I have deleted my previous post.
In it, I expressed my opinion of someone else’s expressed opinion.
As I wrote that piece, I should have remembered the age old adage about opinions… that, like a@@h@les, they are sometimes best left unexposed. That opinion piece was certainly one such time.
And so, it’s gone.
Hello all. This has been a pretty lousy weekend, so far. It started yesterday.
Actually yesterday started out pretty good. It was unseasonably cool yesterday. I made a run to the CB Recycling center to dump a load of tree branches that I’d picked up at church, then to Home Depot, Best Buy and Bed, Bath and Beyond. As I was driving home, I became aware that I was experiencing some discomfort.
Now, time for an aside. Beginning back in 1999, I’ve had a bunch of experiences where I’ve experienced chest pains. I’ve gone to the ER a few times, spent the night in the hospital on one or two occasions. Generally speaking the end result is, nothing was wrong, at least with regards my heart. I spent several years seeing an electro-cardiologist. And there IS a slight issue with my heart, but nothing that was considered threatening. About every two years or so, I end up in the ER, and each time, nothing.
So, when I experience discomfort like I did yesterday afternoon, I tend not to react very quickly to it. I got home, spent some time doing odds and ends. Then I cleaned out the refrigerator. By the time I was done, my chest was really beginning to hurt. “Some discomfort” no longer described what I was feeling. So I went upstairs and lay down. That was a bad idea. As soon as I was prone, I really, really began to hurt. I spent about 10 minutes in bed, but during that time, my jaw began to ache, my left shoulder began to hurt. My left hand began to lose sensation… not numbness, just less sensitive. And the fingers tingled slightly.
So, I called Scott, told him I was going to the ER. Then got dressed and drove up to Jennie Edmundson, our local hospital. The staff there responded very quickly. They did x-rays and drew blood. Finally they gave me a breathing treatment with Albuterol and then a nitro glycerin tablet. Scott arrived about an hour after I did.
This time, the pains were different. And they were far, far worse than I’ve ever experienced before. Through most of the time I was there, I felt like my heart was in a vice. I estimated my pain level at between 7 & 8, sometimes receding to a 6. But, periodically throughout, I’d also get sharp jabbing pains in my chest that approached a 9… some of the worst pain I’ve experienced. We did finally begin to notice that the pain was worse when I was prone or near prone, and receded when I sat up. During these jabbing pains, I’d either not be able to breathe at all, or only in short ragged gasps.
After about 3 and a half hours they sent me home. And once again, no real diagnosis. The discharge papers say: “Musculo-Skeletal Pain” and “Chest Pain (Non Specific)”. They did give me a codeine/tylenol medication, and a prescription for more of them. Scott had to drive me home, then walk back to the hospital to get the truck.
The rest of the evening I sat in front of the TV, dosing off now and then, thanks to the codeine. At 10 we went to bed, and I took another codeine to help sleep. During all this time, the pain really had not receded very much, though the “vice-like” pain was now in the 6 – 7 range. At 3 I woke up, fighting for breath, and in extreme pain. So I got up, took another codeine, then slept on the recliner so I could be sitting up a little. Sleep from here on was fitful. I spent some time awake on the computer, and some just resting. I dozed fitfully.
When Scott got up at 8, I was just coming to from a nap. Pain this morning was bad. I’ve been experiencing cold sweats, and a little nausea. But now, as the afternoon progresses, the pain is almost completely gone. I think now I’m just coping with the after effects of the narcotics. I took the last codeine at about 8 a.m. At 11 I took Advil. So, I’m hoping I’m on the mend now.
These “episodes” have never lasted this long before, been this painful, or been accompanied by such a range of symptoms. And we still don’t have any real idea what is happening!
May I take a moment to post a little rant? I hope so.
As I begin my rant, let me say this quite clearly: Omaha World Herald, I hope you do some kind of daily yahoo or google search to determine what your readers think of you. Why? Because YOU HAVE A REALLY STUPID POLICY!
