? I don't know. Still, it is 46 years after the fact. Would a note be asking too much.

Perhaps she will write. Perhaps she will do me the favor of giving me a clue of the other branch of the tree. I don't think that I am asking too much, am I?

I guess I care more than I thought.

Where Does the Time Go?

Ok, I admit it. I'm a bad little blogger. I don't post regularly, I procrastinate, and I'm not very interesting. So sue me. Still, between the French Congregation and my new hobby, I'm quite busy.

New hobby? Yes indeed. By my previous posts, you can probably guess where this is headed. I've been completely immersed in genealogy. Now that I know who my biological mother is, I have been able to trace hundreds of people in that side of the family tree. As I learn more, I want to know more. I've gone mental over this. I have even been watching the series "Who Do You Think You Are?" In this series, famous people use the website and experts to help them to find out something about their past that they didn't know before. It's amazing.

I think that the desire to trace our lineage goes back past ancient Israel. The Bible uses very precise genealogy to trace Jesus' lineage back past the time of David. It was important to them because inheritance depended on knowing your lineage. It was also important for the determination of the Messiah, but that's another matter. Nonetheless, I think that we have this basic need within us, and the discovery of my biological mother has aroused this curiosity in me. But now I realize that I'm stuck. No, I still have lines to trace on my mother's side. That's still available to me. But I also recognize that not only may I never discover my biological father, the information that I have hints that he, too, was adopted. If so, and he has no history of his biological family, then my search on that side ends. Unless... Unless I at least use DNA testing to see where the paternal line comes from. That's a possibility, but I find it less satisfying. Still, it helps to see where I'm from.

You might ask what is the most exciting thing I have found so far. Well, it isn't that I'm related to a king or queen, that's for sure. I guess the most exciting thing is that I have strong links to Scotland and Ireland. I have always had an affinity for those areas, and now I have a hint as to why this is so. Believe what you wish about ties to a land, and I'm not sure that I believe it, but I do feel a link there, and I always have. As I go deeper, I hope to understand more and to find a connection. Until then, please bear with me.

Just Waitin' For The Hammer to Fall

Well, the hammer fell. We are now officially touched by this rotten economy and the imbeciles in charge of the state budget. My wife is being laid off from her position as an instructional aide.

This may not seem like much to some. In some schools, an instructional aide is a luxury. Some schools don't have enough teachers. I don't disagree with that image. However, whether it is a teacher, an aide, a clerk, a nurse, or a janitor, the ones that suffer are the children. While district administrators wrangle over getting an extra $30k a year because they have degrees, teachers with degrees are waiting tables or sitting at the Employment Development Department hoping for a job. I'm sorry, but cuts like this directly affect the kids, and make it tougher for a state like California to have the intelligent future adults they will need to compete with the rest of the world.

There was an episode of the West Wing that I liked. Rob Lowe, playing the character of Sam Seaborn, went into a tirade about how schools should be palaces, and how teachers should be paid six figures. If you get a chance to see that episode, do it. (For the life of me, I can't remember the episode title. Just go watch them all. It's worth it.)

It is amazing to consider the amount of waste that goes on in government and school administration. Just a bit of accounting intelligence and wise choices would allow our kids to have what they need in terms of materials, teachers, and even healthy meals. Instead, many of these kids are going to be stuck in crowded classrooms, with some teachers who are only there due to tenure and aren't really good teachers (not saying all teachers - there are some really excellent teachers out there), and bathrooms that look like a "before" picture in a Scrubbing Bubbles commercial.

What's the solution? Ask the idiots in charge. You won't get a clear answer, because most are just worried about spouting the party line or protecting and enhancing their own positions. And the worst part is that they keep getting elected by people who think Fox News is the truth and parrot the words of Glenn Beck by rote, and others who are so wimpy that they won't stand up for what they believe. (Just another reason to have zero faith in the political systems of this world.)

As for us? Well, I guess we'll do as others do. We'll tighten our belts, cut down on spending (which further harms the economy), and do the best that we can while my wife searches for another job. We'll focus on our spiritual lives and trust in God to get us through. And every now and then, we'll see a child and wonder what kind of education he or she can expect with the idiots in charge of things. And we'll worry about them.

A Treasure Hunt

It's been a couple of months now, and my search continues. Yes, I'm talking about my search for my ancestry. Using a website called Ancestry.com, I have put together the beginnings of a family tree for one side of my biological family.

