My 500 Words

The convenience and portability of modern technology makes moments of solitary silence a more and more fleeting experience. When I had several minutes in the car with my almost thirteen-year-old daughter, I inquired about the last time she was all alone and, excluding sleep, was happy while not doing anything but dwelling on her own thoughts. She really couldn't come up with a time that she was just doing nothing all by herself, except for when she was going to sleep. And for her, she often prefers to fall asleep to a movie. So I asked her to consider what she might think about if she took the time to simply be alone.  I find that too often my thoughts turn to the things I think I am missing. I have become so accustomed to constant sensory stimulation that its absence causes me to wonder about all the things I am missing. Sometimes my thoughts focus on memories as I relive both happy and sad moments of my life. These reflections help as long as I use lessons learned to make bette

I invite you to intuit the connection between common springtime allergies and the problems facing the Veteran Administration following the scandalous revelations of awful treatment while reporting stellar performance in health care delivery to our nation's soldiers. As one of millions of allergy sufferers I feel qualified to attest to the disruption of my daily life caused by pollens, grasses and molds that float through the air. But the inconveniences of itchy eyes, stuffy noses, and persistent sleepiness pale in comparison to the failure to provide necessary medical treatment that has been denied to so many veterans. I have used three approaches to deal with my allergies. I have sought medical advice to find prescription medication to treat my symptoms. I have experimented with over-the-counter medications to find something that works. And I have just dealt with it, sometimes utilizing home remedies like neti pots. Most of the time, both the doctors and I are guessing about wh

Theoretical physicists, science fiction authors and other really, really smart people have postulated the existence of wormholes. These structures would permit travel through spacetime in ways that would defy the limitations of travel to the speed of light. Complex mathematical computations reveal that these tunnels could exist, even though there is no observational indication of these hypothetical spaces. A couple major problems with these alleged wormholes, besides actually finding one, is that matter can't travel through them because they are not stable and people are probably far too big to fit. Dr. Luke Butcher, of Cambridge University, recently suggested that if these wormholes were stabilized, we might be able to send message through them. This concept allows us to imagine a time where we could communicate with another universe, even if we couldn't travel there. The mathematics of this suggestion is beyond my ability, but the explanations I have received from scientis

All I thought I needed was a new compression ring to fix a water line and eliminate a small, but constant leak so that our home's evaporative cooler would work. A couple of weeks ago when warmer temperatures came to the valley I hooked up the line because I wanted to be prepared before the big heat of summer arrived. Everything went off without a hitch except for a slow leak. A busy schedule kept me from making the repair immediately, but we had the good fortune of cooler weather. A family reunion took me out of town during the following weekend and we returned to much warmer air. On our second day back the temperature spiked so I made the trip to Home Depot to pick up the part. As it turns out, they were out of the brass compression rings that I have used before. I had made a similar repair several years ago and because it had performed so well I really hoped to use the same part. Home Depot did carry a plastic version and it only cost $1.34 so I went ahead and bought it. In a

Newborn babies win our hearts with little more than their presence. We swoon over their   tiny features, eager eyes and gentle coos. While some children present extreme cases of irregular sleep patterns and incessant wailing, most of the time even the cries of a child bring smiles to a parent's face. These little humans depend on us for every single thing and they provide no obvious material benefit to justify our complete and utter devotion to their every whim and need. We feed them, clothe them, clean their bottoms and watch over and protect them. Completely dependent, without us they would not survive. Evolutionary explanations describe why we would behave in such a manner because all life forms do what is required to enhance the survival of their species. But I believe our efforts stand apart from other animals, and not just because humans require a longer time before becoming capable of surviving on our own. As parents, we sacrifice for more than survival, we know through re

On Memorial Day we honor men and women who have given their lives in the service of country. We raise our nation's flag to half staff until noon and then lift it to the top for the rest of the day. We acknowledge feelings of sorrow and loss in the morning but remind ourselves of the proud privilege of freedom as we rejoice through the day. As families we may make an early trip to the cemetery before moving on to picnics, barbecues, and play. We are free to recreate because of soldiers who lived and died to preserve a way of life that allows us to pursue happiness without undue restraint from governmental power. But do we not err if we conclude that government is our enemy? Consider Lincoln's advice and admonition given over 150 years ago when the question of this country's government truly hung in the balance. His words convey the heartache from the horrors of war and the conviction to see the value in the fight for right. "Four score and seven years ago our father

