LOSING IT

"I'm sorta proud that I'm humble," stated a Sunday School class member last week.
" And when you become proud, you lose your humility," my wife corrected.
"You're right. That's right," he admitted.

"We have to be umble." "we have to umble ourselves''.
"That's right," I thought. But just what is umble? In my 5th grade mind I didn't know, sitting in there in Sunday School. No one asked what umble was. And even if I had known, how does a 5th grader deal with being humble? I just accepted that if that's what we needed to be, I was ready.

Humility is a trait that has to be learned over a period of years. In the sports arena, it's perhaps best summed up by the old coach who said to a player after he over celebrated a feat, "Act like you've been there before." (I know it should have been 'act as if, rather than like, but had I added sic, you might have thought I was not being humble, that I was brandishing my education in your face).

Humility is easier when we have the love of others in our heart. If we don't try to elevate ourselves. When we downplay our accomplishments or achievement. When we place emphasis on the others. When our language is not peppered with I, me, my.

Humbleness or umbleness, it's a Godly trait. I doubt that you'll ever hear someone being criticized for being too humble.

GO FIGURE

License plates for 1948 were made, presumably by prisoners, in 1947. In those years in that state every year marked a new plate.

But in 1948 the plates were either made from soybeans or fiberboard. How cool is that? Illinois was green before it was cool to be green. And that's the way, uh huh uh huh, I like it.

My problem with the green people is that they seem to be dictatorial or condescending. I guess you can be both. They act as if they invented green. That before they shed their light on us, we were ravaging the planet.

And hey, I went to the first Earth Day. I've picked up litter for years. I don't litter. And I'm not alone. So you didn't start a movement. You merely got on board. Which is fine. Please, just please lose the attitude.

While I may not buy every green product on the market, I'll usually try them. If they don't do the job I'm used to, then I won't buy them again. So if you're looking for a cause, please try green paper towels. I haven't found any that work as well as my white ones: note no color/no dye in them.

Better yet, try soybean towels. I mean if they worked for car licenses 60 years ago, they might just be of more use today than we give them.

IN THE FRIDGE

We went grocery shopping a few days before we got married. I bought a coconut. Why? I don't know. But it remained in our refrigerator for at least three moves before we tossed it out.

We have a tall can of Arnold Palmer's Lite

half tea/half lemonade. It's been there for at least three years. Why? I don't know.

There's something reassuring about opening your refrigerator and knowing there's something permanent. Something stagnant.

Oh, we certainly have staples. They consist of bottled water, diet sodas, eggs, milk, Laughing Cow cheese, Cool Whip (sugar free), pasta sauce, cottage cheese, jello, ranch salad dressing (what in the heck ever happened to French dressing anyhow?) and Arm and Hammer baking soda.

Of course, that's not counting the side that holds butter, more eggs, coffee, etc. Nor am I including meat and vegetable drawers. Just what you see when you open it up.

And in the back behind the diet cokes and next to the diet mountain dew, there sits the Arnold Palmer. For decoration; for permanence.

HOW COULD SHE SAY THAT?

Or, is she still included in the will?

At the Cracker Barrel, I always try to get there early and look at the old replicas and nostalgic fodder that they display.

Recently while standing there with our granddaughter, the old one--age 11, I admired the vintage edition Hershey bars they had for sale. I never remember them looking that way.

"Wow!" I must have exclaimed and proceeded to marvel at the old packaging. I never remember those when I used to sell them at the little snack stand after lunch at Casey Jr. High. My recollection is the same old blah Hershey's wrapper they've used forever. Back then though the chocolate cost a dime.

My granddaughter asked in her innocence, "Is that the way they used to look? Or did they even have Hershey bars when you were a kid?"

After she got up from the floor at Cracker... no, of course, I didn't deck her. I wouldn't have had the strength after that shot.

Maybe next time we'll eat at Bob Evans. I don't think they have old, old displays for sale.

"THERE HE GOES AGAIN"

And of course he's wrong. Just as wrong as Coach Belichick going for a first down on his own 28-yard line. His team needed to get two yards or turn the ball over to the Colts and one of the best quarterbacks in NFL history. His Pats failed to convert the yardage and his team lost. He, too, was wrong in his actions, but many in the media support his lame brain decision as many support Obama's gaff. (Gaff and this admin. seem to go together.)

In another decade, in another life, I traveled to South Korea, China, and Japan with our Governor and a contingent on a trade mission. We met and dined with several state officials, including the second highest in the Chinese government.