It's been a hunt for my identity in many ways. As I was growing up, I was told I was adopted. But I was also told that I was of this heritage and that heritage, but nothing was definite. So, what have I discovered? Congratulate me. I'm a mutt. Seriously. I have traced the one side of the tree from Utah to Canada to New Jersey to England, to Ireland, and to Scotland. I have discovered Pringles, Durwards, and Garrigans. But when it comes down to it, what have I discovered about myself? I mean, besides being a mutt.

I have discovered that as I look at the different names and places, I get a feeling for certain sections of the tree. I am particularly drawn to Scotland and Ireland. I don't know why. Perhaps it is a calling that God has put inside us to find out where we are from. Anyone who takes a look at the Hebrew Scriptures knows how important genealogy was in the Bible. But I think that certain traits and characteristics, certain likes and dislikes, certain desires and longings have always drawn me to those two lands. I look at the other places, including one line that goes through France, and don't feel the call as strongly.

I can't say that it has been worth the time, money, and effort that it has taken to find out these things. But then again...

Progressing in French

The time has come. I've been working at this crazy language (French) for years now. I have been married to a French woman for nearly 15 years, have been attending a French group and now congregation for a couple of years...it's time.

What is that time? It is time to start speaking French on a more regular basis. Ever since I have been involved with a foreign language group, I have limited myself to speaking that language only during meetings, slipping easily back into English as soon as the meeting ended. The problem is that when one does that, one doesn't progress in the language. In order to learn another language, one actually has to have conversations in that language. Therefore, I am decided. I am going to speak only French before and after meetings (unless necessity rears its ugly and deformed head) to the friends.

The problem lies in the fact that some friends don't feel ready to take the step. Timidity, lack of self-assurance, and doubt keeps many locked into their native tongue. And yet, the only way to grow in a foreign language is to use it. We may make mistakes, and may even accidentally suggest that our grandmother had a shoe with cheese shoved down her throat (with apologies to Steve Martin for stealing his joke). Still, every one of us in the congregation chose to work in this language, and work we must. Otherwise, what's the point?

But there's more to speaking French than speaking French. (Deep, aren't I?) In our area, we meet French-speakers who are not from France. Amazing, isn't it? Yes, French is spoken by people other than those who live in France! And in order to speak with them in an acceptable manner, one needs to learn about and look for the positives in their culture. One cannot treat someone from the Congo with the same cultural behavior as someone from the Ivory Coast! It just isn't the same culture. Thus, I am going to begin teaching myself about various cultures.

Why am I writing this? I guess I am doing it as a contract with myself, and a nudge to others who are striving to learn a foreign language. (That includes those in my congregation.) One needs to speak the language, not just say one sentence out loud a couple of times a week. No, one needs to converse, to make mistakes, to correct mistakes, and to grow.

To those who learn languages easily: I f**t in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster, and your father smelled of elderberries! Seriously, though, I envy you. I wish languages came easily to me, but they don't.

To those who struggle with learning another language (98% of those who try): welcome to the club. Don't be afraid to make mistakes. That's the way to learn. Laugh at yourself. Keep trying. And learn about other cultures. As you do that, you'll understand a great truth. It isn't being fluent that's important. It's about meeting the other person on their own turf to build relationships. When you visit a country where they speak the language you're learning, you'll find yourself welcomed if you make the effort to speak the language. You may goof it up from time to time, but you'll enjoy the experience, and make the world a bit smaller in the process.

To my friends learning French, I quote David Tennant of Doctor Who fame: Alllons-y!

Ancestry Update

Well, I finally got the information from the investigator. First off, let me say that Lisa Vittori, who works for Triad Search Consultant in Los Angeles, put in a lot of time on this, and I'm grateful. I actually had much of the correct information from Ancestry.com, so I guess I'm not bad at this investigative stuff myself. However, Lisa actually contacted my biological mother and confirmed the information.

I'm not going to give out names or other information in a blog; that wouldn't be appropriate. However, I can say that my biological mother is still alive and living in Southern California, as is my 93 year old biological grandmother! It seems that long lives are pretty common in one of my ancestral lines.

When I started this quest, I had no intention of contacting my biological mother. I just wanted to know where I "came from". What country holds the key to my ancestry? What did my ancestors do for a living? Do I have famous people in my lineage?

As the information was being prepared, I wondered what would be my reaction when I learned who my mother was? I didn't really know. But neither did I expect her reaction.

She wants nothing to do with me. She wants no contact at all. She insists that I do not write to her or call her.