I’m specifically writing about your online subscription policy. I don’t mind paying for an online subscription. I don’t mind paying full price for an online subscription. What really has my shorts in a bunch today, you idiots, is that not only do I have to pay full price for an online subscription, but I also have… HAVE… as in AM OBLIGATED TO… take delivery of your paper daily. So, for two weeks, your papers pile up on my front porch (where they are hidden from the neighbors view by a nice brick wall) until the bi-weekly collection of paper recyclables here in Council Bluffs.
World Herald Management, do you have ANY IDEA HOW INCREDIBLY STUPID THIS is? Do you have any idea how WASTEFUL this is? How many trees am I, through YOUR stupid, STUPID, incomprehensible policies responsible for killing every month?
I want the Sunday paper. I faithfully read the daily papers online, but I want the SUNDAY paper physically in hand. Why don’t you bozos save YOURSELF money, ME the hassle of tons of unwanted paper, the LANDFILLS the burden of my unwanted papers? How hard is it for you to figure this out? If you want, I’ll be glad to hire myself out to you for $100 an hour to figure out a method of working around this STUPID STUPID STUPID policy of yours. I can guarantee you you’ll only spend $100. ‘Cause I have the answer for you. My neighbors 8 year old would have the SAME answer for you. This is not rocket science. I have a better idea. Instead of complaining about the high costs of running a newspaper, and cutting off an entire section of the state of Nebraska from home delivery of your paper, since they seem to want it, why don’t you get off your rumpuses, DO YOUR BLASTED JOB, and fix this? It is not hard. Repeat after me: It.Is.Not.Hard.We.Can.Do.It!
You CAN do it! YES YOU CAN!
Sigh, since the OWH is run by overbloated corporate executives with their heads up their… dark unsunny places… I doubt they’ll ever do it. I dare you! Prove me wrong! Of course, my huge readership of, what… thirteen?… readers will be waiting with baited breath for your compliance. No, wait, they better not. I value them too highly!
Okay, now for the survey part of this: Faithful readers, tell me about your gripes with stupid, resource wasting, money wasting practices! I’ll post them here! Really. I will!
UPDATE: I decided to do something other than rant. I wrote to 3 of the senior staff at OWH. Their Circulation Director, VP of Sales & Marketing, and Executive Editor. I didn’t rant. I was nice! Perhaps a little cheeky. See for yourself:
Gentlemen,
First, I’d like to compliment you on the quality of your newspaper. I think overall you all are doing a wonderful job!
Second, I’d like to compliment your circulation department for the high quality of service you provide. I just got off the phone talking with one of your very friendly, very courteous people who, unfortunately was not able to help me. I’m impressed because generally speaking, when one deals with big "faceless" corporations such as yourselves, courtesy and friendliness are frequently lacking. But this brings me to the real point of my email.
I receive your paper 7 days a week. I really only WANT to receive it on my front porch on Sundays, as I read it online the other 6 days. There’s something nice about sitting with the paper and a cup of coffee with my partner on Sunday mornings. The rest of the week, your paper sits, piling up in useless, WASTEFUL heaps on my front porch.
So, I called to ask how we could stop this waste of paper, but was told that if I want to be able to read the paper online Monday through Saturday, I have to also receive the hardprint version on those days. Now, gentlemen, just about everyone I know from the age of 4 through 104 recognizes that this is a frivolous, costly waste of resources. It really is, excuse the strong language, very, very stupid.
I would happily pay the full subscription fee for the ability to take Sunday delivery, but only have online access M-S. Surely, you have bright, intelligent people on your staff that could figure out how to accomplish this. You might suggest a brain-storming session to determine the best way to STOP wasting YOUR money, MY back, AND the landfill’s space, to STOP wasting the natural resources of this country. To STOP killing unnecessary trees, to STOP wasting the fuel required to transport stacks of unwanted newspapers from your printer to my delivery person, from my delivery person to my door, and from my door to the landfill.
I’d bet you that brainstorming session would last less than 10 minutes.
If your bright intelligent people have better things to do with their time than figure this out, I am available for a small fee, to provide consultation services.
