MAN'S INHUMANITY TO MAN...WHAT ELSE IS NEW IN THIS WORLD OF OURS?

We are such smug human beings when it comes to humane pretenses yet we live in a world rife with man's inhumanity to man.  Sadly, inhumanity is very much alive in the Global Village -- always has been and unfortunately always will be as one generation passes to the next.


Interestingly, the phrase "man's inhumanity to man" is first documented in a poem written by Robert Burns in 1784. According to some sources it is possible that Burns reworded a similar quote from Samuel von Pufendorf who in 1673 wrote, "More inhumanity has been done by man himself than any other of nature's causes."


Last month we listened and read with horror the reports coming out of a hearing into the abuse suffered by First Nations children in residential schools operated by numerous church organizations in Canada.  Just yesterday Allan Thompson wrote a piece in the Toronto Star about his father who was among tens of thousands of children from Britain who were unceremoniously shipped to Canada a century ago through a barbaric child labour scheme.  My late wife's grandmother was in fact one of the "Home Children" included in the dreadful and poorly supervised migration movement at the beginning of the last century.

Today, too, we continue to live with the stigma of racial discrimination of all kinds.  Terrorism 
rears its ugly head all over the world and is a constant threat even in this peace-loving land of ours.


Almost daily we hear about hostage-taking incidents where individuals are held captive, brainwashed and tortured over a long period of time.  The motivation very often is dominance or vengeance-based, sexual, or simply the work of a deranged mind.


It is not a stretch to suggest that over the centuries, nothing has caused more pain and suffering for mankind than man himself. Through war, hate crimes, and random acts of violence, the fear of the different and unknown has presented itself in human nature. The novel Night, the movie Schindler’s List and the article A Tortured Legacy are all examples of this. Through the suffering of the Jews at the hands of the Germans, there is no clearer example of man’s inhumanity to man. The holocaust was far more than a tragedy; it is something you simply cannot describe with words. The sheer evil and hate that took place in the 1940’s really exemplifies what man can be like when he’s at his weakest and lowest point of existence. Through the merciless slaughtering and torturing of the Jewish people, the Germans showed to the whole world what it’s like to be inhuman; to be animalistic.


Wars in particular expose man's ultimate inhumanity to man. Wars are an innate but absolute part of human nature. Often fought by religious factions, wars reflect man's basest instincts, untamed by rationality.


We frequently hear the question asked:  "Why does God allow these things to happen?"  Well, I've got news!  God may have created humanity, but He did not create inhumanity any more than He can control it.  Generally speaking, inhumanity is a condition of a misguided human heart that more often than not, beats within an otherwise well-intended but ignorant body.  We pay lip service to a humane society yet we stoop to being blindly inhumane when it suits certain perceived needs.


Man's inhumanity to man is the price we all pay for being short-sighted and agenda-driven by nature.  And we continually have to make apologies while going back to clean up the mess that has been left behind.  Makes you think, does it not?

We share the shame!

GOD IS IN HEAVEN, SYLVIA IS GLAD TO HEAR FROM ME -- WE LIVE HAPPILY EVERAFTER

I don't know if anyone is interested or even cares, but since I made an issue of it in my last post (see item below), I cannot contain it any longer...Sylvia is alive and well living in Norman, Oklahoma.

I had a premonition.  I just felt the story was not over and, sure enough at 5:56 this afternoon (Thursday) a heart-stopping Facebook message read:  "It was good to hear from you Dick.  Can you tell me how I can get a copy of your book?  --Sylvia." 

I literally had to pinch myself to see if I was really dreaming.  "Rosanne, you have to see this," I announced to my very supportive spouse who had encouraged me to bring closure to my story about a young lady 54 years ago who was not easy to kiss and not easy to forget.

I am unaware of the whys and wherefores of Sylvia's sudden disappearance from our original Classmates profile contact site this past weekend, and how she relocated me through Facebook some four days later, but all is well that ends well.  On a newly-created Facebook site of her own, Sylvia displayed two photos of her wonderful family (her husband, two handsome sons and no doubt four attractive grandchildren, beaming faces all).  I am so happy for her -- and me too!

The final chapter to my story just wrote itself.  It ends as it should -- happily.  I don't have to fictionalize it.  It is what it is.  Glorious closure after more than 50 years of wondering and, yes, a degree of fantasizing too.  I honestly feel that God has blessed me and I am extremely thankful.

Of course, I plan to send Sylvia a copy of my book and in return I hope she provides me with a little more information about her life as it unfolded.  Everything from this point on will be a bonus, however.

So for now Sylvia, Rosanne and I wish you and yours continued good health and happiness.  Thank you for touching my heart one final time!

Signed, the kid from Canada

 

I NEVER FORGOT BUT MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE

Not everyone appreciates a good story as much as I do...Well, certain stories, anyway...But I'm going to tell (or finish telling) this one because it does not have a conventional ending.  Nosiree, no Hollywood ending with this one, and I am left digging deep for a rational message -- if in fact there is one.

Two years ago on this site I published a story "Easy To Kiss, Easy To Forget".  In fact I also included it in my recent book, Wrights Lane...Come On In.  For those newcomers to Wrights Lane and others who may have missed the original post, I run it again (below) in order to set the stage for a rather surprise recent development.  Regardless, it would be best to give the following insertion a quick read before continuing.


Click here:  *"Easy to kiss, easy to forget: "...courtesy of a first Love's mom? A lot of what I write is for the benefit of my grandchildren, four being teenagers. Of course, as unbeli..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SPECIAL NOTE FROM DICK:  I will not go into detail at this point, but I am compelled to make several corrections in the "Easy to Kiss, Easy to Forget" story that you just read.  For the record:  1)  Sylvia was in fact 17-years-of-age at the time; 2) she played the glockenspiel in the high school band, not clarinet and 3) we met at the Cocoa Methodist Church (not Presbyterian) where her mother was choir director.
When I first wrote this story I intended it to be the opening chapter of a book that I had in mind at the time.  My thought was to follow a young couple through life and to have them find each other again many years later through a computer web site designed to locate old friends and school chums.

The book never materialized and I eventually decided not to waste the text that had been stored in several computer files over the years.  I also never completely gave up the idea of someday writing at least a final chapter for the story in a follow up publication.