At no time dd anyone extend a deep bow. We politely nodded, more so that an American nod, yet clearly not a bow. Were we told what to do by our Governor and his staff? Absolutely not. It was just assumed that we had enough gray matter not to embarrass our country. Granted, we weren't officially representing our country, but in way we were. There were lots of media covering our trip, especially the signing of some kind of trade agreement at the Jockey Club ceremony in Hong Kong.

Liberals will call it nit picking. Some conservatives might even not appreciate our nods. But all I know is none in our delegation bowed. And for that I'm proud of every one of them.

As far Belichick and Obama, you were both misguided; you were both mistaken. To see it any other way is with the rosy glasses on.

PLEASURE WITHOUT CONSCIENCE

That's what Gandhi called one of the 7 deadly sins. The "what's in it for me", the "Me Generation", the hedonistics. And we see plenty of it in our world today.

But when I plan pleasure without conscience, it usually backfires. Every once in awhile I plan a day of sports. Late Summer, mid-Spring when seasons overlap.

I'll plan my day around the tube. College football early in the morning in the West, followed by another game later in the day. I should know by now that I'm not going to have an especially good day because the college teams I root for aren't very good. So often I'm 0-2 after an Illinois and Arizona State loss.

Time for a baseball playoff game in the Fall or an NBA game in the Spring. Now, for those games my teams are better. The Cardinals and Suns usually have decent teams. At least decenter (I think that should be a word) than the Illini and the Sun Devils, but if one of them loses, then I'm wearing the golden sombrero.

The number of beautiful days, I've invested in those teams. I know I must have be rewarded, but I really don't recall many 3-0 days of pleasure. I'd even take a 2-1 day. I might even sleep well if it was a 1-2 day depending on the importance of the game.

It's a good thing the NFL plays on Sunday most of the time. Church occupies my mornings, so I can't watch 3 games on that day. Oh yeah, and more bad news: my NFL teams are the Rams and Cardinals.

That Gandhi was a smart guy.

A NOVEL IDEA


Not a Civil War buff, or any kind of buff for that matter, I have read quite a bit about the War Between the States as some Southerners call it. At least one I met this Summer at Patrick Henry's church in Richmond, Virginia.

St. John's Episcopal (I wonder if that comes from the word epistemology, meaning knowledge; probably not) Church was erected in 1741. It still displays the sounding board above the speaker's platform to help with acoustics. Anyhow, it's still a beautiful church on a hillside that has a congregation of 175.

But that's not what this entry is about. Nor is it about two great novels about the Civil War--Cold Mountain and Across Five Aprils. But if you think you like history and reading about the War Between the States, then those are must reads. Notice I didn't add Gone With the Wind. Simply because I've never read it.

So what is this entry about? How about a novel featuring a returning Johnny Reb who wasn't injured? He just came back to a totally different South. He had seen, had participated in killing his Northern brothers, had fought on the losing side, wasn't captured, didn't cut and run; he simply went to war and came back home.

What were the adjustments, the scars, the turmoil, the hatred, the readjustments he had to go through upon returning? I'd like to read a novel like that.

If I were to pen it, I would start out "On East Broad Street in Richmond, there's a church. St. John's Church. Patrick Henry's Church. And that's where Edward Keyes began his comeback."

Now, if someone would just take it from there.

SAMMY SOSO

Now, there are a lot of good Cubs and Cub fans. Granted, they may have a disproportionate number of bad fans and players, but there are several good ones out there. Sammy is not one.

Why do I bring it up now? Well, it seems Sammy wants to be white a la Michael Jackson. Now why does that bother me? Well, it really doesn't. But keep in mind that I'm graying at an alarming rate. At least alarming to me. I see so many men who are dyeing their hair and facial hair, that I'm afraid I'm in the minority now. And if Blacks start dyeing their skin, well, I don't know, it's too much for me.

But I recall Sammy's corked bat, exploding into pieces as the little balls of cork danced over the infield. I recall him allowing reporters see his Flintstone vitamins in his locker, shortly after the Andro supplements were discovered by a snoopy reporter in St. Louis divulging McGwire's drug of choice. Sammy, of course, was later thought to be at least as guilty as Big Mac of using body enhancement drugs.

When questioned about his steroid use, it seems Sammy forgot how to speak English. After years of charming the media with not only his infectious smile, but his playful, almost Cubby bear affability. All the while speaking perfectly understood English.

Sammy always lands on his feet. Somewhow/someway. But why people like him, I'm not sure when there are so many other great Cubs to embrace.