Photo of the Week

I am always amused when I visit the men's room at the American Legion Post on South Meridian Street to see that the veterans still remember Jane Fonda for her activities during the Vietnam War. I wonder how many thousands of these stickers are in use around the country?

Fleecing the Next Generation

My conscience bothered me a little bit at first, but as time went on it became easier and easier, and before long, I didn't even give it a second thought.

Some time ago, I was short on cash the day before payday. All I needed was enough gas in the tank to get to work. I didn't have time to stop at the bank. Then I remembered my little grand-daughter Miranda's piggy bank.

We keep a bank at our house for her so she can save the money she earns when she helps us with chores. After she has saved for a while we take her to Dollar General and she buys a few toys.

So I helped myself to ten bucks from her bank, and left an IOU to help me remember to pay her back.

Since she's only seven, Miranda is not too good at tracking her money, so she never noticed that I had taken another five bucks from her bank the following week, and left her another IOU.

It occurred to me after a while that I had been working hard for all these years, and I deserved to enjoy a little more out of life. I began to feel like this kid owed me something. After all, if I hadn't fathered her mother, Miranda wouldn't even exist. I started to feel entitled to some of her assets.

It didn't take me long to clean out the piggy bank -- her piddly savings barely bought me the house steak dinner at Applebee's -- but I faithfully filled the little pig up with IOUs so that Miranda would know she still had assets on hand.

After I opened the first credit card account in her name, I finally felt that I could start living in the manner to which I hoped to become accustomed.

Since Miranda was still in elementary school, and didn't have much of a credit history, I could only get a $500 limit on that first card, but I knew I was on to something. It was easy to apply and receive new credit cards, and as Miranda's credit history became established, all of her existing cards began to qualify for larger limits.

My first major purchase was a 14 mega-pixel SLR digital camera with 10x zoom. Best camera I have ever owned! It was worth every cent Miranda paid for it.

Later on I bought an awesome 4-wheel-drive ATV for off-road excursions. And I really looked good tooling down the highway in my new Harley. Eventually I acquired my ultimate dream-come-true: a 40-foot yacht fully rigged for blue-water sailing. I was all set to travel around the world, courtesy of my grand-daughter.

Thanks to this child, I never had to worry about budgeting again. Anything I wanted, I just charged to her. As the bills from the older cards came due, I would simply apply for a new card, and then use a small portion of the new card's balance to make a minimum payment on an older card.

After all, don't we have the right to enrich ourselves at the expense of our grandchildren? Don't they owe us a comfortable lifestyle?

After a while, Miranda started catching on to what I had done to her credit rating. She started getting kind of disrespectful with her grandpa, and accused me of taking advantage of her. The nerve of that ungrateful child! I handed her a shoebox full of my personal IOUs, and assured her that everything was accounted for.

But she wanted some cash. She had tried to buy a new doll at the Dollar General, and they wouldn't take any of my IOUs as payment. So she gets all whiny and in my face about it. What are they teaching these kids in second grade nowadays? How about some respect for your elders?

So then she starts crying and screaming at me. "You are ruining my life! You have piled debts on me that I can never repay! How can I ever go to college? How will I ever afford to buy my own house? How could you do this to me? How could you be so selfish? I hate you!"

On and on she kept fussing, until finally she spit in my face and kicked me in the groin...

I was writhing on the floor, crying and coughing, when my wife slapped me across the face to snap me out of it.

"Dave, wake up! You're having a bad dream!" she shouted.

I sat up in terror and was barely able to breathe. I was covered in sweat, and my heart was pounding. I held my head in my hands and could feel my temples throbbing.

"Oh Peggy, it was awful," I sobbed between gasps for air. "It was the worst nightmare I've ever had! I dreamed I became a United States Congressman!"

Another Routine Day in the ER

Fortunately for me, I was wearing clean, new briefs. Turns out mom was right: You never know when you might end up in the emergency room and all those people are going to see your underwear.

I knew I was having a bad day when I kept getting short of breath while working on a plumbing project in South Bend. I had some tightness in my chest, but I was not overly concerned. Mild angina attacks are not uncommon for me, and I always carry a bottle of sub-lingual nitro tablets.

I decided I would call it a day and head home, just in case I started feeling worse. At first the nitro was helping to relieve my symptoms, and I began driving back to Indianapolis, telling myself I would be okay.

Somewhere between South Bend and Peru, heading south on US 31, my chest pains become stronger. The nitro tablets weren't helping much anymore. That is when the serious praying began.

"God, please, just let me get home in one piece. I promise I will head straight for the hospital!"

The further south I drove, the worse I felt. There was a strong steady ache in my chest and left shoulder, and I felt a little woozy. I considered my options. Pulling over to take a nap sounded tempting, but I wasn't sure I would ever wake up.

Finally I passed a sign that said Kokomo was 20 miles away, and that sounded like the place for me. I have driven through Kokomo hundreds of times, and had often noticed the large billboard for Howard Regional Health System that pictured a lifeline helicopter streaking through the sky with the caption, "Tell them to take me to Howard!" Howard Regional was my new destination.

I kept driving and praying. The ache in my shoulder grew stronger. The tightness in my chest was increasing, and it seemed to be harder to breathe. I was struggling to keep my anxiety under control so I didn't make things any worse.