Well, believe it or not, two years ago I joined the "Classmates" Internet site and have had fun since connecting with people who attended Lambton Kent District High School in Dresden in the 1950s.  Just recently I have extended my search to include other people that I knew in the 50s and 60s, one of which was  my "Easy to kiss, easy to forget" girl Sylvia.

Much to my surprise Sylvia popped up on my monitor screen, sans photograph but displaying a hyphenated married name and still living in Florida.  She was listed as having attended high school in Cocoa, Fla. between 1952 and '56.  A perfect match...It had to be her!

"Should I send her a message?" I debated with myself.  After several days of weighing the pros and cons, I threw caution to the wind and dashed off what I felt was a compelling "for old times sake" note to the bulletin board on her Classmates page.

Second-guessing my wisdom, I nervously checked several times a day for a reply.  Almost two weeks later Sylvia registered a visit to my Classmates page, but with no comment.  I waited again for several days before sending her another note thanking her for visiting and apologizing if I had initially appeared presumptuous or intrusive.

This past Sunday I was surprised to find that a guest book visit had been removed from my Classmates site, a most unusual occurrence.  Sylvia's name had mysteriously disappeared from the list virtually over night.  The notation "Sorry!  This profile no longer exists." greeted me when I subsequently called up her site which had been wiped clean except for my now rather pathetic notes, strangely enough. 

The message was loud and clear.  This particular Sylvia was neither impressed nor interested in hearing from this particular ill-advised sentimentalist.  Maybe she thought I was a stalker, as someone has suggested, I don't know.  Nevertheless,  not quite the happy, warm and fuzzy ending to the story that I had nurtured for so long.

Kind of a letdown, right!  Sometimes life is like that.

I'll never know for sure, but if this was the Sylvia that I knew and loved all those years ago, she may be wishing now that we did kiss that night after the Valentine's prom.  That way, by her mother's rationale, it would have been easy for me to forget about her...Maybe, but not likely.  I'm just not that kind of guy.

"EARLY DETECTION" IS THE KEY TO SUCCESSFUL TREATMENT OF CANCER

I heard from a friend yesterday explaining for the first time that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer.  It was the kind of announcement that we all hear far too often and each time the shock is every bit as intense and devastating as before.

My friend had recently undergone mammogram testing and a biopsy for the "small cancer" in her left breast which will be removed via a lumpology and testing of the lymph nodes to be sure the cancer has not spread.  She will also have a series of five-a-week radiation treatments for a period of four to six weeks.

Always a positive, cheery person, she considered it "good news" that her "bad news" test this past June was a follow up to an all clear mammogram she had in June 2009.  "I am so grateful that I returned again in a year," she added.  Her message was loud and clear:  "Get your mammograms done ladies!"  This insatiable disease can rear its ugly head at any time -- a year can make a big difference.    

Coincidentally, on Thursday I had coffee with another friend (and husband) who had a similar diagnosis and treatment three years ago.  She is now fine and enjoying life as much, maybe even more, than before.  "The key was that my cancer was detected in the early stages," she explains now.  "Oh sure, it is always in the back of your mind and maybe that is a good thing as a reminder that we should never take our health for granted."

Cancer today can be just a blip on the radar screen of life providing it is detected early enough.  My two friends are here to tell all of us that the treatment that is necessary is only a small setback as a trade-off for a long-term, happy gain.  Believe me, I am one who has lived on both sides of that scenario.

A HEADING? WHAT WAS I WRITING ABOUT?

Both Rosanne and I have handicap parking stickers for our car and truck.  If a couple of designated handicap spots are available in a parking lot, I will generally take one; otherwise I will park in the nearest regular opening and limp my way into the store or mall, leaving the one available handicap slot for someone who needs it more than me.  It's a little different for Rosanne as she needs to get as close as we can get to an entrance if she wants to go in.

This afternoon we pulled into our local Foodland parking lot and I noticed that an elderly couple had parked in our usual handicap location.  I parked a couple of cars away from them.  They were still struggling to get out of their car when I walked over to them. 

Being the joker than I am and with a straight face, I said:  "Why are you folks parking in this spot -- you're not handicapped!  The frail gentleman, looking up from his walker and taken a bit by surprise, was quick to recover with an equally straight face:  "Well we are, mentally."  The three of us broke into simultaneous laughter.  "Welcome to the club," I responded as I moved ahead to hold open the front door of the store for the slow-moving couple.

As I later recalled the light-hearted exchange for Rosanne, I began to think about the elderly man's "mentally handicapped" statement and how close to the truth it may soon be for me.  In recent months I have been bothered by some serious short-term memory lapses -- not the misplacing car keys or forgetting people's names sort of thing, but more persistent and annoying "blank outs" as I call them and inability to retain information and thoughts, literally from one minute to the next.

I try to retain a sense of humour about my increasing forgetfulness, but there are times when I worry about what might be in store for me not too far down the road.  There is a degree of frustration that spills over into my association with people, particularly Rosanne who has not quite come to grips with my problem.  I find myself lacking tolerance and easily angered, often leading me to regret certain knee-jerk actions that I have taken.

I am not sure if my writing has been adversely affected, but that is one of my worst fears.  The last thing I would want to do is to embarrass myself, but I honestly feel that I need this type of release for the passion of creative self-expression that exists within me.  Through writing I am able to make connections that would not be possible in a physical sense and that is what motivates me.  That's what keeps me going when perhaps I should pack it all in.

I have crammed a lot into the last four or five years of my life -- renovated two houses, served as a lay minister for a two-year period, walked away from a wheelchair after major foot and ankle surgery, gained some new friends and lost some old ones, written three books (two of which have been published), initiated this web site and a dozen others encompassing more than 300 individual posts, took a course in puppeteering, completed a number of oil and watercolour paintings, helped Rosanne pull through a major health crisis, tilted at a few windmills, the list goes on -- all things that I wanted to do, or felt compelled to do, before I finally give up the ghost.

Through Wrights Lane and other writings my life is pretty much an open book, although a few of the best stories will remain untold.  I have praised, encouraged, confessed, apologized, bared my soul and took risks at my own expense, leaving little else to be done by means of cleaning my life's slate.