Sincerely,
Eric L. Hays-Strom
Well, there’s still nothing happening on the job front. There’s a tiny little ripple… we’ll see.
Scott and I had a great time at his family reunion last week. I had hoped to blog about it while there but really there wasn’t much time. The Hays Family Reunion differs from my own family reunions in that at the HFR, a room is reserved, generally a meeting type space, for everyone to gather. And about 7:30 a.m. that’s just what the family does… they gather in the room, drink coffee, and chat. They get caught up with each others lives. About noon, we all mosey on up to the hotel’s restaurant for lunch, then afterwards stroll back down to the meeting room.
Little units drift off to one of the attractions Branson has to offer, but the core family stays in the meeting room, little circles forming at this table or that. Conversation continues over a game of dominoes… or wahoo… or a puzzle… or a card game. Or any of a number of different games. We sit and chat.
Then around 5 different groups break off and go find dinner somewhere. By 6:30 or 7 we’re all back together, chatting. Playing. This goes on for 2 days. Towards the end of Saturday, we do pictures. Pictures of each family.
The Hays Family Reunion is made up of the descendants of Merle & Ethel (Drumgoole) Hays. There are 8 siblings remaining, children of Merle & Ethel. These 8 siblings, along with their children and grand-children… and yes great grand-children are who make up the HFR.
So, on Saturday night, we take 9 pictures. One picture of the 8 siblings, and one each of the families of each of the 8 children. Did I say 9 pictures? Well, what really happens is a bank of cameras take pictures. So you generally have to sit for a photo while up to 20 photographers each take 3 or 4 pictures! This year, Scott’s mother, Louise… Barb… (her name is Barbara Louise, and you’ll find folks at the reunion calling her either of those names) or Mudder as most of her family call her, asked me to join in the family picture. Yay! She said there were two reasons… one was that she’d looked back at all the pictures from the previous 10 years and realized I wasn’t in any of the pictures, and she figured it was wrong. And the second reason? Well… just as she was about to tell me, someone came along and interrupted, and I never did learn what it was!
On Sundays, family units start heading home. The morning gathering has bout 2/3s of the family… then, little by little, the number goes down. We have lunch, more people leave. By mid-afternoon, there’s maybe 3 of the siblings, and their families still gathered. By night, it was Scott and I, Mudder & Pops, Terry, Eleanor and Bethany, and oh-oh… Virgil and Alice, that’s right.
Terry’s a strange creature… she’s Bruce’s wife. She was driver for Mudder & Pops and the girls. At midnight we all went to bed. At 2 a.m., she loaded up her charges and they all headed for Alamogordo. Scott and I slept until 6, then loaded up and headed home.
I started off this post to tell what I’ve been doing this week, not about the reunion! Frankly, the reunion is more interesting.
Just before leaving for the reunion, I bought a new trimmer for the yard. So this week, I mowed the front yard. Then I ran the trimmer around it. It’s an electric trimmer, battery powered. Came with two batteries. One charger.
All the basic trimming got done Tuesday. But, I’ve been putting in 2 hours a day of work on the front yard… that’s how long it takes to deplete the power in the two batteries, and in me. Those who have seen my house may… or may not… remember that my driveway and front sidewalk has cracks in them. And through those cracks grow weeds. Pulling those weeds can be a daunting job… Scott and I once spent nearly 10 hours pulling them, and by the end of the day my fingers and his were raw and bleeding from abrading against the concrete. Consequently, we don’t do it often… a mistake, I know.
So this week, for two hours a day, I’ve hacked away at those weeds with the trimmer until the batteries are too feeble to do anything but blow the leaves of the weeds around. I have one stretch of sidewalk left to do… about 8 feet in all. One 2 hour day’s work. And then what?
I’ll do it again. But first, we’ll be applying poison to the cracks. And when stuff is dead, we’ll seal those cracks with tar. Or something. And then what?
It’ll be time for the back yard…. screeeeeeeech! wait, I forgot!
After this weekend, I’ll be taking on the scraping of the front of the house… well, the trim anyhow. I want to repaint the trim on the front of the house this coming week… it badly needs it.