All stories are fiction. Sitting at a family reunion I listen as my family reminisces about the experiences of youth. All the stories are funny, sad, poignant and moving. They are all familiar to me but almost none of them dovetail with my own memories. Sometimes the memories fix something that I had either forgotten or misremembered. Other times the story tells me a fact that I didn't even know. Occasionally, someone will tell a story that completely contradicts a memory of my youth about which I was certain. Apparently, facts are only partially necessary to make a story. As I consider memories that would be great fodder for a tale, I spend too much time trying to remember the facts. I have wanted to write several stories but I am waiting to confirm certain details. Now I am wondering whether I need to remember the actual facts if I know enough about the story to go ahead and write it; whether my story remains accurate. In the end I think that every story has three recipients

The tragedy of the piano struck me with such an intensity that I could not let the feeling go. I was moved to compassion as I considered the sacrifices made so one family could enjoy the gift of music. Some family willingly parted with the instrument to make it available at low cost in a thrift store. Certainly the parents had rejoiced when they found an answer to their dream of owning a piano for their home. I imagine the sense of accomplishment and fulfillment as they loaded the piano into that old truck. Considering the elation they must have felt, I was able to empathize, with honed emotions, their loss when the piano tipped and fell from the truck, crashing to unforgiving concrete street. The pile of wood, strings, and keys littered the road in a concentrated disaster that cried out for a solution. What could I do? The piano did not have a crack or a missing leg that needed to be repaired. The destruction stopped just sort of disintegration. It was a total loss and I felt total

My mother has spoken to me of very few regrets. This doesn't surprise me because Herculean would carry her name if she had only been born a few millennia earlier. She successfully managed the finances for fourteen children on a single income, turned clay dirt into fertile soil, and cooked for a mini-army every single day. I have done the math, and even with the last name Newton, it just doesn't add up. She was able to take an immovable object, collide it with an unstoppable force and only good came of it. But on a few occasions she has shared with me a sorrow that we didn't have a piano in the house while the children were growing up. I have let her know that even if we had owned a piano, there wouldn't have been a place for us to put it. It took a number of years and several children getting married and moving out before my mother was able to realize her dream of having a piano in her own home. It wasn't anything fancy but it fulfilled a lifelong goal. One day

I'm still puzzled. I had two errands to run at a rental property that I own with a family investment group. First, I had to deliver a sofa and love seat to replace a well used set.  While there, my brother had asked that I check on the sprinkler system that wasn't working. I had helped replace a manifold last year and while I don't consider myself anything of an expert, I thought that following some simple step-by-step direction, I would either diagnose the problem or maybe solve it. I retrieved the key from the shed to make sure that the outside water was actually turned on. I confirmed that the water from the main was flowing. I returned to the electronic control box and I manually activated the system to see what was happening. When I went back outside, there was nothing, absolutely no water flowing through the system. I thought it might be a question of too little pressure. So I turned the water off and then immediately turned it back on. The first station and its

My brothers, twins, used to work at the same Italian restaurant and our family was a blessed beneficiary of their labors. Most evenings, at least one of them would work the closing shift. The restaurant would regularly have a few prepared items that were not sold that day and employees could take something home if they wished. They brought home lasagna, pizza, other pastas and some of the best salads that you've ever tasted. At first, the food they brought home was hands off to me and other younger siblings. But after a month or two they became satiated with even the delicious flavors of the same restaurant and we young kids were able to go to town with whatever they brought home. Those were some very fun times and maybe because I didn't work there I never got sick of the food they would bring home. Even though it's now closed, I will always think fondly of that Francesco's restaurant because even though I never actually dined there it was the first sit-down restaura

I wonder how old the average American is before she realizes that Jesus didn’t speak English. Surely it occurred to me at some moment, but it wasn’t until I started studying scriptures in Spanish that I really thought about that obvious reality. I had always read scriptures in my home and at church and I had committed several popular scriptures to memory. Once in a while, while reading in Spanish I would come across a verse that I recognized and discover that the differences in translation caused the scripture to carry a different meaning for me in my life. Rarely did the differences contradict the original understanding that I had, more often the changes would produce a more broad consideration of the single language reading. Charity and love are two particular words that have led me to many moments of deep reflection. At times the English edition would say charity but the Spanish would say love and other times the choice would be reversed. This choice of translation has caused me

Many choices require thoughtful consideration before reaching a conclusion and other times it's better to be spontaneous and do the first thing that comes to your mind. This skill shouldn't be that hard but one question usually freezes me in my tracks. I struggle, and usually fail, to choose a favorite. Since my youngest days I have dread the thought that someone might ask what thing I like the most. It doesn't matter if it is food, color, music, subject, teacher, parent, sibling, weather or wife. Okay, I put in that last one just to see if anyone got to the end of the list. I'll be at a party and will meet someone for the first time. Inevitably we will find a common interest and the question will appear. Even though I know that I could say that my favorite movie is Shawshank Redemption , I have to pause. I know that Shawshank has earned tremendous critical acclaim but more important it speaks intimately to many core values. The very thought of remaining true to one