I am now resigned to being the rope in a tug-of-war.  It remains to be seen which of my handicaps wins out in the end -- physical or mental.  It could very well be a tie.  Heaven help me!

All I can do is stand my ground for as long as I can -- and continue having a little fun while I'm doing it.

Tug away, you bastards!

LET'S ALL DO THE THINGS WE LOVE!

I was corresponding with a friend last night on the subject of pursuing things that are personally important to us or are deepest in our heart.  Then something that I read reminded me that it's not an accident you love the things you love. It is not altogether profound to suggest also that it is not an accident that you care about the things you care about.

Neither is it an accident when you find yourself miserable or unhappy. This is the sign or signal that you are off the path of your passion(s) and a serious soul-search is no doubt in your best interest.

Why is it so often difficult for us to realize that when we follow the loves in our life we have all the joy, all the success and all the wishes that are deepest in our heart?

Do not hesitate to follow your passion, dear friend.  It will do your heart good!

Others may not always approve or understand, but why should we care...We're too busy fulfilling the desire within us and others are not necessarily expected to feel what we feel...Too bad for them!

REMEMBER WHEN WHITE SPORT COATS AND PINK CADILLACS WERE ALL THE RAGE?

*http://oldfortyfives.com/takemebacktothefifties.htm

Photo:  A 1958 Cadillac Seville, pink of course.  I could never make the raise of one of those beauties, but I did have a white sports coat.  My first car was a 1949 Plymouth Coupe, then a '52 Monarch with "overdrive" before stepping up to a '56 Olds 88 formerly owned by Dresden druggist Don Dusten.

I post this special *link to the above video site as a gift to all my "old" friends and relatives with  fond memories of the 1950s.  It really was a wonderful era in which to grow up.  You younger Cats can just watch, listen...and eat your hearts out!

Special thanks to one of those "old" friends (she's going to kill me) from Dresden who sent me the link knowing that I would enjoy it.  Betcha can't watch it only once?

MAY CLINT BROWN FINALLY REST IN PEACE

Back in April I posted a story about the discovery of a skeleton in an old cistern on a property in rural Dresden.  Late Friday, area police confirmed the identity of the body as that of Clinton John Brown, a World War Two veteran who had mysteriously gone missing in 1975.  The announcement came as a relief to members of Brown's family and area residents who had speculated for 35 years on the disappearance of the 61-year-old bachelor.


The above video is of the official announcement by a Chatham-Kent Police spokesman.

Clint was a quiet, unassuming individual who had survived an 18-month stint in a prisoner of war concentration camp in Italy and wanted nothing more than to come back to Dresden and live the life that he and his comrades had fought and sacrificed for.  He lived in a trailer not far from the property where his body was finally and unexpectedly discovered.

Regardless of circumstances, the bottom of a well is no place for a body to spend eternity.  May Clint finally rest, deservedly, in peace.  You are saluted soldier!  Stand easy! 

DOC RUTTLE'S DAUGHTER SAYS THANK YOU AND GIVES ME A NEW LEASE ON LIFE

It never fails, just when I begin feeling that I am missing the mark with my blog sites and that no one really cares about my nostalgic ramblings in particular, out of the blue I hear from someone who makes it all worthwhile.  Such is the case with an email that I received earlier today from Andrea (Ruttle) McElhone of Montreal.  I'll let Andrea take it from here.


"Hi Dick.  This thank-you is LONG overdue.  Ever since I received the Tribute to Doc Ruttle via Paul Weese, I have wanted to express my appreciation but didn't look to see the obvious reference to your email address.  I hope this reaches you and that you are still writing about Dresden on your blog.


"It was wonderful to retrieve the article through this medium.  I get to read it whenever I choose and I have been able to share it with a few friends who never met my Dad.  Living in Montreal since 1974, my life has been wonderful yet disconnected from Dresden.  If a friend is curious about my parents, I can say "I'll send you a snapshot of my Dad, my Mother and my home town."  The fact that a portion was written in Dad's words is especially revealing.  My children also appreciate having this in print.


"I have lots of memories of your parents as well.  I remember your Dad as a kind and friendly man and I have more memories of your Mom by way of her friendship with mine.  I also remember dropping in to the drug store (Carr's and McTavish) with my friends most days after school and your Mother would join  us in some form of kidding around.


"My current connection to Dresden is by way of Bob and Paul Weese and Carol Holmes Park.


"I understand that you are very busy in retirement and generally enjoying life.  Your blog sites seem to be a natural evolution of your journalistic skills.  The rest of us have benefited.  I know that my sister Carol also was very happy to receive this Tribute.


"Thanks again for reminding us of our Dad's qualities and values.  All the best!"


-- Andrea Ruttle McElhone. 

NOTE FROM DICK:  Andrea is the "baby" sister of my old friend Jim Ruttle.  I actually remember when she was born.  Growing up in Dresden, I may have said no more than a half-dozen words to her in a 10-11-year period.  Now, through my web sites and the memories we share, we come together as mature adults (one more mature than the other, I fear) and that's what makes all of this so gratifying.  The little girl I never spoke to is now my friend with something in common.  I feel very close to her even though we may never physically cross paths again.

Life does have its wonderful twists and surprises.  Thank you for this one Andrea!

*To view the original "Tribute to Doc Ruttle" feature site, click http://atributetodocruttle.blogspot.com

A Broken Dream, A Father, and Hope.

A Broken Dream, A Father, and Hope.

*click on heading(s)

I feel strongly moved to share this video with followers of Wrights Lane because of the power of its message and the emotion it raises within me.  I know the clip will speak for itself as it speaks to you.  I take my leave  at this time feeling very inadequate and humble.  God bless!

UNCONDITIONAL LOVE IN AN EMPTY BOX

From my Daily Kindness friends: A story worth repeating.

The story goes that some time ago, a man punished his three-year-old daughter for wasting a roll of gold wrapping paper. Money was tight and he became infuriated when the child tried to decorate a box to put under the Christmas tree.


Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift to her father the next morning and said, “This is for you, Daddy.”

He was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, but his anger flared again when he found the box was empty.

He yelled at her, “Don’t you know that when you give someone a present, there’s supposed to be something inside it?”