Actually the whole house needs a paint job. Just before they put it on the market, the previous owners spray painted the house a dusty blue. I loved the color. But, they used cheap paint. Over the decade we’ve owned the house, the paint has faded, and washed away a bit, and now the house is dusty blue with the white underlayer showing through in many places. But they ain’t no muny to buy house paint, so it’ll have to wait. But the trim just can’t!
Dad wants to come over and help. So, after an emergency dentist visit on Monday, I think that may just be what we do!
Toodles, all!
10:20 a.m.
Scott and I got started pretty much on schedule today. We had spoken about leaving about 9 a.m. and in spite of our lagging a bit this morning, we were leaving Council Bluffs pretty much at 9 a.m. As of right now, we’ve driven just a little over 80 miles.
Our plans to listen to our latest Book on CD is out the window. It’s 20 hours of book, and our drive is only about 7 hours. Given a round trip of 15 hours, that would still leave us with over 5 hours of listening. One thing we’ve learned over the years of driving is… if we haven’t finished a book by the time we arrive home, we never will. So, instead we’ll watch the scenery pass by and listen to the radio or music CDs.
Right now we’re listening to a CD from a group called “The Gregorian Chants”. We first heard them on a music video at the church in Montana. It was pretty cool, and would be great music for MCC Omaha’s Wednesday night ReCharge! worship services. I will say, however, that the CD we’re listening to right now is a little less interesting. It’s their take on the Beatles. Imagine the Beatles in elevator music style. :S Ugh.
So, let’s see. While we were in Montana last weekend, I realized that I’d left my shoes at home! I was stuck wearing sandals the entire time there, which wasn’t too bad, except while carrying the heavy altar and pulpit pieces. I was a bit concerned less I drop one on my feet!
And now, here we are, nearing the 90 mile mark on our trip to Branson and guess what? I realize, yet again, my shoes are sitting by the back door! [Aside: I’m being treated to “love, love me do” in Gregorian chant style… sigh.] Wonder what it is that I can’t remember shoes!?!?!?
11:05 a.m./138.6
We’re passing through St. Joseph, Missouri, right now. St. Joe is one of two cities in the United States which have large populations of Black Squirrels. Can anyone guess what the other city is? St. Joe is also one of the major kicking off points for settlers migrating west in the 1800s. Anyone care to guess what trail started here, and where it went next?
12:10 p.m./213
We’re in Grass Valley, Missouri. Time for a bit of a stretch, and driver change. Maybe. 
3:05 p.m/344.1
In Grass Valley, I took over driving for a while. I70 was it’s usually heavy traffic, but not bad. We’ve been able to maintain the speed limit almost the entire way so far. In Sedalia, we stopped for a while to get some lunch, then hit the road again at 2 p.m. Driving another hour south, I stopped in Preston, Missouri, to buy gas. Price is about consistent with Council Bluffs, maybe a dime more. Scott’s driving now.
We’ve really gotten a kick out of these CDs we’re listening to! It’s just very odd listening to relatively contemporary songs set in a Gregorian style chant, with modern instrumentation. Kind of mind-bending! “Losing my religion” just about had me in hysterics.
3:55 p.m./45.3 (389.4)
We’ve now passed the worst of the 2 lane roads, and are rapidly approaching Springfield, Missouri, just 9 miles ahead. We’re about 50 miles from our destination.
5:30 p.m./(Will post mileage later)
And… we’re here. One day early. Oops!
Our passions make us most aware of our personal power, energy and joy. Many internal and external factors influence how successfully we manifest these passions in our lives.
Earlier today, I posted a comment on Facebook. I asked the question “What does one do if one discerns that one’s passion is God?” The question means something to me. But I think it probably means something quite different to others reading it, those who don’t know the context in which it formed in my mind. But that’s really true of just about everything we write, now isn’t it? A statement, any statement, can mean quite different things depending on context. And that’s especially so of comments that one makes in passing.
