A Maine Man in Texas

2010-08-17T10:41:00.001-05:00

So Long, Mexico

I thought I would be more disappointed and sad at leaving our home in Mexico. We had moved there to be able to live a comfortable life on short money after a stroke took both my wife and me from our jobs. And, living in Mexico was wonderful on several levels, including the reasonable cost of living. We found some very good friends (more family than friends), we totally lucked out in finding a very nice house to rent, and the climate, well the climate was not always the best, but there was no snow or ice to deal with.

About a year into our stay in Ciudad Victoria, Tamaulipas I started to get “antsy”. It bordered on bored and I decided to involve myself in a course of study. I really searched my soul for an area that would interest me and, as if divinely inspired, I was directed to the ministry. Having been raised a Catholic I found it almost amusing that I might become a minister of Jesus the Nazarene. But that's another story. This journey of spiritual and emotional development took some strange turns and eventually led to my choosing an on-line seminary from which I could become ordained. But most importantly, I was occupied everyday and two years went by without incident. Carolyn was content watching TV and going to the movies once a month. We traveled to McAllen Texas about every three months to attend the VA clinic and shop for the few things we wanted that were not available in Mexico. These trips broke up the year and provided a pleasant distraction.

Life was good and the living was easy. Then, about a year ago, I became aware that the tension in town was becoming more tangible. There was nothing I could point to directly, but my friends seemed more on edge, there were more federal police around, army checkpoints along the highways were more and more intrusive. The drug violence that was usual along the border began to seep down closer to our town. As our discomfort level rose, I decided to plan our return to the States when I turned 62 and could get Social Security. Part of this process was looking into the job market. I answered an ad for a position in Victoria, Texas. We traveled to Victoria in the early spring for the interview. I didn't get the job, but we did like the town. So, Victoria was the destination.

The 4th of July is a holiday in the States, but in Mexico, this year, it was election day. The weeks leading up to the elections were filled with the usual champaign activity. I don't pretend to understand the politics of Mexico and worked very hard to keep a safe distance from the rallies and speeches. The candidate who was predicted to win the Governorship of Tamaulipas was a nice enough politician who was charismatic and well liked. Apparently not everyone was happy with his popularity, however. He and five of his aides and security detail were ambushed and killed not too far from our house.

That was it for us. All of a sudden things became uncomfortable. Restaurants were empty, No one moved around after dark. Heavily armed troops patrolled our city and helicopters flew overhead. We decided to move immediately. We went to Victoria, TX at the end of July, rented an apartment in a nice, older established complex and decided that August 20th was moving day. Upon returning to Mexico we told our Mexican family that we would be leaving. We sat down, looked around, and decided, almost on a whim, to pack and get out as soon as possible. We moved on August 9th.

I thought I would be more sad about leaving Mexico, but I am not sad at all. Don't get me wrong, I love our Mexican family. And I will miss them. But not Mexico. In fact, I am giddy at being back in the States. It seems that I have, for some time, been repressing feelings of regret and resentment. I'll have to deal with these. God bless America.

"people should have to pay to go to church and theater should be free"

2010-04-24T14:43:00.007-05:00

This a response to an article in the Bangor Daily News continuing the "faith vs. truth" discussion.

When I am asked why I "chose" to be a Christian, I simply say it was ordained. Had I been brought up in Iraq or Egypt I might just as well have been ordained to be a Muslim. In India I probably would have been a Hindu. And if I was born today in the US I might easily be an agnostic, or even an atheist. Why? Because what be believe is determined by what we are taught. Faith is the result of believing that what we are taught is correct. Not necessarily factual and not always truthful, but that what we are taught is correct. A thousand years ago the circle of "teachers" available to a child was limited to family, maybe a few neighbors, and possibly a civil authority or a church leader. In many cultures the civil authority and the church leadership were the same. Many times the freedom to explore alternative beliefs and knowledge was considered disloyal and sometimes heretical. A hundred years ago the pool of available teachers expanded to include written documents, radio, films, and organized schools, mostly run by civil authority and whose teachings were dictated by committees and which followed strict Christian doctrines, even when they expressly denied they were Christian based. 50 years ago, when I was in school, I was influences by TV. No longer did the family, school, or church have the premier impact on my beliefs. Advertiser in New York influenced my choices in clothes, what I desired, and what I wanted to eat. What I said and how I said it mirrored what I saw on TV and in the movies. I was constantly assaulted with bits of information that were contradictions of what I was being taught by my family, my church, and in my school. And, "if it was on TV, it must be true".