Believe it or not, I was hurt by this. It isn't as though I was trying to contact her or that I wanted her to be "my mommy". But to shut the door so firmly without even wanting to know who I was or what I had become was almost harsh. Still, after learning a few things about her and my maternal grandmother, I have come to a couple of conclusions. First of all, she has every right to make the statement she did. She gave me up for adoption with the understanding that I would never know who she was. That was part of the deal. She didn't abort me or leave me in a trash bin. She had me placed with adoptive parents who would take care of me. So, if she doesn't want to know me, that's her prerogative. The second thing I have gathered is that I think that she and my biological grandmother are a bit "off". Everything I have read from the medical records and the adoption "non-identifying information", as well as the report of the contact from the investigator, leads me to believe that both of them are a bit neurotic. That makes sense, as I'm not "all here" myself in many ways. I can't fault them if that is the case.

Nonetheless, I can trace one line of my ancestry. I can't trace the paternal line yet, and may never be able to be. As I stated before, it is believed that my biological father is also adopted, so unless I can trace his birth records the same way I traced mine, it's a dead end. I could try a DNA test, and may do so just to find out the region that I'm from, but I'm not sure I want to spend the money on what could be a fly-by-night operation.

Anyway, I have Scottish ancestry, as well as Irish, on that side. (My wife says that I picked the "stepchildren" of the British Empire. Cute...very cute.) I also have a lot of Utah/Mormon ancestry, which is a bit of a surprise.

I'll probably turn a copy of my family tree over to my kids so that they can know some of my ancestry. Who knows? Maybe they'll find they are the ancestors of kings. Or jesters.

Ancestry Found! - Now Waiting for Info

Well, it appears that my investigator has found my mother. I don't know yet if she's alive or what her name is or anything like that. I should have the info this afternoon.

I'm not sure what this means to me. It's a bit scary, now that the information is almost here. I'm unsure what I'm going to do with the info. I mean, I'll actually know if my biological mother is alive and if I have half-brothers and half-sisters out there. Even though I won't have full info on my father (if any info at all), I'll be able to trace one side of my family tree and know where I'm from! (I won't be able to trace my father's side even if I find him, because he was adopted, too. I may try DNA searches.)

As I sit here, I realize that the excitement I had over discovering my ancestry has suddenly dissipated. I'm not excited. I'm a bit nauseous and a bit nervous and more than a bit confused. Should I have saved the money I spent on the search and bought a new Apple iPad? Should I have had a REALLY nice meal? I don't know.

The deed is done now, and I await the results. The good news is that I should be able to trace my lineage to two Scottish clans. The bad news is that I may not like where the rest of the branches lead. We'll see.

More bulletins as the news is broken. I return you to your regularly scheduled surfing.

Haiti

I've waited to post about Haiti for several reasons. The main reason is that we have some dear friends from Haiti who were desperately searching for information on their immediate families still living there. Fortunately, they were all okay. Even though they are scared, living outside, and doing without a lot of things, they are alive.

Ultimately, however, I have become sick and tired of hearing people ask, "Why would God allow this to happen?" Or worse, to hear Pat Robertson say that the ancestors of the people of Haiti made a deal with the Devil to throw off French rule. How idiotic can you get? If that was they case, the people of Haiti would be prospering, because the Bible describes Satan as the ruler of this world. Wouldn't he want others to make deals with him by showing how rich he can make them rather than hurting those who made the deal with them? Robertson clearly is so deluded and irrational that he belongs in a home somewhere.

Instead of going over the Scriptural reasons why God is not responsible for what happened in Haiti, I want to focus on a main point that people seem to be overlooking: man is entirely responsible for the disaster in Haiti. Follow my reasoning.

First of all, Haiti as a nation is the most impoverished in the Western Hemisphere. People live on virtually nothing. Is that God's fault? Of course not. It all has to do with man's desire for power, man's greed, and man's lack of compassion. There has been coup after coup in Haiti, with government leaders taking money for themselves and leaving the people destitute. When people are poor, they take any kind of shelter they can get. Thus, the second problem: building standards in Haiti are non-existent. Look at the damage in Haiti. Then, look at the American Embassy in the same country. Which buildings are still standing? The buildings that were erected for foreign offices and built according to certain standards largely stood up to the quake. The Haitian people couldn't afford to build like that. Thus, the buildings toppled like cards.

I could go on and on about infrastructure, poverty and the like, but I won't. You get the picture. It is man who allowed this to happen. It is man's greed and selfishness and "me first" attitude that caused this. Think of all the donations pouring in to Haitian relief right now. What if that money had been used years ago to reinforce buildings, provide good housing and food, and to create a solid infrastructure. Would this disaster have happened? The earthquake wouldn't have been prevented (another topic for discussion), but there might have been a much smaller loss of life.