I must have been busy. Even if I was, it's a lousy excuse. At best my inaction was a simple oversight in a child's life filled with lots of things to do. At worst it reveals a selfishness in my personality that I must strive to overcome. If it had only occurred one time you could call it a fluke, but three times might be more of a trend than I'd like to believe. I refer to my failure to respond to letters that were written by people who could have become friends, if I'd only put pen to paper. The name perfectly describes the relationship status; pen pals. I don't recall if I was in sixth or seventh grade but one teacher invited us to write a letter that told a little bit about ourselves, our families, a typical day and other general things about our lives. We sent these letters to a clearing house of sorts and someone there would forward the letter to someone they selected. I remember being very excited when I received a reply from a girl my age who lived in Iran

Madrid offers an intensity of experience that was foreign in my small town upbringing. The Madrid neighborhood I lived in had ten times the populace of the city where I grew up. The tallest house amongst all my friends had two stories; in Madrid I lived on the fifth floor of a twelve story building. At home we shopped at a local supermarket; in Madrid we bought bread daily and we shopped at separate fruit, meat, and general goods shops. At home my parents owned multiple cars, in Spain I had none. As we went about our business we could hop aboard a bus, hail a taxi, use the metro or we could just go for a walk. I had been walking since before I was one but I had to relearn much of what I thought I already knew. I quickly noted that unlike home I was not the only person out on the street. I didn't have to go far to buy a bar of bread, just down the elevator and two doors to the left. But even in the early morning people were hustling along the sidewalks. At home I could day drea

More than forty years later I still carry potent memories from my first days at kindergarten. Some of the details have faded and as I have turned the memories over in my mind, I am sure the specific facts carry as much fiction as a children's library. But certain facts remain as clear as a cloudless summer sky. Once in a while those memories stir and I remember myself as that five year old boy getting ready to learn all about the world even before I had any idea of what the world was. My world was pretty small back then but I didn't know it because I had everything that I needed and I didn't know about all of the things that I could have thought that I would need. I didn't even have to take a folder to school since the teacher provided our papers and pencils. While I am sure lessons were taught in the classroom, the enduring lessons stemmed from what happened on the playground. Ours was an ordinary elementary school playground. I saw kids running around on grassy h

Perhaps today I have finally learned my place. I am a simpleton. My capacity for imagination is limited and I see that I am incapable of thinking outside of the box. As creative as I thought I had been it was simply the fact that I was inside a bigger box than I thought. Oh, if I had only learned this sooner. Yes, the notion that perhaps my vision was more broad and encompassing has been exposed as a desperate fraud, a hubris of unfounded hope. My eyes have been opened and with a new and shining light I have seen the scope of my own limitation and my willing subjugation to the unimaginative rules of the road. It seems silly now that the freedom of cycling should succumb to the arbitrary rules that apply to others. Indeed the liberation of air, wind, and speed demand liberties and advantages of privilege. Today I watched as one of my more enlightened kinsmen moved along with the dignity of his station. He was no motorist, he was a cyclist, and as such he could go where he wanted, w

I was dressed in tights and a bright orange jersey as I got on the elevator. A fellow passenger asked if I was heading out for a lunchtime ride.  I let her know that I had a midday meeting a few miles away and because it was such a beautiful day I added that cycling "is the best way to travel anywhere." Before the elevator closed, she said, "Depends on how far you are going." I didn't have the chance to reply but standing alone in the elevator I mumbled, "No, doesn't really matter how far, it's still the best way to travel." I find a certain magic while sitting in the saddle. The simplicity of riding a bicycle helps create an attitude of tranquility even along busy roads with fast moving cars. I have discovered a purity in the basic motions of pedaling in a circle to move a chain that turns the wheels round and round. Cycling lets you move your body in a way that nature accepts. Cycling gets you out of the cage of a transparent car and place

We live in an age of wonders and marvels. Foundations have been laid that allow us to rapidly develop new applications of beneficial inventions. Powerful computing technologies allow engineers and others the opportunity to test theories through computerized modeling saving the expense of prototype development until they are convinced of its likely success. Obviously, not everything that is designed works as anticipated once a functioning model is developed, but when it does the results are magnificent. I was so thrilled to read a news report about a newly developed robotic arm that has successfully completed clinical trials and the FDA has approved its use for amputees above the elbow. This robot arm, nicknamed Luke, after the Star Wars character who also found a need for a robotic arm after an unfortunate encounter with his estranged father. This arm functions very similarly in strength to a regular arm but it has enough dexterity to handle a single grape. The image of this arm b