Today, it is a constant source of discomfort for me that children have available to them a virtually unlimited supply of information from sources completely unheard of even twenty years ago. I applaud the information technology that makes this possible, but I am concerned that this information blitz is not filtered somehow, to weed out that information that is patently false. This raises the question,"who decides what is true and what is false?" One of my favorite TV shows right now is GLEE. When Brittany tells her friend that "dolphins are just gay sharks", I wonder how many kids will not be able to know that this is just false. Silly, you say? Well, how many people cowered in their homes or even committed suicide when Orwell's, "War of the Worlds" was broadcast over the radio just about 80 years ago?

How easy it is today for children to have so much information, much of it contradictory, that they find it easier to choose to believe in nothing. After all, when they can be taught by a potential role model that dolphins are gay sharks, what can be believed. And God help us all if our children are watching "South Park".

"Who filters this vast influx of information for our children?" The answer is, "we all must". Beginning with the parents, then expanding to our schools, and finally, to our mass media and the messages we send to the media executives by our spending habits. "What about church?:, you may ask. Church membership and participation is the direct result of the parenting provided to children. Faith in God is based on what our children believe. What they believe is totally dependent upon what they are taught. It is up to the parents to filter information and assist their children in sorting out what they are being taught into what is and what isn't to be believed. Yes, it's subjective and, yes, it's somewhat limiting, but it is a primary parental responsibility to train children in deductive reasoning and decision making. A few people believed it was possible that Martians were landing in New Jersey but millions didn't. A few people will believe that dolphins are gay sharks, but millions will think that Brittany is just dumb. A few children will grow up believing that God is a figment of delusional minds, but millions will have faith (because they have been taught to) that God is. What is important to remember, in my humble opinion, is that God smiles at our folly and all will be revealed in His good time. That's what I believe. Pray for peace.

"people should have to pay to go to church and theater should be free"

2010-03-29T08:38:00.001-06:00

2010-03-21T22:10:00.001-06:00

I wept today, twice.

I watched a film called "Swing Vote" with Kevin Kostner. The plot was contrived and the content was predictable. Due to a malfunction in an election booth Bud needed to cast the final vote in a presidental election. I had seen the movie a couple of times before and watch it over again, hoping for an alternative ending. The plot line, or punch line, if you will, is that the President and his opponent come to court Bud for his vote. The rational charictor is his pre teen daughter, Molly. She serves as the conscience and is the smart one. Well, why did this make me weep, you may ask? Just this. The final scene in the film is Bud hosting a presidental debate in his home town with the President and his opponent ready to field questions. I weep every time at this point because the first question Bud asks is "if America is the richest country in the world, why is it that so many of us can't afford to live here"? I can't afford to live in America. After my wife had her stroke, I was put in a situation where I could'nt afford to continue to work. Her day care was expensive and neither my HMO or any public funded plan covered it. She didn't qualify for a nursing home, which may have been covered and I earned too much for public assistance for her care. I had to quit my job, allow our home to be foreclosed, left everythng we owned and we fled, literaly, to Mexico, where we could afford to live on SSI and my small VA compensation. Why is it that a disabled veteran and his physically challenged wife can't afford to live in their counrty?

I wept again this evening when the House of Representatives approved the Health Care Bill. Maybe, just maybe, we will be able to return home. That would be nice.

Second round of questions for the Outreach Pastor position

2010-01-28T11:03:00.002-06:00

Good Morning, Pastor Mark. I hope this letter finds you well.

Let me say that I have enjoyed our discussion both as as a challenge to my thoughts and beliefs about my faith but also as an exercise in intellectual debate among friends. Yes it seems that we are of kindred spirit in most things concerning Jesus. And, I feel, the things where we differ are small and I'm sure we could agree to disagree without jeopardizing our effectiveness in spreading the Word.

Concerning the Old Testament, I did not effectively state my position. Yes the Old Testament is important and needs to be read, studied and understood. It puts things into context. Jesus was, after all, a Jew who lived the life of a Jew in Palestine. This meant living by the laws of God as interrupted by the Jewish leaders and implemented in secular life. He was renowned for His knowledge of the scriptures. He also rebelled against the Jewish leadership, and therefore Jewish law, when he advocated allowing the pagans and Gentiles into the temple to worship. Jesus' teachings on the Mount and in the Beatitudes is also an example of his contrary view of Old Testament lessons. So, it is true that an understanding of the contents of the Old Testament is necessary to fully understand the dynamics of Jesus' mission as the Messiah. To fully comprehend Jesus as God, however, we must accept that He rejected what had come to be the practice of using scripture as a way to oppress, reject and exclude the people of the time from God's love and promise.