I was very worried about our friends in Haiti. That worry hasn't abated. Even though they are safe, there is still desperate need. And after that? What happens then? Instead of blaming God or asking why he didn't prevent this, people need to look deep inside and ask, "What could we have done to prevent this?" Then, do what needs to be done so it doesn't happen again.

We Have Lost a Dear Friend

A very quick note. Diane LeFord passed away last night. She fought bravely against an aggressive cancer in her brain, but in the end the cancer was too deep and too quick-moving.

She and her husband Joe have been in love since school. He described her as "his best friend" and it was clear to see that it was true.

If anyone wants to know what a marriage should look like, you can look at what they had. Deepest sympathy to the LeFord family. Even though I have only known them for a couple of years, I hold them dear and will miss Diane greatly.

Thinking of Friends in Haiti

A funny thing happens when you start to attend a foreign language congregation; your world grows. What the heck do I mean?

Well, people who live in the U.S. tend to be a bit insulated from other cultures. The French say that people "look at their own navels". (The idiom doesn't translate well, but you may get the picture.) When we watch the news, it's largely national and local news. It takes something drastic for American news broadcasts to focus on other countries. But when you are a part of a foreign language congregation, you meet people from other cultures. You begin to care about them and see the world as a much more diverse place. In the French congregation, one meets friends from France (bien sûr), Africa (Congo, Côte d'Ivoire, etc.), and a place that feels particularly poignant tonight...Haiti.

We have some friends who moved here from New Jersey to serve in the French group and to help it become a congregation. We have done so, and they remain here, working hard, inspiring, and helping us to grow as people. In meeting and getting to know them, we also got to meet and know her mother, Marie-Thèrese St. Louis. She seemed shy, but once we got to know her she became more open and we all came to be friends. She headed back to Haiti several months ago and was scheduled to come back to the U.S. next month. We are all looking forward to seeing her again.

Then it struck. The earthquake. Haiti appears devastated...and we have no word yet of Marie-Thèrese. All of us are praying that she and her family are safe and sound. We just don't know yet.

But now that I think of it...our world hasn't grown. It has shrunk dramatically, because lands that seemed so distant...so remote...now are a part of our lives. Lands such as Haiti. And people such as Calixte, Nastaha, Nahas, and Marie-Thèrese.

The world doesn't look the same now, and as we meet others, it will look smaller still. And one day, disasters won't happen ever again. Until then, my prayers are with the family, and with the people of Haiti.

Rantin' and Roarin'

Wow. It seems like I get worse and worse at this. Sorry. Things are always crazy, I know.

Anyway, let's get on with some updatin' and rantin'.

Update - birth family search: I've got an investigator working on the process. So far, it looks like she has verified my last name and is waiting on records to verify my maternal grandfather. I think I found his death certificate, too, based on the non-identifying information that was provided by the adoption agency. If we get that right, then the investigator should be able to track down current info for me. I'm not sure what I'll do with it, other than subscribe to Ancestry.com to do more research. There's another company out there that will do a DNA scan to trace the ancestry, but I have my doubts about that. I mean really. Oh yes, sir. We did a full scan and found out that your ancestors are from the Mbabwe tribe of southern Africa! You're what? White? Oh. Well, it must mean that your great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather was an explorer who married a native princess. Yeah! That's it! NOT.

Update - back issues: I've started full treatment with a local chiropractic office / physical therapy office. So - much - fun. Today I got attached to a modern-day version of the rack. I guess it's proof that history repeats itself. You get strapped onto this table in such a way that you can't breathe properly. You can only take short breaths. Then, they raise the table and tilt it backwards so your head is angled towards the floor. You are strapped in at the waist, the ribcage, around the legs, and around the chest. Then, the machine pulls you and vibrates you at the same time. Frankly, I think it's a new way to make you taller while shaking weak fillings out of your teeth. Follow that with a session with head and shoulder weights while walking on a treadmill and sitting in a vibrating wobble-chair. I wonder if there is a camera filming all of this so that the employees can sit back and laugh at what people will pay to have done to them.

Rant - Sacramento Kings - They are young and exciting. And they are driving me nuts with close losses to their opponents! Still, they're far better than last year, and they're fun to watch. Go Kings!

Rant - California government: 'Nuff said. An oxymoron that describes the state of affairs in this state of affairs. California Government. Jumbo Shrimp. 'Kay?

Rant - fog - Ever ridden a motorcycle in this stuff? Someone needs to invent motorcycle gloves with a chamois palm. That way, you could wipe the visor without a problem!

That's it for now. It's late. I'm tired. And my warranty has clearly expired on my quickly aging body.