The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and said, “Oh, Daddy, it is not empty. I blew kisses into the box. All for you, Daddy.”

The father was crushed. He put his arms around his little girl, and he begged for her forgiveness.

It is told that the man kept that gold box by his bed for years and whenever he was discouraged, he would take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child who had put it there.

In a very real sense, each of us as humans have been given a gold container filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children, friends, family or God.

There is no more precious possession anyone could hold.

I DO BELONG SOMEWHERE...THE HOME I'M IN!

I was thinking this morning about my unusual fixation on my old hometown, Dresden, when the words of the song "Love The One You're With" curiously popped into my head.


Regular readers of Wrights Lane are most familiar with what has been described by some as an obsession...I even wrote a book about it, for Heaven's sake.  In all honesty, I myself have often questioned the extent and healthiness of my nostalgic exuberance for the little town  nestled on both banks of the Sydenham River in agriculture-oriented Kent County.


All along I have refuted the expression "you can never go back", insisting that indeed you can go back to the home of your childhood.  In retrospect, and by degrees, I have now amended my contention by adding the words "...but you will not belong."


In my lifetime I have lived in eight different towns or cities and in all cases I have left a little of myself behind...That's just the way I am...But something has been missing every time I go back to pay a visit.  Scenery changes, people change, someone else is living in my old house and I am left with an empty ache in the pit of my stomach.  As hard as I try to ignore the feeling, I am always none other than someone from another era -- an intruder on familiar soil, to put it bluntly.  Those places are no longer my home and never will be again, unless I physically move back and even then things will have changed and very little would be as it was before.  Come to think about it, I likewise, would no longer be the person that I was -- physically different, emotionally different, much older and with interests that are different.

At one point there were 14 members of my family (Wrights, Perrys, Sharpes, Johnstons) all living within a stone's throw of my home on Sydenham Street in Dresden...I'm the only one still living.

Don't get me wrong, there are a handful of people who remember me and fewer still who have remained dear friends at a distance over the years, and I cling to that.  After a half century, however, we have only one thing in common and that is the roots we share and the memories of days gone by. 


So, yes, you can go back but you won't belong and that's an acknowledgement that leaves me feeling rather sad.  But, you know what?  I do belong somewhere.  My home is at 62 Grey Street North in Southampton.  My wife and dog live there too.  There is no other place I would rather be.


Stephen Stills said it best when he wrote the lyrics *"Love The One You're With".  Only I have changed the words as I repeatedly sing them in my mind while putting the finishing touches to this post:  "Love the home you're in, don't be angry, don't be sad, and don't sit cryin' over good times you've had...Love the home you're in!"

A bit of closure here?  I think so.

* The song"Love The One You're With" was first made popular by the singing group Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young.

AWE, IT'S THE SIMPLE LIFE FOR SOME OF US, BUT THANK GOD NOT ALL OF US

We are hearing a lot these days about people opting out of demanding careers and  meat-grinder existences in the corporate world.  Variety stores in the country, lakeside marinas, bed and breakfast businesses, antique shops, gentleman farming, real estate, taxi cab driving, landscaping, golf club and tennis racquet restoration, church ministry, writing a book (to name but a few) are some of the popular occupational retreats of choice.


While circumstances were somewhat different, I too for that matter, left the security of a regular pay cheque at one time in favour of the ill-advised challenge of entrepreneurship and working on my own.  It's all about escaping stress, being the master of one's own destiny and finding a comfortable niche doing something you truly enjoy as you wind down to eventual retirement.


The lure of "a more simple life" in a rural setting, cottage country or a small community, can be extremely appealing to someone approaching burnout from life in a competitive and exhaustive business environment.  I can't help but wonder, however, what kind of world would result if every stressed or disgruntled manager or rank-and-file worker decided to join the exodus to more simple, easy lifestyles doing work that brings total personal satisfaction and joy.


God bless those who are able to make successful transitions in their life, but my hat is off to those who keep their noses to the grindstone and stay the course in demanding yet essential jobs in health care and social services, manufacturing, retail, public service, business and corporate management 
and politics, all helping to keep the wheels of trade, commerce and government grinding and lending balance to the world.

Think of how strange it would be if we all worked in stress-free jobs that we thoroughly enjoyed.  Who would do the real work?
  

WORDS AND THOUGHTS SHAPE OUR LIFE

I talk to myself a lot...This web site is no exception, but maybe that in itself is a negative thought which is the subject of this post.

For years I have been saying to anyone willing to listen (my late mother for one and more recently, my wife Rosanne):  "For heaven sake, don't dwell on negative things.  Don't worry so much.  Stop repeating how badly you feel...You are only making matters worse for yourself."  Beneath my breath, I frequently add: "...you are starting to annoy me and put me in a negative frame of mind like yours".

Most people do not really pay attention to what they say when they are just making passing comments or off-the-cuff remarks.  But they can have a significant impact on life.  These are usually simple responses to what often seem like routine questions, such as "how are you" or "how are things going?" or "how's life treating you today?"... "how's work going?"

We get asked these questions everyday, and over time we form some routine responses.  In many cases automatic replies will have no impact on how our lives are shaped but, conversely, those remarks or other voluntary comments that seem to be made in passing or in jest, can have a significant impact on how one's life turns out.

If you're one who complains a lot, you're likely to get more of what you complain about.  On the other hand, look for solutions and more often than not you will find them.  Focus on the problem and you'll get more of the same, right?  It has always been pretty simple to me that bad thoughts attract more bad thoughts and good thoughts lend themselves to a positive mindset, but in spite of that conviction I have found even myself falling into the trap of negativity in moments of weakness or forgetfulness.

But how do you go from complaining or focusing on problems to attracting what you want and improving or changing your life so that you overcome your ills or achieve desired goals?  Karim Hajee, author and creator of the popular "Creating Power" self-help program, recently reinforced for me the fact that the answer to that question is actually easier than you think if you understand that your words actually shape your life.

Not every word we speak will manifest, but what we say repeatedly, is what we begin to believe and that takes hold in our subconscious mind and manifests.  So we have to give ourselves a shake from time to time with the reminder that we simply cannot afford to harbour negative thoughts because one always leads to another -- and another, and another.