When I ran out of nitro tablets, I still had about 10 miles to go. I swallowed another aspirin, and then let a second aspirin dissolve under my tongue. That was not a pleasant taste sensation, but I was getting desperate.

I began to think that maybe this was it. Is this is how I would die, having a heart attack while trying to get to a hospital? I thought maybe I should just pull over and let it happen, but I just kept praying and kept driving.

I got really serious with Jesus at this point. I apologized to him for not having done anything more constructive with the life he had given me. I thanked him for having saved me so many years ago, and thanked him for the peace I now had, knowing that I would be with him in heaven the moment I left this earth.

I asked him to show me if there was something I had missed that I should have accomplished for him, in case I did actually survive this thing. Maybe, I thought, he had orchestrated all of this as a teachable moment. Maybe I was about to experience some glorious revelation or a life-changing vision of heaven.

Well, this illustrates what a pathetically mundane life I live: After all that praying, the only thought that came to my mind was the fact that my garage and tool shed are filled with 35 years worth of junk, and I felt ashamed that my kids were going to have to clean up all my trash after I was gone.

After this moving spiritual experience, I realized that I was getting close to the hospital. Maybe I was going to live! The sweetest sight I have seen in a long time was that sign that read: Emergency Room Entrance.

The staff at Howard Regional was fantastic. Within 30 seconds of walking into emergency, I was being wheeled into an exam room. The emergency room doctor, William Driehorst, and a team of nurses were on me like white on rice. They were all moving at double-time, hooking me up to things and poking and prodding me. As they peeled my clothing off, I was glad, as I mentioned earlier, to have those nice new briefs on.

You have never experienced total customer service until you walk into an emergency room with a heart attack. I've never had so many people working so hard on my behalf.

Within 30 minutes of my arrival, I was in surgery. It turns out that Howard Regional has an outstanding cardiac care unit, and one of their top physicians, Dr. Michael Ritchie, was my surgeon. Was Jesus looking out for me, or what?

The next day Jan, one of my nurses in the ER, visited me in my room and told me that she was glad I stopped when I did. "Your EKG was awful. You would not have made it to Indianapolis," she said.

While in the ER, I had been teasing the staff that I drove all the way to Kokomo because of their billboard, and they thought that was so funny that the hospital's PR person arranged for a reporter from a Kokomo newspaper to visit me so he could do a short feature about my experience. I will be happy to autograph souvenir copies of next week's edition of the Kokomo Perspective for the nominal fee of $10 each. (I've got medical bills to pay, you know.)

Life really is like a box of chocolates sometimes.

So now I'm back home, resting and praising God for once again delivering me. Life goes on, and I hope to have a long time yet to watch my grand-kids grow up. I look forward to many more trips through Kokomo, and I'll always give a salute as I drive by Howard Regional Health System.

My number one spring project this year will be cleaning out the garage and shed. Then I will be ready to die in peace should I happen to run out of nitro tablets on a deserted stretch of highway sometime in the future.

It's Never Too Late

Lately I've thought a lot about the thief on the cross.

He was a condemned criminal, being executed right next to the sinless savior of the world.

According to Mark 15:25, Jesus was crucified at the 3rd hour (9 a.m. Jerusalem time). The chief priests and scribes were mocking him while he hung on the cross, and Mark 15:32b tells us that "Those who were crucified with him also reviled him."

But somewhere along the way, one of the thieves had a change of heart. Perhaps he saw something in the demeanor of Jesus that impressed him. No doubt he was moved when he heard Jesus say, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." (Luke 23:34)

Maybe the Holy Spirit simply touched his heart and opened his eyes to what was really happening around him.

At any rate, he stopped harassing Jesus, and came to his defense.

Luke 23:39-43 reads, "One of the criminals who were hanged railed at him saying, "Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us!" But the other rebuked him saying, "Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed justly, for we are receiving the due reward of our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong." And he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." And he (Jesus) said to him, "Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise."

By a simple act of faith and submission, a man who had squandered his life in crime, resulting in his execution, was ushered into eternal life by the King of kings.

The thief had never been to church, never read a Bible, never tithed, never went on a missions trip. He didn't know any doctrine, didn't make any pledges, didn't try to justify or excuse his behavior.

But he did the one thing he really needed to do. He came to Jesus in humble faith, and Jesus washed away his sins. That day he did join Jesus in paradise.

His eternal destiny did not depend on what he knew, it depended on who he knew.

I recently visited an elderly relative, who is on the brink of death. We've talked a lot over the years about God and life. He has spent his whole life, like so many other people, pushing God away and living for himself.

Now he fears it may be too late for him. He has a hard time imagining that God could forgive him. He is trying hard to understand how this could be.

I left him with these final words. "Uncle, it all boils down to this. All God really wants to hear from you is three things: I'm sorry...you're the boss...I give up."

Just ask the thief on the cross.

No Room for Jihad Sympathy Here

Indianapolis resident Kathie Smith made headlines this past week when Fox News reported that she has drawn the attention of the FBI and Homeland Security after posting a YouTube video that featured her and her husband, Salahudin ibn Ja’Far, dressed in jihadist garb and glorifying a group of terrorists who had attempted to bomb a US military base in Germany.

In a recent interview on a local news channel, the 46 year-old grandmother (who now goes by the Muslim name “Zubaida”) complained about being targeted for extra scrutiny by Homeland Security agents when she is flying to and from Germany to visit her 28 year-old Muslim husband.