I’ve made some references, previously, to the class I’m taking through our church, Creating a Life that Matters. There are three segments to the course:
We’re in the final week of the final segment. I’ve been troubled throughout this segment because the unstated but very clear subtext is that everyone KNOWS their passion, we just have to act on it. And by this I mean, they CONSCIOUSLY know their passion. Well, the problem is that consciously at least I have no FRIGGIN’ clue what my passion is. I almost feel dead in that regard… in some area of me, anyhow.
And then the other night at class it began to seep through to me… could it be that my passion is God? Or pursuit of God? I mean, it seems so trite in a way to say that, really cliche. But is it possible? And if that IS my passion, why am I doing nothing about it? Or, AM I doing nothing about it? The questions are rhetorical, really. Only I can answer those questions, I suspect.
Some people find their passion in gifts they can bring to their lives. I don’t know this, because frankly this is one area Scott and I haven’t talked about yet, but I suspect that Scott’s passion would be his music. Or perhaps study for study’s sake.
Friends of mine might say their passion is getting to know people, and hence they are great at "Hospitality” ministry at church. There are those who might say their passion is computers… not me, though I’ve had some skill with them. Do you know what your passion is?
Another friend of mine has a passion for writing! She needs to follow up on that. One lady I know has a real passion for “needle art”… by that I mean she knits, she does needle work, she sews quilts. And she brings those gifts to us at church.
There are others whose gifts tend to lead them into a passion for social type work.
So, what IS my passion? I still don’t know. But, Monday at class, a “still, small voice” called out when I silently asked myself that question. “God.” And I want to know: if that’s true, then what? Once again, the thought of ministry enters my mind. But I really don’t think I have what the church needs. Oh well. Enough of this. No answers shall be forthcoming tonight!
Hi little world of mine!
Scott and I had a wonderful trip last week!
A long time ago… 17 years to be exact… MCC Omaha moved in to the building where we now meet. The partner of the man who was the pastor of MCC Omaha at the time was a master carpenter (hmmmm….) In honor and “for the greater glory of God” of the occasion, he built MCC Omaha a beautiful altar and matching pulpit. It served our congregation well for a long time. But about 4 years ago, our worship style started to change from a “high church” type of service with lots of liturgy, and where liturgy was prime, to a bit of a “lower church” setting… namely a service where worship took on a different role, with less focus on the liturgy.
The need for a large altar and pulpit lessened… we needed a smaller altar. And we no longer needed a pulpit at all. Our pastor prefers not to preach from a pulpit but to walk out amongst the congregation. I digress. The stately altar and pulpit were dismantled by myself and a couple of helpers, and found it’s way in to storage… split up between church facilities and Scott’s and my storage unit. We (the church collectively) set out to find a new home for this furniture.
Eventually, a new home was found in Great Falls, Montana. There is a long line of support between the two locations – Omaha and Great Falls – and the two cities have shared heritages. Both are on the Missouri River, both were visited by, and have interest in, the Lewis & Clark expedition. But, of course, there was a problem. The two units were VERY large, and VERY heavy. While each could be broken down into 4 pieces, each piece required two persons to carry it (ok, 4 of the pieces can be carried by 1 person, but just barely!) How do 2 financially strapped congregations get these units to their new home? The answer was to be personal delivery!
And so, on Sunday, June 21, the 8 pieces of the altar and pulpit came together one last time. Pastor Tom preached a final sermon that Sunday from the stately pulpit. He pounded on it as any good fire and brimstone preacher ought… and promptly startled himself by the noise! Then, Wednesday night (June 24th), at our weekly ReCharge! service, we gathered to dedicate these two items to a new purpose, the service of a sister congregation. At communal prayer time, we prayed for the intentions, not of our own people, but of the wonderful people of Great Falls. At communion, we went forward, received communion, then each, one at a time, walked up and laid hands first on the altar, then on the pulpit. Our pastor anointed the altar and the pulpit, and then anointed 4 individuals, Scott, Carla, Sharon and myself. And finally we read from 1 Thessalonians… in a slightly different way:
Paul, Silas and Timothy, To the church of the Thessalonians .. No! MCC Omaha, to the church in Montana, MCC Montana… in God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ:
Grace and peace to you.