Now, if you really want to be happy in life, overcome problems, and be fulfilled as an individual, do as Karim suggests and focus on what it is that you really want and become a vibrating magnet to that end.  What we are talking about here is The Law of Attraction which is undisputed.

.

We pretty much attract both the good and bad in our lives.  I don't know about you, but in the time that I have left I'm concentrating on the good...And watching what I say, even if it is to myself. 

TOMATO PICKING WILL BE A TALL ORDER

I will need a stepladder to pick tomatoes this year if my plants get any taller.  Never before in the history of my vegetable gardening have tomato plants of any variety grown this big ... Maybe it was the sheep manure -- no bull!

HAVE A GOOD WEEKEND!

There's more to life than the Internet guys!  Turn off your computer and enjoy the Simcoe Holiday weekend with family and friends.  That's what I'm going to do.  See you next week sometime! 

ALL JEFF PRESTON NEEDED WAS A CHANCE TO GO TO SCHOOL LIKE THE OTHER KIDS

In a previous post this week I elaborated on the merits of special needs education in our school systems and it is a perfect segue to a story about a young man from Port Elgin that I greatly admire.

Photo:  Jeff addressing a town council meeting during London to Ottawa "Mobilize March" last year.

Jeff Preston was diagnosed with Congenital Muscular Dystrophy when he was only three months old.  Were it not for a remarkable set of parents, a supportive community and a school system that accepted the little fellow in a wheelchair, the world would be missing out today on a productive citizen with a brilliant mind and boundless energy.

 "While my parents acknowledged there would be challenges, they truly believed life with a disability did not have to be a life of no ability," Jeff recently stated.  "They raised me to be a fighter!"

  Throughout his still short life Jeff has advocated for the needs of himself and others with disabilities hoping to live an independent and barrier-free life.  In doing so he has overcome his physical limitations and established himself as an effective spokesman and role model.

 Some 20 years ago all his parents, Gail and Dave, ever asked was for Jeff to be given a chance to be immersed in a regular school environment where he could learn and develop along with all the other kids.  And learn and develop he did.


 Jeff proved to be a good student who always tried just a little harder.  His determination and enthusiasm was catching and he proved to be popular with  classmates and teachers alike.  He so impressed the local Rotary Club that an annual golf tournament was organized in his honour with proceeds going to medical research at the University of Western Ontario.  Now in its 15th year, the Jeff Preston Celebrity Golf Tournament has raised in excess of one million dollars.  The event regularly attracts celebrities from the world of sports, business and politics.

 Small and frail in stature but blessed with a booming voice to match his outgoing personality, Jeff was active in many school and community activities and a popular public speaker.  His chief of police father once laughingly told me that he was no longer known in town as "Chief Preston", instead he was commonly referred to as "Jeff Preston's dad".

 And high school sports?  You'd better believe that Jeff was always on the sidelines in a supporting role, even serving as water captain for the football and basketball teams.

 Leaving his very nervous parents behind, a determined and courageous Jeff branched out on his own and began his post-secondary career at the University of Western Ontario in London where he completed an undergraduate degree in Media in the Public Interest. Upon graduation, he continued his education, enrolling in the Masters in Media Studies program offered through the Faculty of Information and Media Studies, also at UWO, where he wrote about disability and the body in his Master’s thesis entitled “Augmented Ability, Integrated Identity: Understanding Sapienism, Adaptive Technology, and the Construction of Disability.” Having successfully completed his MA, Jeff has returned to the university as a Doctorate Candidate in Media Studies, where he is continuing his work on understanding the construction of disability in the community.

 Here is just a sampling of some other accomplishments by this young man once considered to have special needs.

 •Received the Ontario Graduate Scholarship from 2006 to 2009.

 •Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council Scholarship from 2007 to present.

 •Dean’s List 3rd and 4th years (2005 & 2006); Outstanding Achievement Award as an Undergrad (2006).

 •Recipient of Graduate Teaching Assistant Award in 2007 (based on the number of nominations received and the quality of comments from the students).

 •Raised $26,000 by organizing “Mobilize March” marathon from London to Ottawa.  Organized and operated a 47-day wheelchair marathon to advocate for accessible transportation. Spoke to municipal and provincial government officials, wrote press releases, conducted media interviews, and completed an hour-long documentary. Recognized by the prestigious London Mayor’s New Year’s Honours List in 2009.

 •Over 20 years of award-winning public speaking experience. Written and delivered thousands of motivational and inspirational speeches that have raised more than $5,000,000 for various charitable organizations.

 •Previous Vice-Chair of Easter Seals Ontario’s Board of Directors and a current member of the board and the Services Committee.


 •Member of the Accessibility Advisory Committee and Transportation Advisory Committee of London City Council, helping to overcome accessibility and transportation obstacles in London.

 •Member of the Accessibility Standards Advisory Council for the Minister of Community and Social Services, Ontario Government, advising on the development of accessibility law in Ontario.

 •Received the Rotary International Paul Harris Fellow Award in recognition of his work on the Jeff Preston Celebrity Golf Tournament.

 And he's only just getting started in life...What next for this 25-year-old, politics?  Don't count it out...You are going to hear a lot more about Jeff Preston in the future...There is simply no holding back this young man with his ever-present baseball cap and electric wheelchair which he operates with amazing dexterity.

 He's a "fighter" you know, just in case you hadn't arrived at that conclusion before now.

 It makes you wonder just how many other Jeff Prestons have been overlooked in the past because they did not fit conveniently into a regular school system -- or society too, for that matter. 

SIGN GUY IS OKAY AND ON THE JOB

A half dozen posts ago (July 16) I ran a story about Ralph "The Sign Guy" in Southampton and promised to include a photo of him at the first opportunity.  I began to get concerned because for the past two weeks I have not seen him sitting at his adopted location outside his apartment building on Hwy. 21 .  Finally this morning we connected.  "Oh, with the heat the past two weeks I've been picking my spots," he explained, "but I can't stop now because I've become somewhat of a tourist attraction".  You sure have Ralph...It's a tough job but somebody has to do it!  (Scroll down to see Ralph's story.)