DUH...ya think?

Gosh, a Muslim convert who posts jihad videos on YouTube and "friends" herself with Islamic terrorists on Facebook...what possible concern could the TSA have with a passenger like that? I can only hope she has gone through an enhanced pat-down if she is ever sitting next to me on a flight!

In the eyes of an Islamic jihadist, we in America are the infidels. The United States is the "Great Satan." According to the tenets of Sharia Law, we must either convert to Islam or be subjugated and destroyed. We, along with Israel, the "Little Satan", are the primary targets of the worldwide jihad.

What it clearly boils down to is that anyone who supports jihad is advocating violent acts of war against the United States. People with common sense might reasonably classify that as treason.

Smith claims she is being hassled because she is exercising her First Amendment rights to free speech. I am the strongest supporter of the First Amendment that you will ever meet, but when it comes to treasonous speech, we have to draw a line.

Article 3, Section 3 of the Constitution states: "Treason against the United States, shall consist only in levying War against them, or in adhering to their Enemies, giving them Aid and Comfort. No Person shall be convicted of Treason unless on the Testimony of two Witnesses to the same overt Act, or on Confession in open Court."

Could a reasonable person conclude that associating with known terrorists and making videos sympathetic to their cause is adhering to the enemy and giving them aid and comfort?

My heritage traces back to German immigrants who came to the Midwest in the early 1900s. Indianapolis is home to multitudes of German descendants.

During World War II, you absolutely did NOT find any local German-Americans strutting about wearing swastikas and singing the praises of the Fuhrer. This is because these people were Americans first, and loved this country, and would never want to support an enemy of the USA.

Also, anyone crazy enough to have done such a thing would have been locked up, and rightfully so. We have wonderful freedoms in America, more than anywhere else in the world, but we do not have the right to betray our country.

Kathie Smith has no more right to live in Indianapolis and advocate our destruction in 2010 than my grandparents would have had to fly Nazi banners from their front porch in 1942.

Any culture that is so muddle-headed that it allows foreign enemies, or home-grown traitors, to operate with impunity is a society slowly committing suicide by stupidity. It's a kind of cultural Darwinism -- a nation too spineless to defend itself will eventually become extinct.

Our Constitution is the most magnificent political document in human history. All Americans cherish the guarantees of freedom it contains. But our liberties do not constitute a suicide pact. We all have a responsibility to defend the United States from enemies foreign and domestic. Our elected officials and military personnel declare an oath to that effect when they are sworn into service.

For the preservation of our culture -- for the sake of our children -- we have an obligation to deal swiftly with traitors.

Kathie Smith should be charged with treason and jailed, or deported to the Islamic utopia of her choice. Under no circumstances should she, or anyone else advocating jihad, be allowed to operate freely in our midst.

Such people have chosen to betray us. By supporting jihad, they are supporting the war against America.


For more information on this story:
Keeping Tabs on Granny Jihad
Fox 59 News Report

Hope You Liked That $4 Gas

I originally posted this blog in November 2009. You may have missed it. I have decided to re-post since it is now more timely than when originally written. Only now, things are even worse, since President Obama has halted new drilling in the Gulf of Mexico. I hate to say I told you so, but...

Okay, boys and girls, settle into your seats for a quick lesson in Remedial Economics from Professor Dave.

First, a little background:

You may recall that in the summer of 2008, before the last general election, gas prices passed the $4 per gallon mark. This understandably caused quite a ruckus among consumers, and we beseiged our representatives in government with demands that something be done to correct the situation.

With an election looming on the horizon, liberal Democrats (and their RINO buddies) reverted to their standard election year schtick: making whatever noises they thought the voters wanted to hear, with no intention of ever actually following through.

Suddenly, the very legislators who have continuously blocked opening up federal lands for energy exploration were all on board the "drill here, drill now" express. The voters are upset - gas prices are too high - so let's put on a show!

Everyone from House Speaker Comrade Pelosi to the lowliest junior Rust Belt congressman was suddenly barking about energy independence. Democrats brayed in loud TV sound bites about lifting the congressionally-imposed ban on offshore drilling that has been in effect for decades, and which has hampered our domestic energy production.

And we the people, being the gullible dunces we are, once again bought it. Liberals were swept into power in 2008, and given total control of the government. It reminds me of Lucy holding the football for Charlie Brown. For some reason, poor old Charlie Brown always tells himself that THIS TIME Lucy will do the right thing.

Have we heard a peep out of Democrats in Congress about increasing our energy production since they won the election? That answer would be NO! Liberal politicians never intended to follow through on those snake-oil campaign promises. Imagine that.

So, boys and girls, back to our economics lesson. Though some people say that the only sure things in life are death and taxes, I feel confident in adding a third: the law of supply and demand. If supply exceeds demand, prices fall. If demand exceeds supply, prices rise.

(This principle is too simplistic for sophisticated Ivy League Liberals to grasp, but trust Professor Dave on this one, it is a cold hard fact of life.)

Early last year, before our economy took that nose-dive into the Great Recession, we had shared in several years of robust growth in the global economy. Business was booming all over the world, and especially with the Indian and Chinese economies growing by leaps and bounds, demand for oil and refined petroleum products was at an all-time high. Supplies were being squeezed. Prices were rising accordingly.