We always thank God for all of you, mentioning you in our prayers. We continually remember before our God and Father your work produced by faith, your labor prompted by love, and your endurance inspired by hope in our Lord Jesus Christ.
After the service, the altar and pulpit were once again dismantled, and each piece lovingly wrapped in plastic. They were loaded on to Scott’s and my truck, and 2 pieces were loaded on to Carla & Sharon’s truck.
On Thursday morning, Scott, Carla, Sharon and I set off to drive the 1100 miles to Great Falls, Montana. It was a BEAUTIFUL trip. Hot, of course. Humid, oh yes! At least until we arrived in Sheridan, Wyoming, where we spent the night. From then on the humidity was less potent.
The drive itself was unremarkable. We made good time. We encountered no storms… which was good. Because though wrapped lovingly in plastic, that plastic did not survive the ravages of wind! Before we even got out of Iowa into South Dakota, the plastic on those items packed in our truck was shredded, flapping in the wind!
In Sheridan, we covered the truck bed with a tarp. It lasted exactly 1/2 of a mile before blowing off. We stopped, retied it, better this time. And by the time we’d arrived in Billings, Montana, the tarp too was shredded. And it was beginning to rain. So, we stopped in at the Home Depot, and I bought the super duper ultra heavy duty vinyl tarp. That made it about 50 miles up the road before IT TOO was shredded! Fortunately, we encountered no more rain, and everything and everyone arrived safely in the church in Montana.
Saturday morning, we unloaded, reassembled the altar and pulpit. Then, we went sight-seeing!
Sunday we attended worship with our new friends. We assisted in their own “setting the altar” ceremony, a very moving ceremony to me. As we began the service, both the altar and the pulpit were barren. Then, their worship leader read the following as each item was processed in by a member of the congregation:
* * * * *
The altar linens are red, because red is a color of celebration and passion. We remember the passion of our Lord Jesus Christ as we celebrate and accept the generous gift given in love by our friends in Omaha.
The candles used in the first services of MCC in Great Falls were these stained glass replica candle holders. We bring these to this altar in order to remember our roots and where we came from. [Note from Eric – this is where I started tearing up]
The original cup and plate used in MCC Great Falls were these simple pottery pieces. They are now cracked and chipped and remind us of the wandering in the desert of our spiritual ancestors. Their temple tent was packed up and moved and reset at each new camp. Our church met in the Performing Arts Center and each Sunday everything had to be unpacked and set up and at the close of service, it all had to be re-packed, much like the Israelites did in the desert.
The crystal cups are a blessing from a couple in this church who dared to dream that some day, we would have a better church building and then persevered and realized this dream when we moved in to this building.
[At this time, a faint drumming could be heard.] From our Native American sisters and brothers we bring forth a drum. This helps us to keep centered and balanced spiritually.
The eagle feather symbolizes spiritual vision in the Native tradition. Let this remind us of our dreams for this church and its outreach to everyone who has been left out of other spiritual traditions.
The sage smudge is to ask for protection over this altar, pulpit, building and congregation. The old altar is smudged first and then the new altar to help transfer the spiritual balance to the new altar. These two altars will share the same spiritual energy.
[For those who might not know, smudging is akin to incensing… Steven, a member of their congregation, and a member of the Blackfeet tribe, came forward with another man who was carrying an abalone shell with sweet sage burning in it. Steven used an eagle feather to “fluff'” or smudge the smoke from the burning sage towards the old altar (set up in the back of the church) then towards the congregation as they processed up, and then, on arriving in front of the church, all around the new altar and the new pulpit.]
* * * * *
And then at noon, we immediately started the trip home.
We drove until midnight, arriving in Scottsbluff, Nebraska. Monday, we left at 8 a.m., and arrived at church at 5:30, in time to attend our CLM class.
And that’s the end… except this is all interlude!
Tomorrow, Scott and I are driving to Branson, Missouri, for the Hays Family Reunion!
I sure hope to blog from there!