SPECIAL CHILDREN'S ED IS A GOOD THING

"Children with special needs don't have an illness, so they are not contagious. They want what we all want (and deserve),which is to be accepted..."

The above statement is an excerpt from several email and Facebook messages that I have received in recent days.  The comment actually originated from a response to a national special children's education awareness week in the U.S.A. several months ago.  I am not sure if there is a similar "week" in Canada but I thought it might be timely to take a closer look at the subject.


From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, I found the following very long sentence which nonetheless goes a long way toward explaining this very important issue.


"Special education is the education of students with special needs in a way that addresses the students' individual differences and needs. Ideally, this process involves the individually planned and systematically monitored arrangement of teaching procedures, adapted equipment and materials, accessible settings, and other interventions designed to help learners with special needs achieve a higher level of personal self-sufficiency and success in school and community than would be available if the student were only given access to a typical classroom education."

Common special needs include challenges with learning, communication challenges, emotional and behavioral disorders, physical disabilities, and developmental disorders. Students with these kinds of special needs are likely to benefit from additional educational services such as different approaches to teaching, use of technology, a specifically adapted teaching area, or resource room.

Intellectual giftedness is a difference in learning and can also benefit from specialized teaching techniques or different educational programs, but the term "special education" is generally used to specifically indicate instruction of students whose special needs reduce their ability to learn independently or in an ordinary classroom, and gifted education is handled separately.

In most developed countries, educators are modifying teaching methods and school environments so that the maximum number of students are served in ordinary educational environments. Special education in developed countries is often regarded less as a "place" and more as "a service, available in every school."  Integration can reduce social stigmas and improve academic achievement for many students.

I have watched with interest, teachers and students in classes attended by special needs children and have always been impressed with the rapport that is developed.  I am convinced that everyone (teachers and students) gains from exposure to the special education environment and invariably come away as much stronger individuals with a unique perspective on life.

On March 11, of this year, the Government of Canada ratified the United Nations (UN) Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities. The Convention ensures that persons with disabilities, about 14 percent of the Canadian population, are given equal opportunities throughout their life. The Convention calls for an inclusive education system that is not only accommodating, but respectful, and supportive.

It sometimes takes a while, but eventually we Canadians do get it right.

This is my personal salute to the educators who facilitate such a worthwhile initiative.

IN DRESDEN EVERYONE ENJOYS A PARADE, ESPECIALLY WITH TRACTORS INVOLVED

On Saturday, July 24, the community of Dresden held the world's largest-ever tractor parade, setting in the process what is hoped to be a new entry in "Guiness Book of Records". A total of 1,239 farm tractors participated in the event and raised more than $70,000 for cancer research.  View this video to get a feeling for the massive expanse of tractors gathered on the Glasgow family farm, just west of Dresden.  A wonderful example of the remarkable community spirit that exists in my good old home town.  Congratulations to everyone involved! 

TEACHER STOPPED TEACHING SUBJECTS, INSTEAD SHE "TAUGHT" CHILDREN

I recently heard the following story.  I think it is worth passing on to followers of this site.  It substantiates my theory that a child never forgets someone who has paid special attention to them.

Jean Thompson stood in front of her fifth-grade class on the very first day of school in the fall and told the children a lie. Like most teachers, she looked at her pupils and said that she loved them all the same, that she would treat them all alike. And that was impossible because there in front of her, slumped in his seat on the third row, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard.

Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed he did not play well with the other children, that his clothes were unkempt and that he constantly needed a bath. Teddy's attitude and personality were unpleasant too.  It got to the point during the first few months that she would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X’s and then marking the F at the top of the paper biggest of all. Because Teddy was a sullen little boy, no one else seemed to enjoy him, either.

At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child’s records and put Teddy’s off until last. When she finally opened his file, she was in for a surprise. His first-grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is a bright, inquisitive child with a ready laugh.” “He does his work neatly and has good manners…he is a joy to be around.”

His second-grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is an excellent student well-liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle.”  His third-grade teacher wrote, “Teddy continues to work hard but his mother’s death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best but his father doesn’t show much interest and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren’t taken.”

Teddy’s fourth-grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is withdrawn and doesn’t show much interest in school. He doesn’t have many friends and sometimes sleeps in class. He is tardy and could become a problem.”  By now Mrs. Thompson realized the problem, but Christmas was coming fast. It was all she could do, with the school play and all, until the day before the holidays began when she was suddenly forced to focus on Teddy Stoddard.

Her children brought her presents, all in beautiful ribbon and bright paper, except for Teddy’s, which was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper of a scissored grocery bag. Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents.  Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was one-quarter full of cologne. She stifled the children’s laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume behind the other wrist. Teddy Stoddard stayed behind just long enough to say, “Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my mom used to.”

After the children left she cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit teaching reading, writing, and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children (there is a difference).  For starters, she applied her new teaching philosophy by concentrating particularly on none other than problem student Teddy himself.  The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. On days when there would be an important test, Mrs. Thompson would remember that cologne. By the end of the year the backward boy had become one of the smartest children in the class and…well, he had also become the “pet” of the teacher who had once vowed to love all of her children exactly the same.

A year later she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that of all the teachers he’d had in elementary school, she was his favorite. Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy.  He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still his favorite teacher of all time.

Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he’d stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured Mrs. Thompson she was still his favorite teacher.  Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor’s degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still his favorite teacher, but that now his name was a little longer. The letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, M.D.

The story doesn’t end there. You see, there was yet another letter that Spring. Teddy said he’d met this girl and was to be married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years before and he was wondering…well, if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit in the pew usually reserved for the mother of the groom. And guess what, she accepted and wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. And I bet on that special day, Jean Thompson smelled just like…well, just like the way Teddy remembered his mother smelling on their last Christmas together.

There is no telling what type of impact we may have on another person’s life through our actions ... or lack of same.

A MIRACLE SUNFLOWER THAT SURVIVED WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM A FRIEND

Okay, I know.  I should get a life!

But enough with waxing eloquent on serious subjects of the day...I want to share a story about a miracle sunflower that refused to die.