In the U.S., demand for gasoline had grown to the point that our domestic oil refineries could not keep up, and we were forced to import gasoline from foreign refineries. (We can also thank liberals for the fact that we have been unable to construct a new oil refinery in this country in the past 25 years.) Under those circumstances, why was anyone with an IQ above room temperature surprised that prices would rise?

It's all about supply and demand. Demand was higher than supply, so we paid through the nose for our gasoline.

But as events unfolded, and the Great Recession of 2008-2009 cooled down the global economy, the world's demand for oil plummeted. Oil reserves grew while demand kept falling, and we witnessed the inevitable result: gasoline prices fell 50% in less than a year. Last spring, prices in central Indiana were down to around $2 per gallon.

So we all fell asleep at the switch. Minus the prodding of public pressure for action, liberals in Congress reverted to their default mode of stifling our domestic energy production. All of those campaign promises about energy independence were wiped off the table, and since gasoline was cheap again, most of us didn't pay much attention.

For some reason, it has not dawned on the majority of us that the only reason gasoline prices dropped was because the economy was in the toilet, and that as the economy begins to recover and global demand rises, we will be back to record high oil prices in the very near future.

The global demand for energy will keep growing, and unless the supply grows with it, we will be sending billions more of our dollars (and hundreds of thousands of energy-sector jobs) to our friends overseas like Hugo Chavez and the Mullahs of Iran.

Thanks to the inaction of our government, we are stuck in exactly the same vulnerable position that we occupied two years ago. We are constrained from developing and expanding domestic energy production, and forced to purchase the lifeblood of our economy at premium prices from unstable foreign suppliers, many of whom don't like us very much.

Unless we change direction, we'll soon be filling up with some more of that $4 gas. Shucks, if we throw in a little Obama-stimulus-induced inflation and a hiccup in the Middle East we might even get to see prices of $5 or $6 per gallon.

And since this is just a Remedial Economics lesson, we won't even begin to discuss the obvious national security dangers of depending on hostile nations to supply us with the fuel that we need to survive.

Our only hope is to move aggressively towards energy independence. We need to unleash the brains, brawn and capital of the domestic energy companies that can make that goal a reality. We need to demand that our government get on board the energy express, or at least get out of the way.

Repeat after me: "Supply and demand. Supply and demand."

Class dismissed.

Jesus Who?

I've heard about everything this Christmas season except "Merry Christmas!"

Looking over the cards we have received here at Smith Manor, I am struck by the amazing number of ways we can weasel around saying anything that has to do with baby Jesus. You remember him - the God-Man, born of a virgin, came to offer himself for the sins of the world - yeah, that's the guy I'm talking about. We used to understand that Christmas was celebrated in his honor.

But now, well, it is "Happy Holidays", "Season's Greetings", "Winter Greetings", whatever. Anything but "Merry Christmas."

The Daily Mail website recently reported that the British Red Cross has banned Christmas references from any decorations in its fund-raising shops in Britain, so as not to offend Muslims.

Another recent Daily Mail article reported on some interesting facts about Christmastime in Nazi Germany.

No surprise, Hitler was not a big fan of Christmas. The Mail article states, "Hitler believed religion had no place in his 1,000-year Reich, so he replaced the Christian figure of Saint Nicholas with the Norse god Odin and urged Germans to celebrate the season as a holiday of the ‘winter solstice’, rather than Christmas."

It is always the same with tyrants: Religion has to go. No worldview or belief system can be tolerated that might challenge the supremacy of the all-powerful state.

So when people try to tamp down public expressions of faith, or marginalize the role of Christian values in our society, or make it politically incorrect to say something as simple and beautiful as "Merry Christmas", I not only become irritated, I become alarmed.

Because whenever people feel the need to suppress faith in God, there is an agenda involved. And it never leads to anything good.

Shortcomings of the Canadian Model

Mark Steyn is the funniest prophet of doom I have ever read. Here is a link to a great piece he did for Hillsdale College concerning the Canadian economy and it's health care system. READ MORE

What Shariah Law Did to Sudan

An immigrant who had escaped the horrors of the genocide in Sudan tells his story, and lends his reasoned opposition to the building of the Ground Zero Mosque. READ MORE

Remember in November!

In just a few short weeks we will participate in what could be one of the most important elections in American history. We will decide whether America continues what could become an irreversible slide into socialism.

A lot of intelligent people, who should have known better, decided to roll the dice in November of 2008 and vote for Barack Obama, a charismatic candidate who was long on platitudes and short on experience. A collapsing economy, and the unattractive Republican alternative of John McCain, helped to ensure Obama's historic election as our first black president.

Unfortunately, Obama has shown himself to be our most radical leftist president, and with his bullet-proof majorities in Congress, we have enabled him to inflict serious damage to the fabric of our republic. We have now seen what happens to our liberties when we allow ourselves to be ruled by a one-party government with a promiscuous lust for power.

This November 2, we have to remember what is at stake.

We have to remember that this regime is running budget deficits that are bankrupting our economy, and saddling our grandchildren with debts they will never be able to repay.

We must remember the 2,000-page legislative bills that no one had time to read, that were passed in the middle of the night in defiant disregard of the clearly expressed will of the majority of American voters.

We must remember Sonia Sotomayor and Elena Kagan, Obama's first two appointments to the Supreme Court. How many more left-wing justices like them can our constitutional system endure and still remain intact?