I believe that God works in mysterious ways. I also firmly believe that nothing happens in God's world by accident. God doesn't make mistakes. So, in that context, I offer that He is revealing new and controversial material for us to ponder, as we are able to deal with it. Does this new material connote a new testament? No. Does it mean that what we have learned thus far is invalid? No. All it does do is to provide us with a new chance to explore our faith based on some new knowledge. Is all of this new information true and accurate? No. Is it inspired by God? Well, I don't know, do I. Until that is revealed to me I can only assume that God put it out there for a reason. Is this new information the products of some who would like to have me deny God and destroy my faith? Maybe. But I would be remiss if I didn't read it. So often I see people who have some information and determine that that is all they need to know. It's sad, really, to see people so entrenched in a flawed system and so unwilling to seek a remedy in new awareness. (I'm afraid my early Catholic experiences are surfacing)

Because I read everything that I can find about Jesus, His life, and His teachings, I can better form my beliefs about Him and His divinity. Knowledge is never bad or wrong. And the search for new knowledge is always helpful. The works of Prophet, Hassain & Levi, Thiering, and Butler-Bass contradict each other on every page. Each are committed to their research and beliefs. And each offers an opportunity for me to fine tune my faith by challenging what I know to be true. So what if we determine that Jesus was in fact an Essene Jew, dedicated to a communistic lifestyle, popular in His day. So what if it is proven that Jesus traveled to the East and studied and taught before His mission in Palestine. It doesn't matter. None of that takes away one iota of truth of His ministry documented in the New Testament.

That brings up the concept of the devil. There is much written about the devil, the ultimate antagonist in the drama of the world. Did he exist? Does he exist today? Or has his usefulness diminished since the arrival of Jesus. If we need a face of evil to make sense of some of the events in our world then the devil serves that purpose. It's easier to point to the devil as the cause of the tragedy in Haiti than to believe that God allows such things. But, I can't have it both ways. If I believe, as I do, that God is in total control of the world and nothing happens in God's world by accident, then I must accept that God is in charge of what I identify as evil, not the devil. And it is not my place to try to comprehend God's purpose. To paraphrase another Big Book I read and rely upon, “acceptance is the key”.

SIN: Sin is a very personal issue between God and me. God is the final judge concerning sin. I believe that no one other than the individual can determine if a certain behavior is sinful. There are some pretty strong argument against certain behaviors and thoughts. And some things are just inherently wrong; sinful in every case. We humans have a seemingly unlimited ability to rationalize our actions. We can, and do, justify almost everything to make us less guilty of sin.

Killing another human being for any reason is a sin. IT'S ONE OF THE BIG 10. However, I have killed people and felt justified in doing so, at the time. It was war, after all, and by definition, warfare involves killing people. Did I sin? Of course, no question about it. Was I wrong in committing those sins? Yes. Was it necessary, at the time, to do so? Well, that's something I have lived with for 40 odd years and will do for the remainder of my life. I believe that I have been absolved of those sins. However, I'll find out later. I wait to see what weight God places on my behavior for when I meet Him.

Now for the news that is difficult for me to share. Although I would relish the chance to come to PEI and work with the immigrants, I can't. My wife is completely against moving to another country. She is adamant that the next move she makes will be back to the US, close to family. It could seem I have been selfish in using this as an opportunity to express my faith, I assure you that I did not intend this to be the case. But I will not deny that I have thoroughly enjoyed our dialogue. Best of luck finding the right person to fill this position. I wish it could be me. But, as always, my wife's needs come before mine.

My God bless you and guide you in your search. Bob

Responses to concerns about my Christianity

2010-01-13T14:33:00.005-06:00

What follows is a response to some concerns a Pastor has while considering me for an unpaid missionary position in Canada. I do not have permission to publish his questions so I won't. But they are directly related to essays and postings on this blog.

First, and most important, is the clear understanding that as an academic I separate "belief" and "faith", just as I distinguish between “truth” and “fact”.

What I, and you, and everyone else "believe" is based on our knowledge, experiences, and how we interpret all of this information. Many of us believe in the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit as the three persons in one God. We further believe that Jesus the Nazarene is the Messiah foretold in the Old Testament. Many others believe something else, based on what they have learned and experienced. This does not make their beliefs "wrong". I believe that the path to redemption is through Jesus. And I believe that I have an obligation to bring this message to others. And the way to bring others to Jesus is to provide them with the Word and to have them experience the love and acceptance of our Christian community. Beliefs, therefore are intellectual, residing in the head, so to speak.