The story began in late May when I noticed a delicate little green plant poking through the black mulch surrounding a  couple of cedar trees in my back yard.  Resisting the temptation to pluck it out of the ground as I had with a couple of nearby sprigs of clover and a dandelion, I decided to let it grow for a while just to see what it might turn out to be.  In a week or two, the long tender stem with its two broad leaves, had developed enough to reveal itself as a sunflower, its seed deposited no doubt the previous fall by a chipmunk, squirrel or blue jay.

By this time, I did not have the heart to remove it.   "It's come this far.  I'll give it a chance to grow," I reasoned.  And grow it did, adding new leaves almost daily. 

It was approximately three weeks into my vigil when a rabbit took a liking to the young seedling one evening and reduced it to an eight-inch stick protruding forlornly from the ground.  I was devastated as I pondered its fate, but something seemed to tell me that if I left it alone it may bounce back.  And sure enough, after a couple of days several new leaves began to appear on the bare stem.

Almost miraculously, the plant seemed to thrive over the course of the next week as I gave it a liberal dose of Miracle Gro plant food and regular waterings.  Mother Nature, however, was to deal another blow to the determined little plant by flattening it during a heavy rain storm in mid-June.  "That's it...It's a lost cause now," I thought as I gingerly lifted the fallen patient and propped it up with a piece of wood from my garage.

Two days later and history repeated itself during another storm, this time toppling not only the plant but the stake that had been holding it upright.  There appeared to be a break in the stem a few inches above ground level so I decided to wrap it with masking tape and secured it to an iron planter rod which I inserted into the ground at the base of the plant.  I also added further protection by placing the top of an old cement planter around the rod and plant itself. 

The rescue mission proved successful and against all odds the sunflower continued to flourish.  As it has grown to its present height of 39 inches, I have had to continually secure it to the rod with more masking tape because it has become so top heavy.  Several buds began to appear this past weekend and today (Wednesday) one opened up into a beautiful full sunflower bloom, deep orange at the centre with yellow at the tips of the petals.

We made it!...A remarkable wayward visitor that was given a chance at life, and an old timer who should get one of his own.  We will live vicariously for the balance of the summer, many times bent but never completely broken. 

HAVE YOU HEARD SOMETHING BAD ABOUT IT?...I BET YOU HAVE!

"I've heard some bad things about it...!"

For some reason, I have heard the above words expressed in recent weeks more times than I can count.  Politics, religion, food, entertainment, consumer products, computer programs, diets -- you name the topic and I swear someone has heard something bad or negative about it.  As hard as I try, I am unable to even come close in balancing the judgemental scales with the few times the words "I have heard some good things...!" were stated.

I can only conclude that the key word in all of this is "heard" (or unstated, "read") and how influenced we are by the media and people we come in contact with on a daily basis.  It kind of tells us, too, a bit about the world in which we live. 

In the last 50 years media influence has grown exponentially with the advance of technology.  First there was the telegraph, then radio, the newspaper, magazines, television and now the Internet.

We live in a society that depends on information and communication to keep moving in the right direction and engage in our daily activities such as work, entertainment, health care, education, personal relationships, traveling and anything else that we have or care to do.  The average person usually wakes up in the morning, checks the news on TV or in the newspaper, goes to work, makes a few phone calls, eats with their family when possible and makes decisions based on information received from co workers, the media, friends, family and, yes, overhearing the conversations of others.

What we need to be aware of is that most of our decisions, beliefs and values should be based on what we know for a fact. Our assumptions likewise, should come with first-hand experience.  In our work we usually know what we have to do based on direction, experience and studies.  In on our daily private lives we rely on the media to get the current news and facts about what is important and what we should be aware of.  We also tend to place maybe too much stock in the dangerously biased opinions of others in our lives when coming to conclusions on the pros or cons of certain things.

I think that all too often we are quick to jump to conclusions, or assumptions, based on unbalanced reports that do not give both sides of the story.  We need to have the benefit of not only the controversial bad, but the sometimes less spectacular good as well in weighing the true value of a particular service, product or issue.  We need to ask more questions about the things in our lives, arrive at conclusions based on our own research and experience, demand more balanced reporting in our media, and take the opinions of family and friends under advisement.

Almost seems like too much work, doesn't it?...All this having to process and evaluate outside influences.  If only we could afford the luxury of good faith in today's society -- and truth in advertising.

A SIGN GUY WHO MAKES PEOPLE SMILE

Away back when, I had a baseball mentor cum philosopher who constantly reminded me that "things are not always as they seem".  Some 65 years later, the wisdom of that expression continues to be reinforced through the experiences of my life.

For the past year, I have noticed a rather large, ruggedly-hewn man sitting on a roadside bench in front of a seniors apartment complex at the approach to the Saugeen River bridge in Southampton.  Lately, he has taken to holding up  cardboard carton signs with messages scrawled on them.  For the most part I have ignored the wording on the signs, just as I have the man himself.  "Just another oddball charater, with time on his hands," I thought.

I was right on one count.  Ralph Dymer, a retired construction worker, does have time on his hands.  He explains it this way: "I like to fill in some of my time each day by sitting on the bench in front of my building, but it can get boring so on the May 24 weekend I made a sign that said 'Happy May 24' and the response I got was unreal.  People waved, honked their horns and smiled.  Some even took my picture on their cell phones or stopped to have a chat."

Since the Victoria holiday weekend Ralph has made up signs saying "Have a nice day" and "The HST sucks!" and as before, the reaction from passersby has been gratifying for him.  "I am having a ball with a piece of cardboard and paper," he states enthusiastically.

He even dressed in red and white for Canada Day and chokes with emotion as he recalls a busload of First Nation children who waved at him and shouted "Happy Canada Day, Santa!" back at him.

"It feels real good to make people smile," says Southampton's Sign Guy..."You should try it some time!"

One thing for sure Ralph, you've made my heart smile now that I know your story.  Sorry I misjudged you in the beginning!

Indeed, things are not always as they seem.

Note:  I have been looking for Ralph the past three days with the intention of taking a photograph of him, but his bench (with its two Canadian flags) has been unoccupied.  I hope he is okay.  I'll  take his picture the first time I see him and attach it to this post.

HAVE YOU LOST MOST OF YOUR MARBLES?

I subscribe to the Daily Kindness Newsletter which offers forums on spirituality, family matters, general life advice and, of course, kindness.  I was particularly impressed this morning by a young family man who submitted the following story that I think has a message for all of us.