We must remember the blatant disregard for the rule of law (aka "the Chicago Way") employed by the Obama regime in the takeover of General Motors and Chrysler. The federal government basically stole the pension money invested in GM and Chrysler bonds (a supposedly "secured" investment) so that Obama could reward his union supporters at the expense of retired schoolteachers and firefighters.

We must remember the vast, new, mind-boggling array of medical-device taxes coming our way as a result of Obamacare, with new fees being levied on everything from band-aids to hearing-aids.

We must remember that the Obama administration has found only one area in the budget that it believes needs cut: national defense. In today's dangerous world -- a world awash in terrorist states, an ascendant Communist Chinese military machine, a saber-rattling Iran and a nuclear-armed North Korea -- Mr. Obama is perfectly content to scale back our missile defense systems and our military hardware procurements.

We must remember the liberal members of Congress who have decided that they know what is best for us, and how they have arrogantly dismissed the desires of their constituents. Who can ever forget Nancy Pelosi's infamous retort to questions about Obamacare: "We have to pass the bill so that you can find out what is in it."

Someone should buy every liberal member of Congress a dictionary and force them to look up the definition of "representative."

The events of the past 20 months have made it painfully obvious: These people don't care what we think. They don't care what we want. The only thing that will stop these leftists from steamrolling over our liberties is to hand them a pink slip on election day and send them back home.

This November 2, we need to send a loud, clear message to everyone who seeks the honor and privilege of representing us in Congress: If you want to keep your job, you had better remember who you work for. In America, "we the people" rule!

I Don't Know Where They Are

A number of people I loved have died in recent years.

They were all people I had known for a long time. They were honest, decent people -- people who had loved me and treated me kindly.

I miss them all.

If you live long enough, you will realize that kind people are few and far between. So when the Lord brings kind people across my path, I do my best to keep them on my radar.

Good people are hard to find, and I hate to let any of them go from my life. But death, being no respecter of persons, will take them away in a heartbeat.

What bothers me most of all, besides the loss of their companionship, is that I don't know if I will see many of them again. To the best of my knowledge, few of those people -- good people, people with kind hearts -- few of them had ever bent their knee before the God of heaven.

The Bible teaches clearly that no one can enter the Kingdom of God without being born again. Unless a person has surrendered his life to Jesus and obtained forgiveness through His blood, there is no entry into heaven. Only Jesus can impart the gift of eternal life. Apart from Him, there is no hope for salvation.

Few of the people I loved could testify that they had given their hearts to Jesus and found forgiveness for their sins. Few of them, good people though they were, humanly speaking, were ready for eternity, at least as far as I knew from discussions I had with them while they still walked this earth.

Of course, there is always the hope, and always the chance, that someone nearing their final hours could experience a death-bed conversion, and depart from this life into eternal glory. That is always a possibility, but not really very likely in most cases. Generally speaking, people who harden their hearts towards God find it more difficult to come to Him after so many years of telling themselves that they can make it on their own.

So, while I hope for the best for so many of my departed friends and relatives, I cannot be certain of their eternal destiny.

This saddens me more than words can convey. I dread to think what a godless eternity would be like. I dread to think that someone I love could be facing eternal darkness, all because they were too stubborn to kneel before the Creator of the universe and ask His forgiveness before it was too late.

Please listen, my friends who are still alive -- death is too late. You need to give your life to the Lord NOW, while it is still within your power to do so. There is no guarantee that you will have tomorrow.

So I keep hoping for the best. I pray that there was a last-minute decision by my friends to surrender their hearts to Jesus. It is a slim hope, but I often remind myself about the thief on the cross, who repented just hours before his death, and lived to hear Jesus tell him, "Today you will be with me in paradise."

I wish I could somehow know if they had made peace with God in their final hours. I wish I could know where they are.

What I Learned Today at School

I like to think of life as a kind of continuing adult education program. I possess several degrees from the School of Hard Knocks, and I am particularly proud of my Working Man's PhD.

If you are paying attention you will, in fact, learn something new every day. I learned several new things just this evening, so in the interest of my readers' enlightenment, I will be happy to share these recent life-lessons with you. Pay attention, there may be a quiz later.

When cooking with a wok, I find that an aromatic wok oil consisting of a blend of garlic, ginger, sesame and soybean oils imparts a delicious flavor to a healthy batch of home-made Vegetable Lo-Mein. Ideally, your wok will be just hot enough to cause the wok oil to smoke when you drizzle it into the wok immediately before adding your vegetables.

If you become distracted and allow the wok to become "blue hot" before you add the wok oil, the wok oil will quickly vaporize, burst into a fireball, and become a blazing inferno atop your stove.

The fireball is likely to cause you to reflexively jump back, which can result in you spilling wok oil on the kitchen floor and all over the front of your shirt.

Your wife will not be pleased when she walks into the kitchen and notices that there is an inferno on the stove, even if it is safely contained within your wok.

Never attempt to extinguish an oil fire with water. You should smother the fire with a large towel, but preferably not your wife's favorite new Pampered Chef's terry cloth print towel, even if it is the closest thing within reach.

After the blaze is extinguished, a dedicated chef will resume preparing his recipe, carrying on as if nothing unusual has happened, despite the smokey working conditions.

Burnt wok oil imparts an appetizing "fire-roasted" flavor to the vegetables in your lo-mein.

Wok oil stains are difficult to remove from a cotton shirt, and so is the smell of garlic and ginger.