Faith, on the other hand, is spiritual, based in the heart, if you will. Faith can be shared but never taught. Faith must be felt deep in the core of one's being. Faith transcends knowledge, experiences, and beliefs. Faith is sometimes associated with trust. But it's more. Trust is of the world; I trust that the bank will give me back my money when I ask. Faith is that God will provide me with everything I need, even if what He provides is pain and suffering. Faith allows me to go on in the face of danger. I'm reminded of one time in Viet Nam when everything I knew and believed was useless and only my faith carried me through. Close combat does that.

So, yes, what we believe is true, at that time, based on our available information, our knowledge, and our experiences. I can't think of a more destructive way to gather people to Jesus than to tell them that everything they know about God is wrong. They must be offered Jesus at a personal level, first by experiencing Jesus' love through our actions and then through knowledge of his teachings in the New Testament. Because I believe that Jesus is the redeemer, I have an obligation to teach that to others. More importantly, I have the task of “showing” Jesus in my daily life choices. And I have faith that through my efforts on behalf of Jesus, more people will be saved. Yes, I believe that the Bible is the inspired word of God. However, I also believe that the Word has been mistranslated, misinterpreted, and therefore, misunderstood for thousands of years. Other than as a genealogical record and a collections of teaching stories, the Old Testament is of little relevance to Christians today. Jesus brought with Him a New Testament designed to replace the Old and offer a new way of living. Gone is the hateful, vengeful God and here now is the God of love and salvation. Gone are the days when only the elite got to worship in the temple and here are the days when everyone is welcome. We no longer need to fear God because we are taught that God is our father. We are encouraged to have a close personal relationship with God, through Jesus, and that God loves us.

I have absolutely no trust that what a pagan Roman Emperor decided 1700 years ago are the only writings to be considered divine after multiple committees debated for over a year and settled on what can only be described as the least common denominator of doctrines.

I look at my three study bibles and see three translations, each saying the same thing, differently. And each interpreting what is said in it's own way, based on what the authors want me to believe. The truth is no one really knows what the original gospels said. We are reasonably sure that what is included in the New Testament is only a small part of the available writings about Jesus and his ministry. And, God in His infinite wisdom is bringing some of these other writings to light in His good time. What these writings say and who wrote them is speculative, but must be explored.

In the meanwhile I have faith that the word of God is revealed to me exactly as God wants me to hear it.

Coincidently, I am currently reading THE LOST YEARS OF JESUS, Documentary Evidence of Jesus' 17 Year Journey To the East. I believe that each of us has an obligation to read everything available about Jesus and his life, no matter how incredible they seem. WHY? Because it is these writings that our detractors will use to discredit our faith. We must know what these writings say in order to be a competent witness of Jesus and his teachings. Knowledge is never a bad thing. However we must place that knowledge in context. I don't have a problem with someone providing evidence that Jesus traveled and studied in the East as an adolescent and young adult. I can see similarities in the teachings of Jesus and those of the Buddha. The more I learn about what others say about Jesus in the East, the more convinced I am that they have it backwards. Jesus was more a teacher in the East than a student. I don't have a problem with others believing that Jesus' message is based his teachings on Eastern philosophies. I don't take issue here because I believe that Jesus influenced Eastern thought and not the other way around. I don't have a problem wondering, as some have suggested, if God sent his Son to earth more than once. Perhaps the Buddha was, in fact, an earlier presence of God on Earth. No one really knows for sure. And who cares? It doesn't, in any way, change what we know of Jesus in Palestine, his life there, and his teachings and commandments to us, as his disciples. It doesn't shake my faith that Jesus is God, come to us in the form of a man to bring us to salvation.

Yes, we believe what we believe and have faith in God. However, we can never know the intent of God. But we must consider everything and put it into context. Someday, something may come to light that puts everything I believe in doubt. That is the day I look forward to. That is the day I can put everything I have learned to the test. On that day, what I believe will be challenged. But my faith will not be. My faith in God is not dependent upon anything worldly.

You are correct to question my statements about the absurdity of requiring others to have the same beliefs as do I. I think I have addressed this in a previous paragraph. May I simply say that I believe Jesus when he says, with authority, “I am the Way”.