A few weeks ago, I was shuffling toward the kitchen, with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in the other. What began as a typical Saturday morning turned into one of those lessons that life seems to hand you from time to time.


Let me tell you about it. I turned the volume up on my radio in order to listen to a Saturday morning talk show. I heard an older sounding chap with a golden voice. You know the kind, he sounded like he should be in the broadcasting business himself.

He was talking about “a thousand marbles” to someone named “Tom”. I was intrigued and sat down to listen to what he had to say. “Well, Tom, it sure sounds like you’re busy with your job. I’m sure they pay you well but it’s a shame you have to be away from home and your family so much. Hard to believe a young fellow should have to work sixty or seventy hours a week to make ends meet. Too bad you missed your daughter’s dance recital. ” He continued, “Let me tell you something Tom, something that has helped me keep a good perspective on my own priorities.” And that’s when he began to explain his theory of a “thousand marbles.”

“You see, I sat down one day and did a little arithmetic. The average person lives about seventy-five years. I know, some live more and some live less, but on average, folks live about seventy-five years.” “Now then, I multiplied 75 times 52 and I came up with 3900 which is the number of Saturdays that the average person has in their entire lifetime.

“Now stick with me Tom, I’m getting to the important part. “It took me until I was fifty-five years old to think about all this in any detail”, he went on, “and by that time I had lived through over twenty-eight hundred Saturdays. “I got to thinking that if I lived to be seventy-five, I only had about a thousand of them left to enjoy. “So I went to a toy store and bought every single marble they had. I ended up having to visit three toy stores to round-up 1000 marbles. “I took them home and put them inside of a large, clear plastic container right here in my workshop next to the radio. Every Saturday since then, I have taken one marble out and thrown it away.

“I found that by watching the marbles diminish, I focused more on the really important things in life. There is nothing like watching your time here on this earth run out to help get your priorities straight. “Now let me tell you one last thing before I sign-off with you and take my lovely wife out for breakfast. This morning, I took the very last marble out of the container. I figure if I make it until next Saturday then God has blessed me with a little extra time to be with my loved ones…… “It was nice to talk to you Tom, I hope you spend more time with your loved ones, and I hope to meet you again someday. Have a good morning!”

You could have heard a pin drop when he finished. Even the show’s moderator didn’t have anything to say for a few moments. I guess he gave us all a lot to think about. I had planned to do some work that morning, then go to the gym. Instead, I went upstairs and woke my wife up with a kiss. “C’mon honey, I’m taking you and the kids to breakfast.” “What brought this on?” she asked with a smile. “Oh, nothing special,” I said.  "It has just been a long time since we spent a Saturday together with the kids. Hey, can we stop at a toy store while we’re out? I need to buy some marbles.”

            -----------------------------

How many marbles do you have left? 

Jaron And The Long Road To Love - Pray For You (2009 Video & Lyrics)

Jaron And The Long Road To Love - Pray For You (2009 Video & Lyrics) 


I don't know if this song qualifies under the "hypocrisy" label, but it kind of ties in to the subject of the last few posts -- in a fun sort of way.  If you are open-minded and enjoy music that reflects life and the understandable emotions of a young man who has been jilted, click on "Pray for You" and watch and listen to the video.  Excuse the advertising! --Dick

A FINAL LOOK AT HYPOCRISY IN OTHERS... AND IN OURSELVES

The words "hypocrisy" and "hypocrite(s)" have been sprinkled liberally throughout the last two posts on Wrights Lane.  I feel compelled to write on the subject one final time but I have no idea where I am going to end up with it.

Initially, I dislike hypocrisy in others...and I dislike hypocrisy in myself.  That, in a nutshell, kind of sums things up; but why is that?

There are two aspects to the hypocrisy phenomenon, one being the deceit of others and the other equally harmful trait -- deceit of self. 

Deceit is called hypocrisy when there is piety in the mouth, and impiety in the heart; or when there is charity in the mouth, but hatred in the heart; or when there is innocence in the face and gesture, but cruelty in the soul and breast; consequently deception by a show of innocence, charity, and piety.

We tend, by nature, to deceive ourselves too. Our natural inclination is to choose to be deceived rather than to face truth that is painful and unpleasant. If you need proof of that, just look at the political process. It seems to be the consensus today that it is impossible to get elected to national office by telling the truth. Instead, politicians poll their constituents to find out what they want to hear, then, depending on the results of the polls, say things calculated to leave a certain impression. The way to get elected is not to cast ideas in the clearest, most forceful terms, but in ways that will massage the hopes and interests of people. Even attempts to take a strong position for the truth are perceived to be part of the old sincerity ploy: "Be sincere whether you mean it or not." Is it any wonder that voters are apathetic over the political process?

Fortunes are made today on people who buy diets, beauty and health aids that purport to make their users svelte and beautiful without the need to make critical changes in their lifestyle. Our natural human inclination is to prefer pleasant lies in place of difficult truth.  Choosing to be deceived with regard to diet may be a fairly innocuous decision, but as far as our spiritual life is concerned it is very, very dangerous to choose to be deceived.  We do well to recognize that life is built in the same manner as a building is erected, i.e., one brick at a time. Choices are made one at a time. By our individual choices we put in place one brick after another, and the kind of life that results from our decision-making depends on the hundreds and thousands of individual choices that went into it. 

Whether we try to deceive ourselves about our behavior, the nature of God, or sin, it tells us something deeper about human nature.  "…the phenomena of self-deception testifies that we human beings, even when we do evil, are incorrigibly sold on goodness. At some level of our being, we know that goodness is as plausible and original as God, and that, in the history of the human race, goodness is older than sin" (Alvin Carl Plantinga, professor/Christian philosopher).

So, let's not kid (deceive) ourselves...We are all hypocrites by nature.  Thankfully our intuitive sense of goodness balances the scales as we make our way through life.  When we see hypocrisy in others, more often than not we are looking in a mirror.  We should not throw stones from our delicate glass houses!

There is a fine line between virtue and insincerity.  We walk it every day of our life.

I'm not sure that this was where I was going when I started this post, but this is where I end up.