It was the same three letter word, completely different meaning. I grew up in a household where neither of my parents drank alcohol and I completely followed suit. To this day the strongest drink I have ever had was a dose of NyQuil and once I learned of its alcohol content I have opted to use medicines that remedy the same symptoms with different ingredients. Because alcohol was entirely absent from my surroundings and upbringing I didn't realize that I had grown up as quite the teetotaler. My parents weren't the only people who didn't drink alcohol as the community at large embraced an alcohol-free lifestyle. I can't even think of one drinking establishment in my town during my youth. Given the misconceptions that come from ignorance, I openly admit that I pretty much imagined people who drank alcohol must be among the more wicked and dangerous people who walked the street. I suppose I was fairly certain that   the Mos Eisley Cantina accurately captured your aver

Miracles often go unnoticed even though  they occur much more often than we think. Unless we pause and take notice we can take for granted daily marvels. While we will gladly acknowledge as miraculous winning shots in sports, life-saving procedures in medicine, and unexpected scientific breakthroughs we too often hesitate to verbally express the feelings we have for the daily miracles performed by the people most dear to us.  We tend to assume that our actions alone provide a sufficient basis to validate the emotional connections that we profoundly feel. Occasionally we will take the time to celebrate a special someone and Mother's Day is one of those days. As a nation have set apart this day as we direct our words of gratitude to our mothers. "I love you", "thank you" and "let me help" flow from the mouths of children, fathers and friends as we cram into one day's waking hours the words that would be easier to say if we remembered to say them a

Almost twenty years ago, Harold Kushner opened my eyes to the societal drive away from communion in favor of consumption. He described a Boston fast food restaurant that posted a sign limiting parking to twenty minutes. He went on to lament the loss of what it meant to sit down and break bread with friends and the meaning that came with the invitation to eat together. That sign in front of a business that purported to offer nourishment revealed that, at best, it only offered food. Twice today I was personally reminded of this same tendency away from personal interaction toward unnecessary distraction. My son and I had spent a few hours with twenty or thirty other men and young men blazing a hiking trail at a local campground. The young women in our community use the facility during week-long outings and the directors wanted to be able to include some mountaineering to their activity options. We did not complete the trail, but we got a very good start as we cleared shrubs, fallen tre

I don't know them beyond what I have seen on television or read in the newspaper, but I am ever impressed with David Brooks and Mark Shields. Mr. Brooks espouses the general goodness in people and the ability of people to resolve problems without excessive interference from government. Mr. Shields makes a persuasive case that government isn't evil as it is made up of people who are trying to solve problems. As they debate they maintain their intellectual honesty. When their own positions fail, or when politicians misstep, it is not the opponent who has to point out the error. Each will admit mistakes when mistakes have been made. This type of dialogue promote conversations that spend less time describing the problem but pronouncing responses and solutions. For several years, my responsibilities representing children required me to interview parents in order to make custody recommendations during contested divorce proceedings. Over and over again I conducted the exact same

The eye doctor had one question for my mom. Did she want to purchase the insurance plan so that every part of my glasses could be replaced once during the course of the year? I sat in the chair wondering whether optometrists are real doctors. The one sitting across from me wore a white coat and he had two or three diplomas hanging in the exam room. But I never saw him with a stethoscope and he never gave me a shot. Was he a doctor or a salesman? This one was definitely pitching an insurance plan. My mom asked what I thought. Being thirteen, I shrugged my shoulders and said, "I don't know." While my mom was deciding we looked for a new frame. I had been wearing glasses for almost six years and this wasn't my first time replacing a broken frame. The optometrist said that if she wasn't going to get the insurance she had better buy one of the new frames with the flex hinge as that was the only way they would last a year with my active lifestyle. As we compared gl

The music director announced a special video game segment of the concert. One cellist was going to improvise in real time a live sound track as someone from the audience played a game of Super Mario. As dozens of hands shot up the director clarified that he was looking for a child who wasn't one of his high school students. One enthusiastic dad turned to his ten-year-old son and urged, "Come on, raise your hand." The boy, wearing a distinct orange hoodie raised his hand high in the air. The director, shading his eyes with his hands to see past the glaring stage lights, spotted the boy and invited him to the stage. As the game began, the dad realized that the game was not Mario Kart, but Super Mario Brothers. His boy had never played the game before. Even more, the boy played on a Wii and this game used a different console. All the ingredients united to prepare a perfect recipe for disaster. This school auditorium, packed with parents and teenagers, would watch as this