At the risk of sounding trite, I was raised a Catholic, probably the least Christian of Christian religions. And, as a result, I am critical of what passes for Christianity today. It is my observation that most people who claim to be Christians aren't, that they are delinquent in their attempts to demonstrate a life based on the teachings and commandments of Jesus.
Jesus commands us to care for one another. That's pretty much it. Feed the hungry, treat the sick, shelter the homeless, comfort the weary and protect the children. And do all of this in our own neighborhoods. Jesus sent His disciples out to the people. He did not require the people to come to him. He never suggests that there are exceptions. He doesn't address any “why” questions about someone needing assistance. He doesn't say help only those you feel deserve it. He simply says to help those in need. To me that means helping those who's life choices I find repulsive, dangerous, and/or politically incorrect. And Jesus never said, nor do I believe He condones, withholding our assistance from anyone who rejects Him.

I also have contempt for any organized church that excludes others for any reason. I take issue with church buildings being empty 95% of the time. I question the practice of paid clergy. (I understand the need for it, but I sometimes wonder if salary and benefits gets in the way of a pastor confronting the members when required.) And I find it offensive to see mega churches, “feel good” auditoriums, which seem designed to be money generators and houses of glory to man, being promoted as the 'new Christianity'.

I hope these responses answer your questions. I have, in good faith, been as forthright as possible. My beliefs and faith are “out there” for anyone to read and scrutinize. And I will be posting these clarifications on the blog this afternoon, again for everyone to see.

Now I would like to learn more about you, your church, and it's mission. Do you have a web site? A published Statement of Faith for your ministry? Does your church welcome everyone, without exception. Do you, Mark, measure up to my expectation of a Christian as I have outlined here today? It is you, after all, that is asking for help.

I look forward to your response. Peace and love through Jesus.

2009-12-17T20:45:00.001-06:00

Well I never...!

Something occurred tonight on the CBS Evening News with Katie Curic. Between the “war” this and “Tiger” that was a story that I'll bet you never thought you would see in a million years.

“Mexico's public medical/health care system is becoming overburdened by immigrants, U.S. Immigrants.”

That's right, Mexico is feeling the pinch from U.S. And Canadian immigrants who have moved to Mexico to retire. As legal immigrants, we are eligible for and many do partake of this excellent benefit.

As a “rentista” living in Mexico for the past two years and who has had the IMSS health care scheme since I moved here, I can tell you that it is far superior to the HMO plan provided by my former employer and equal if not a little better than the VA health care I am eligible for as a disabled vet. The level of care is no better or worse than that available from the HMO plan, but there are no co-pays. I see the same doctor each visit. I get my prescriptions on the spot for free, and I am referred to a specialist when needed. All included in the subscription cost of about $500.00US each year. Eye care, dental, pharmacy, and any and all special needs items are covered.

The BIG difference is one that many Americans would find troubling. In Mexico we get the medical care we need when we need it. North of the border it has been my experience that Americans feel they have the right to what they want when they want it.

In Mexico the IMSS system will and does meet the needs of the vast majority of the residents. That's NEEDS. There is a high priority placed on prevention and they vigorously promote wellness for everyone. But everyone in the plan gets excellent care from well qualified professionals, many of whom studies and trained in the US of Europe. A few even speak some English, but don't plan on it. BUT, interestingly enough, my doctor at the VA clinic barely speaks English and he was trained in Pakistan.

Above I emphasized NEEDS. If I want something that is not covered or want something sooner than the IMSS system can provide it (a special procedure or a particular medication) I always have the choice to go to a private doctor, or even my clinic doctor at her private practice office and pay for it out of pocket. This is widely available and used by both Mexicans and Americans. Even then the costs for the entire procedure is little more than the co-pay at my former HMO.

Here is another factor that may leave some Americans a little vexed.

When you sign up for the plan you are given a booklet that is your passport to services. Within the pages of this booklet are listed all of the routine preventive care procedures, laboratory tests, dental exams and procedures and other health related tests and procedures for which you are eligible. There are about a dozen different booklets. WHY? Because the booklets are complied for different genders and age groups. That's right, some stuff that's in the booklet of a twenty year old is not in my booklet and vise versa. There is stuff in my booklet that is not in my wife's booklet and vice versa. And, when I turned 61 my booklet changed. The bottom line is that the Mexican IMSS administration has decided, after years of data collection, what goes into each booklet. Some may call this selective care based on age or gender, and it is. At my age, I would never be placed on a list for any type of transplant and when I need dentures I will have to buy them. On the other hand, a twenty year old does not need nor will receive a prostate exam or calcium supplements. By the way, everyone is considered an organ donor unless they specify they do not want to be included. There's an urban legend that those who opt out of the donor program do not get transplants. I like to think otherwise, but who knows?