Wok oil imparts a lovely sheen to the vinyl tile on your kitchen floor, and could be used in a pinch if you happen to run out of Mop n' Glo.

Questions, Questions, Questions

Happy to report that Mrs. Smith and I had a great time in downtown Indy at the Ribfest this past Sunday evening. One of my favorite bands, Collective Soul, played for 90 minutes to close out the festivities for that day.

During the concert, I engaged in one of my favorite past-times: people-watching. There was quite a diverse crowd of BBQ lovers on hand, and since that excursion, some stray questions have crossed my mind, which I will now share with you, in no particular order.

1. How would I look with a spiked yellow Mohawk?

2. Am I the only person in Indianapolis without a tattoo?

3. Would I look younger if I wore plaid boxer shorts and let my jeans slide halfway down my butt?

4. How much does it hurt to have your tongue pierced?

5. Can you really get people to give you money by leaning against a lamp post and shaking a plastic cup?

6. Who has time to write graffiti inside a port-o-let?

7. Who keeps a toddler up until 10:30 at night and takes him to a concert without hearing protection?

8. How far do you have to move away from a crying toddler so that you can enjoy the concert?

9. Why did I wear a white shirt to a Rib Festival?

10. After all these years, does Peggy ever get tired of cleaning me up?

11. If the street is dark and there is no policeman to see you, is it still jaywalking?

12. Why is there only one bench in Military Park?

13. Should women whose waist size exceeds their bust size wear tank tops in public?

14. How much does it cost to cover your entire upper torso in tattoos?

15. Would I feel self-conscious if I had a piece of metal stuck through my nose?

How Not To Be Poor

Living in such a rich country, it is easy for us to take things for granted. We can forget how blessed we are. In a recession economy, we can become discouraged, and neglect being grateful for the many things we DO have.

Many Americans are facing tough economic times right now. People have lost jobs and homes. Many have been forced to take lower-paying jobs, perhaps working two jobs to make ends meet. Some people have been forced to draw unemployment while they try to find a job.

Most of us have faced tough times before, and the traditional American way of dealing with them is simply to buckle down and work through them. When times are hard, you do whatever you have to do to make things work. It's not easy, it's not pretty, but that is life in the real world.

With the exception of facing health issues beyond their control, anyone in America who is willing to work, and is careful with their money, will find a way to take care of themselves. This is still a land of opportunity. No one can guarantee that you will be wealthy or have everything you desire, but no one in America has to live in poverty.

I had heard Walter Williams speaking on the radio recently, and he discussed his four rules for avoiding poverty. I thought he articulated a great, common-sense approach to avoiding the welfare trap that too many Americans find themselves in these days.

I found an article he had written on the Internet that laid out his four rules for avoiding poverty, and here is the essence of his essay:

"Avoiding long-term poverty is not rocket science. First, graduate from high school. Second, get married before you have children, and stay married. Third, work at any kind of job, even one that starts out paying the minimum wage. And, finally, avoid engaging in criminal behavior."

The more I read of Walter Williams' work, the more I love the guy. He deals straight up, lays his cards on the table, and gives you a look at life through the lens of reality.

So, if his prescription for economic health seems overly simplistic to you, I advise you to observe and take note of the people who end up on welfare. Everyone I've ever known in poverty has violated one or more of these simple principles. As my granddaughter so often tells me: "I'm just sayin'..."

To read Walter Williams' pithy essay in its entirety, go to
http://www.capitalismmagazine.com/politics/poverty/4223-How-Not-Poor.html

Give Us Back Our Summertime!

Ah, the dog days of summer. The sun is high in the sky, baking the parched grass. The beach is warm and inviting as the waves lap against the shore. The aroma of coconut oil wafts across the pool at Garfield Park, and for some reason I cannot fathom: KIDS ARE STANDING AT THE CURB WAITING FOR THE SCHOOL BUS!

Whatever happened to summer?

This ever-earlier encroachment of the start of school on summer vacation has irked me for years, and the situation is only getting worse. There are elementary schools around here that started on August 2nd. My neighbor began his "fall" semester at Southport High School on August 10th.

Again I ask: whatever happened to summer?

Educators tell us that we need a longer school year to pump our students' heads up with more knowledge so they can compete in an increasingly high-tech world. Okay, I get that. But if you are going to add days to the school year, why not add them in June, when it is cooler and less humid. Why screw up the month of August, the best part of summer?

I have heard educators say that adding days in June is not productive, since kids are looking forward to the end of the school year, and they begin to lose focus on their studies.

Well, duh! The reason kids begin to lose their focus in April is because they know they are getting out of school in May. If we move the school calendar back, then students can begin to lose their focus in May because they know that school will end in June. I see no real problem here.

When you live in a place like Indiana (as I have for my entire life) summertime is a precious and fleeting season. If you enjoy outdoor activities like swimming, boating and camping, there is a narrow window of opportunity to indulge in these pleasures.

May is totally unpredictable, and the water in our lakes is too cold to allow most us to swim. June is almost as bad, with lots of rainy days and cool nights. In addition, in June many of the state park reservoirs are flooded from the spring rains, which closes the beaches, and sometimes the marinas.

For summer junkies like me, that leaves July, August and maybe the first half of September. A mere two and half months to enjoy our summertime, and then we face another long dreary wait through fall, another brutal midwestern winter, and a soggy cold spring before we can play out in the water again.