I wanted to go Oregon so badly that I paid my own airfare with paper route money. Sure, I would be living with my sister but she wasn't a parent and her husband is a great guy. They lived outside of Portland, so I would be going to a state where I had never been before and I was finally going to see the Pacific Ocean. This adventure was so cool that I forgot about one minor problem; I am terrified of heights and one obvious fact had eluded me from the moment I began planning the trip, I would be flying in a plane at an approximate elevation of 30,000 feet. Even though I realized that my fear was completely irrational, I very effectively eschewed hints of logic and began to imagine every horrible scenario that could possibly occur. As I tried to drift to sleep, I would visualize tires blowing out on takeoff or landing causing the plane to roll and explode. I imagined a demise from lighting strikes or engine malfunctions causing the plan to plummet from the sky. The very thought o

It's easy to see a tree as a source of shade to provide relief from the burning sun. Fruit trees  produce food that helps to sustain life. We know that trees play a critical role in taking in carbon dioxide and converting it into the oxygen that we need to live and breathe. Even a dead tree provides wood from which we build homes and furniture; its wood can fuel a campfire that gives us light and the heat we need to roast marshmallows. As I climbed up and down trees today, with the help of a ladder, I found myself again in awe of the lessons that simple trees continue to teach. The trees I pruned have been around for forty years and have provided an unknown quantity of pears, cherries, apricots and apples. My mom also has peach trees in her backyard but they escaped any pruning today. Even though she claimed that any arborist would cringe at her choices, my mother asked that I remove any dead branches and tree growth that shot straight toward the sky. As I moved around the tre

Because it comes at the beginning, the story of Adam and Eve has to be one of the most well known stories of the Bible, if not of all time. After all the work of creation a perfect paradise welcomed Adam and Eve as they resided in the Garden of Eden. It seems that all their needs were automatically met and they enjoyed a life full of bounty and free from challenge. All of creation existed in harmony and the world knew nothing but bliss.  Surely, even the most inspired imagination comes short in describing or portraying this heaven on earth. Their blissful lifestyle, while free from conflict, injury and woe still required them to make one important decision. It seems that God told them that they could eat from every tree of the Garden of Eden except one. Within the garden, one tree carried the taboo of forbidden fruit. This tree was given one of the longest names I have ever seen for a plant, it was the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. It seems that this tree bore a fruit of s

Several months ago I purchased an iPhone application that would allow me to track my cycling performance and help me maintain my heart rate within specific ranges to improve my fitness goals. I should have paid closer attention before I downloaded the application because my phone belonged to a generation that did not support communication between electronic fitness wear and the phone. Fortunately, I had not purchased a wrist nor a chest band before realizing the incompatibility. When I upgraded to a phone that will accept wireless syncing I decided to update the app and see if I liked it. I started to use the app without the optional biofeedback but found that I enjoyed the mile by mile updates on my average speed. The little bit of information drove me to want even more information to better understand how my body was responding to my cycling exercise. To celebrate International Book Day, I had dropped my children off at a local bookstore that shares a storefront with Best Buy. W

Seems that after clarifying the fate of black holes to a slightly less dismal gray, the impressive mathematician Stephen Hawking has looked through his telescope and turned its focus from the origins of the universe to the future of mankind. What he discovered caused him to declare that man's search for ever increasing artificial intelligence poses the greatest threat to humanity. He compares it to an arms race where the very technology that we hope will liberate us will strip us of the purest essence of human identity. In every age. century, decade and year the thinkers of the world will proclaim that something is the biggest threat to our very existence. The cries predicting the end of humanity predate the pharaohs, continued through royal divine investiture, permeated the formation of republics, democracies, and tyrannical regimes; and through it all humanity has managed to thrive. But these warnings serve a valid purpose to promote a wiser use of progress. Whenever these c

I often ask people how they know things. I find it curious that how often we cannot identify an actual source of our knowledge. We just seem to know it. The oft unanswered question asks, When a tree falls in a forest does it make a sound? Its humorous corollary queries that if a man speaks in a forest and no woman is there, is he still wrong? I ask, if a tree falls in your dreams does it still make a sound? I know that sounds in dreams can come from my own thoughts or external stimuli. Alarms, sirens or nearby conversations slowly merge into components of the very dream that I'm having. Our brains have an incredible capacity to take absolutely unrelated items and find some connection and then create a coherent story that combines the two elements. Before I was married I would set my clock radio to music stations. My interest in music is rather broad so the styles would include rock, classical, pop, jazz; almost anything except I didn't listen to country music. I found that