Yes there are sometimes delays in seeing a doctor without an appointment. And, yes, occasionally the prescribed medicines are not available that day or even the next. I feel quite at home in the IMSS hospital. I think because I worked in a Navy hospital in the 60's and a VA hospital in the '70's. In our small city the IMSS hospital is older and appears to have been organized by committee. Having been a Corpsman in the Navy and an LPN in civilian life, I can attest to the fact that the equipment is neither outdated nor state of the art, with certain exceptions. My wife had an ultrasound the other day and the doctor used a brand new laptop style portable sonargram instrument. MRI and cancer related radiography technology is top drawer. The cardiology clinic is as good as the ones in general hospitals in the States. In the lab, schedules are a 'cattle call'; dozens of people scheduled for the same time and a line forms about a half hour before. Vacutainer technology is reserved for emergencies. Blood is drawn with a syringe and placed in test tubes. Just like we did 50 years ago. This is perfectly OK, but some Americans may see this as backwards. In Mexico it's a cost control issue. X-ray equipment is state of the art and strictly monitored by factory trained technicians.

So, without overstating, or more so, health care in Mexico is professional, inexpensive, and up to date. All the more reason to consider retiring to Mexico. And if you are considering retiring to Mexico, you may want to read my ebook RETIRE TO MEXICO-20 Questions You Need To Answer, available at www.ebookmall.com

2009-11-26T15:11:00.001-06:00

NEWS FROM THE WHINERY

Boy, it's hard to be thankful this year. The economy is in the crapper. The weather is changing for the worse. And, most of all, I'm 3000 miles from my Mom and Dad.

I don't know why this year is any different than the other forty or so Thanksgivings I've been away from my parents home. It just is, somehow.

I think one of the reasons is that I've decided to move back to Maine next year and I'm subconsciously counting the days. I had made this decision earlier this fall after a 'too close for comfort' car accident in San Antonio. This brought into perspective just how vulnerable we were. I have, in my cocky, self centered way, been living under the illusion that I could handle anything that came up. I had done all of the research, make the proper arrangements, and covered all of my bases before and during our sojourn to Mexico. All of my planning was for the care of my wife. Medical care, housing, domestic help, creature comforts, these things I planned for and provided with some success. What I so blindly avoided was the possibility that something could happen to me. I didn't plan for an unthinkable event that would leave me unable to continue being the full time care giver and protector of the person who relies on me for everything.

Another thing that makes me more melancholy this season than in others is the reality that, at 85 years old, my parents have only a few more seasons for me to be with them. It seems strange that I so easily postponed, canceled, ignored, or rationalized away so may holidays during the past few dozen years. And now, seemingly all of a sudden, I need desperately to be with them. I think I'm just lonely. It is discouraging, sometimes, to live in a community where I am the outsider, and knowing that no matter what I do or for how long I live here, I will always be the outsider. The gringo with the exorbitant (by Mexican standards) income without needing to labor. The hombre who doesn't speak Spanish but expects everyone to understand him. How pitiful I sound.

I just realized how selfish I seem, pathetic really. Me, me, me. Well I guess in an essay intended as an expression of feelings the focal point should be the author.

On an up note, we are hosting a Thanksgiving dinner for the people here in Mexico who have become our friends. Our neighbor and landlady and her live-in “friend” will be here. They spent all afternoon taking over the cleaning of our furniture and hanging new flower baskets outside. Also attending is our housekeeper and her two teenage daughters as well as the boyfriend of one of them. This is the group I use to celebrate my milestones. They joined us for my latest birthday and when we went out to a restaurant with our friend, Brian, who came from England for a visit. Yep, that's correct. Two times in two years. (sounding pitiful, again)

Largely because of television, the people here in Mexico know of and understand, at a rudimentary level, what Thanksgiving Day is and what it is meant to celebrate. They see President Obama pardoning a turkey and smile without really knowing the symbolism. The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade is watched with the same anticipation of Santa's arrival as in the States. The children at the market who want to practice speaking the English they are required to learn tell me how George Washington saved the Indians from the British and that is the true meaning of Thanksgiving. I want to correct them but their story is more interesting than the one I learned when I was their age.