Life is short. In my opinion, we all work too much and play too little. There are too few pleasures as it is, and for our schools to steal away the best part of summer just doesn't make sense to me. Summertime activities are wonderful ways for families to spend time together and make memories.

As I write this, on Wednesday August 11, it is 88 degrees at 9:00 in the morning. The high today is forecast at 96 degrees. Days like this are created for people to relax, work on a tan, and play in the water.

But today, the beach at Eagle Creek Park is closed. The pools in the Indianapolis city parks are closed. It's hitting 96 degrees in the middle of August, and there is nowhere nearby to go swimming BECAUSE THE LIFE GUARDS HAD TO GO BACK TO SCHOOL!

Conversely, you could go to a city pool in early June and shoot off a cannon without hitting anything but a pigeon, since no one in their right mind wants to go swimming when it is 75 degrees and raining. But that's when our pools are open, because we don't have enough sense to schedule summer vacations during the time that it is actually summer!

It is ridiculous to lose our summers like this. We are all cheated out of one of the best parts of the year because we can't get the schools to schedule summer vacations during the summertime. If you want to help change this situation, join the Save Indiana Summers campaign.

Cartoon of the WeekI Believe This Says It All

(click on graphic to enlarge)

Not at Ground Zero

One of the most reasoned articles I've read concerning the "Ground Zero" Mosque in New York City was just published in the National Review. READ MORE

The Real Reason Men Get Married

It's not for sex or romance. It's not for companionship. It's not for the cooking or the housekeeping. So why do men really get married? We need someone nearby to help us find our stuff.

We don't know where we put anything. We have no concept of filing. The typical male idea of organization is to drop something wherever it seems convenient, and then expect to remember later where that place was. That's all we know how to do. It's a genetic defect.

Comedian Jeff Allen tells the story of leaving his underwear in the middle of the bedroom floor. His wife was irritated by his sloppiness and asked him, "Is that your underwear on the floor?"

"It better be," he replied, "or I've got a few questions I want to ask you!"

It's a known scientific fact that women are more organized than men. Women can file and sort and store and compartmentalize and arrange and archive -- simultaneously! They are amazing creatures. Why shouldn't we of the hapless male persuasion take advantage of such naturally ingrained female talents?

When you're a kid, you've got mom around to find your stuff for you.

"Mom, where's my shoes? Mom, have you seen my skateboard? Mom, where is my cap? Mom, did I leave my belt in the living room?"

My sweet mom had four boys. I doubt the poor woman had a day in her adult life that she didn't spend an hour or more tracking down the possessions misplaced by her clueless sons.

I had two sisters. They were pretty good at finding stuff, too. Except part of the time they were mad at us for teasing them or whatever, and then they would withhold their intel. Even my sainted mother, with her seemingly boundless patience, would occasionally become exasperated with us and erupt with the spine-chilling phrase that every boy dreads hearing: "It's wherever you put it!"

Wherever I put it? If I knew where I put it, I wouldn't have asked you. (Readers take note: never say that out loud. Trust me on this.)

There are some mornings that I know I would never make it out the front door if Peggy wasn't scurrying around the house finding all my lost stuff. It amazes me how those things travel around. Sometimes I actually suspect that she moves them behind my back just to set me off.

If she leaves for work before I do, I'm in big trouble. Last week I spent 15 minutes -- 15 MINUTES! -- trying to find my keys. I looked in all the usual spots. I retraced every step I had made that morning. I scanned my memory and double-checked all the possible drop zones. I was getting so frustrated I almost said, "Poop!"

I had finally given up when I happened to look down on the bed. There were my keys laying next to my pillow. How did they get on the bed? I didn't remember putting them there. I couldn't help but wonder if Peggy was laughing all the way into town wondering how long it would take me to find them. Those kinds of crazy thoughts go through a man's mind when he can't find his stuff.

Personally, I am drowning in stuff. Like most Americans, I have way more stuff than I know what to do with. I have stuff I haven't seen for years. I know it's around here somewhere, and as soon as Peggy has some extra time, I'm going to ask her to find it for me.

After all, that's why I got married in the first place.

Finding a Home for James

Five-year-old James had come to live with the Paxton family nearly five months ago.

Though Steve and Jenny Paxton already had five children in their family, they decided, after much prayer, to make room for one more.

Steve's sister Barbara was a foster parent, and James had been placed with her after the Department of Child Services (DCS) had rescued him from a neglectful mother. It was the usual sad story, so familiar to workers in the child care field: mom liked to party, constantly moved in and out of various boyfriends' apartments, wouldn't get a job, wouldn't stay home, wouldn't take care of her children.

For all practical purposes, little James had been raised by his older sister Brenda, but she was almost 18 now, and was about to finish high school. She wasn't in a position to properly care for her brother, and DCS wanted to place James in a permanent adoptive home.

Barbara, his foster mom, loved the little boy, and she worked hard to make him feel at home. But she was a widowed grandmother, and she had some health issues that kept her from being the ideal candidate for a permanent adoptive placement.

So it was that Barbara had the idea of introducing James to her youngest brother Steve and his wife Jenny. Barbara never mentioned to Steve and Jenny that she thought they would be the perfect parents for James, but she made sure to invite the Paxtons and their kids over for regular cookouts and pool parties, and she was not surprised at all when James became friends with their youngest son, 7-year-old Brandon.