So, later I will roast the Butterball I bought in Texas, candy the carrots with just a hint of chilies , mash up the sweet potatoes with some of the maple syrup we took off the table at the Cracker Barrel restaurant last summer in Fort Worth, and prepare the Pepperidge Farms stuffing mix according to package directions. I'll stuff the celery stalks with cream cheese and olives, plate the pickles and cranberry jelly, and warm the store bought pumpkin pie while we eat. Carolyn and I will know the symbolism of these dishes. And I'll beam as I offer the Thanksgiving blessing for the first time as a minister of God.

And, I'll smile to myself in the awareness that I have so much to be thankful for that I am ashamed for whining so in this essay.

May the blessing of Jesus the Nazarene be upon you and yours today, tomorrow and all of the tomorrows to come. Happy Thanksgiving.

"people should have to pay to go to church and theater should be free"

I'm on Twitter

2009-11-16T12:54:00.001-06:00

Follow me on Twitter

PRAY FOR AMERICA

2009-11-06T11:23:00.003-06:00

Nothing, absolutely nothing,
happens in God’s world by accident.
God doesn’t make mistakes
These words are the cornerstone of my belief system. They come from my ‘other’ bible, the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous. These words are the inspiration for my personal recovery, both physically and spiritually. It’s difficult to apply these words to yesterday’s horror in Texas, however. I spent some time in the armed services and went through combat in Viet Nam.

I can understand the need to take lives to protect one’s self and those whose lives are entrusted to you. I can understand police activity that involves the use of deadly force in order to “protect the domestic tranquility“. I understand that this is part of the world in which we live and I trust that these actions are all part of a plan, the nature of which I do not have the need or ability to know.

What I’m having a difficult time wrapping my head around this morning, is the purpose in the killings and wounding of unarmed people who were waiting in line to defend me and our country. I’m having difficulty accepting this terror as part of a plan of my loving, benevolent God. It all seems so senseless.

It’s things like this that really test my faith in God and His plan. I have to fight off the instinct to demand explanations and insist that this horror make sense. I truly have difficulty letting God take care of His world and my part in it.

What I have to remember is that I’m understanding exactly everything I’m supposed to at this time. I’m exactly where I am supposed to be right now. I’m who I am meant to be, right now.

There is a purpose. There is a plan. And there is no reason to believe that anything is not precisely as it is supposed to be in God’s world.

Dear God, thank you for granting me ignorance of Your wisdom, the gift of pain and grief, and the benefit of Your love. I trust You , absolutely. I ask that You provide these victims and those around them only that ignorance, pain and grief, and love they are able to benefit from. May the teaching of Jesus the Nazarene guide us through these next few days. Amen.

VETERAN'S DAY 2009

2009-11-04T14:44:00.000-06:00

"Let us give thanks to God for the land of our birth with all its chartered liberties. For all the wonder of our country's story:

Reprise: WE GIVE YOU THANKS, O GOD.

For leaders in nation and state, and for those who in days past and in these present times have labored for the commonwealth:

Reprise: WE GIVE YOU THANKS, O GOD.

For those who in all times and places have been true and brave, and in the world's common ways have lived upright lives and ministered to their fellows:

Reprise: WE GIVE YOU THANKS, O GOD.

For those who served their country in its hour of need, and especially for those who gave even their lives in that service:

Reprise: WE GIVE YOU THANKS, O GOD.

O almighty God and most merciful Father, as we remember these your servants, remembering with gratitude their courage and strength, we hold before you those who mourn them. Look upon your bereaved servants with your mercy. As this day brings them memories of those they have lost awhile, may it also bring your consolation and the assurance that their loved ones are alive now and forever in your living presence."

GOD BLESS AMERICA AND THOSE WHO GUARD OUR FREEDOMS

Shame on Maine

2009-11-04T12:46:00.001-06:00

Well, as expected, the fear mongers and promoters of ignorance succeeded in clouding the issues and convinced Mainers to violate the civil liberties of a whole segment of our population. That's right, like it or not, homosexuals are a growing segment of our population and they don't have equal protection under the law.

In fact, marriage it is a civil matter requiring a government license, and recorded in a government courthouse. Marriages are civil actions with civil rights and regulations. There is nothing “church”, religious, scriptural, or sacred, about it. If this is confusing, try to get married without a marriage license issued by a government officer.

Everyone who wants to believe that a wedding is sacred is welcome so to do and they would be supported by scripture and most churches. However, some time in the distant past, marriages were confused with weddings which are preformed by clergy and sanctified by God. And this somehow transformed a civil act into a religious one.