Actually, it was Jenny who first spoke of the possibility of adopting James. One evening during a cookout/sleepover, with the youngest kids put to bed, and the older kids playing Euchre in the family room, the adults were settled down with some cold drinks on the back porch. Jenny looked at Barbara and asked how things were going with finding a home for James.

"Nothing on the horizon yet," Barbara replied. "There are a lot more kids around than there are adoptive homes."

Jenny spoke softly, "I wonder if he would like to live with us. Look how well he gets along with the kids, especially Brandon. They are practically inseparable."

Steve arched an eyebrow as he glanced sideways at his wife. "Am I allowed into this conversation? Are you telling me five kids aren't enough to keep you busy?"

Jenny just smiled at him and said, "You know you love that little boy just as much as I do."

So it was on that night, ten months ago, that Steve and Jenny made the decision to contact the family services agency and begin the long process of adopting James. It was an emotional roller coaster for Jenny. Her world suddenly became a whirl of adoption agency visits, background checks, interviews, home inspections and adoptive parent classes.

At times she wondered if they had gotten in over their heads. What if James didn't really bond with them? What if he became a disruption to the rest of the family? The adoption classes were sobering exercises, since the instructor took the parents through all sorts of case studies and prepared them for a variety of unpleasant contingencies.

She learned that adopted children often arrive with a lot of emotional baggage, especially if they have been neglected or abused by their mothers at a young age. James' therapist had informed the Paxtons early on that James suffered to some degree from Reactive Attachment Disorder, and would likely have difficulty establishing close relationships with others, since he had never had an opportunity to bond with anyone as an infant.

James was also known to have abrupt angry outbursts, and his kindergarten teacher wanted him to be tested for ADHD, thinking that might explain why he was sometimes so disruptive in class.

"Oh God," Jenny prayed every night, "Help me do the right thing here."

It had been five months now since James had moved in. He was living in the Paxton home on a six-month trial placement. If all went well, he could be legally adopted at the end of that time.

Jenny's heart ached for the little guy as she watched him struggle to acclimate himself to their household routine. It was quite an adjustment for James, moving from Barbara's home, where he was the only child, to the Paxton house that hummed with the bustling about of five older children.

Jenny was thrilled to observe that James had bonded right away with her husband. James had never had a male role model in his life, and to suddenly have a father at the age of five was an exhilarating experience for him. He became Steve's little shadow, following him around the yard, helping with the chores. If Steve was doing it, James was doing it.

But James seemed to keep Jenny at arm's length. He behaved well for her, and he would hug her at night, but it was always a quick casual hug, and he never rushed to cuddle in her lap the way he liked to do with her husband. She assumed that he still missed Barbara, since he had lived with her for over a year, and she had become a mother figure to him. So sad, Jenny thought, that such a little boy had to keep starting over again.

Last night, Jenny was tucking the younger boys into bed. She knelt at James' bedside to say prayers with him, and got her usual quickie goodnight hug. She got up to leave, and was ready to shut the bedroom door when James said, "Come back, I need another hug."

Jenny returned to his bed, knelt down to hug him, and that was when he burst her heart.

James reached up, wrapped his skinny little arms around Jenny's soft warm neck, and for the first time ever, kissed her on the cheek.

"I love you, mom."

Jenny had to stifle a gasp, he had so taken her by surprise. She did not want him to see her cry. With amazing self control, she whispered in his ear, "I love you too, James."

They rocked back and forth together for a long time, locked in a soft, wonderful, comforting hug. A geyser of joyful tears and praises to God erupted silently from deep inside of Jenny.

The Lord had just given her another son.

Life Is an Assignment

I couldn't help but notice as time went on that people kept dying.

At first they were few and far between. My grandmother, then a long time passed, then a grandfather, then later mom, then some aunts and uncles and a mother-in-law, father, father-in-law...well, the pace keeps picking up.

In the past year I've buried three good friends.

Not trying to be a downer, but you may have forgotten that you are, in fact, going to die. I think it was Jim Morrison who said, "Nobody gets out of here alive." My doctor commented once that life has a 100% mortality rate.

We don't like to think about it. We use euphemisms and play tricks on ourselves to keep from contemplating the inevitable final exit that we will make from this planet.

What we forget too often is that we were put here for a reason. God never accidentally created anyone. Each one of us is designed by the creator of the universe to fulfill a small piece of his cosmic plan. We were created for a mission.

Your life is an assignment.

So there's no use whining, as we so often do, about our problems or our disappointments. They come with the territory. God is not so much interested in fulfilling our desires as he is in us fulfilling his purposes.

The only way to begin to scratch the surface of your purpose is to come to the God who made you and make to him a gift of your life. Until you surrender your life to Jesus, you can never move ahead into the destiny that he has planned for you.

The Bible says that our lives are like a vapor, our days are short, our time here is as fleeting as the flowers that bloom today and wither tomorrow. Whatever God has planned for you, you should get busy and get to it ASAP.

You have one life to live. You have one chance to live it for God and make it count. You have one chance to fulfill your purpose for existence, and ensure that you can spend eternity in the presence of the glory of God.

Someday you will meet Jesus. Everyone will. If you meet him now while you're alive, you will meet him as your redeemer. If you put him off until you die, then you will meet him later as your judge. Not a good career move.

The clock is ticking. Tomorrow you will be another day older, and another day closer to eternity. Are you ready?