It is possible for the government to recognize and protect civil rights to equal protection under the law without clouding the issue with religious interference. No one can perform a marriage without special government permission, even clergy. Judges, Justices of the Peace, Clerks of Courts, some wardens of prisons, and a variety of other civil officials can perform marriages. Even ship's captains can do it. WHY? Because these people, by virtue of their civil authority, have permission from the government. Some (albeit, most) clergy can marry people, too. But it has nothing to do with their religious affiliation, religious beliefs, or God. All clergy must present their credentials to a government authority to be reviewed and judged to be sufficient. Even when a couple is wedded by a member of the clergy, that clergy must sign the official government document for the marriage to be valid.

So what have the voters of Maine done to "protect" the institution of marriage? Nothing! Nothing but restrict a segment of Maine residents from being afforded the same civil rights as others. All of the scriptural, spiritual, religious, and moral arguments do nothing but obscure the fact that some of Maine's residents continue to be blocked from exercising their constitutionally guaranteed right to equal protection under the law.

"people should have to pay to go to church and theater should be free"

2009-10-29T15:50:00.001-06:00

Add url

"people should have to pay to go to church and theater should be free"

2009-10-29T15:43:00.003-06:00

MORE MUSINGS FROM MEXICO

Two things crossed my desk today, each from my home town of Brewer Maine. The first was an email from a former classmate apprising me of the death of another classmate from High School. The other was an announcement that the Boy Scouts Troop of which I was a member had turned 100 years old. Both of these news items, together, combined to cause a rush of memories of my childhood.
Brenda's death touched me far deeper than any friendship we had during High School. I recall several opportunities when I could have been a better friend and wasn't. You see, Brenda was physically challenged to the point that she eventually became a quadriplegic. She was handicapped even more by the ignorance and intolerance of the community and sometimes me. I don't make apologies for my behavior, or lack of action, to be more specific. I was a kid and moved in different circles than did Brenda. But on the occasions when our paths did cross, I was frequently less than kind and sometimes downright hurtful.
I would love to rationalize my behavior away as that of a young kid who didn't know any better. The problem is, though, I did know better. I was raised to know better. I had been a jerk and knew it. As happens, Brenda and I never connected again after High School, both she and I moved away, me to the Navy, Viet Nam, and marriage, and she (I just found out) to State government, where she was a driving force in Maine becoming aware of the handicapped and their special needs.
Call it karma, fate, or destiny, but 40+ years later I do have the opportunity to atone for whatever slights I did to Brenda. Some of you may know that my wife is now handicapped and dependent on my assistance for her daily needs. God does work in mysterious ways.
The second piece of news was about Boy Scout Troop reaching the 100 year milestone. As a boy and continuing into my teens I was involved in scouting. I was a Cub Scout, Boy Scout (in Troop 1) and an Explorer Scout. These organizations made up much of my 'out of family' life as a child. What I remember most was the freedom to make mistakes, with the expectation that we learned from those mistakes. Each week we were expected to show up at a meeting, dress a certain way, be clean and act right. We performed rituals that included attention to God and Country. We learned to undertake tasks with the expectation that we completed these tasks on time and in the desired format. Our leaders made no secret that the Scouts was a place to learn how to be a 'man'. Weaknesses were challenged but never exploited. Leadership qualities were encouraged and rewarded. We (I) learned that being a good follower was also OK.
I'm not sure that these qualities are taught today. I wonder if children are encouraged to try new things with the possibility of failure. I sometimes see parents talk of failure as a four letter word. The ability to fail builds character. We were allowed to put ourselves in harms way, under supervision, and when we failed, it was a learning opportunity, not a time for ridicule. I still have the scars from a fall onto the “big rockies” while on an Explorer outing to Beach Hill Lake. I was fearless and careless. I lost my footing on a boulder and opened up my knee. Our leader, Gardner Reed, had to leave the group and take me home. I felt terrible. Not for the cut and new stitches, but because I would have to suffer the teasing from my friends. The teasing lasted about a day, the lessons from that day still serve me today.
Recently it seems that the only time I hear about friends from High School is in the obituaries. I guess that is to expected, but not welcomed. I am a better person because of the Scouts. And I can now understand how my choices very often result in consequences unimaginable at the time.

"people should have to pay to go to church and theater should be free"

I belong to CBI and hope you will, too

2009-10-24T09:58:00.002-05:00

2009-10-21T13:45:00.003-05:00

IF I MAY HAVE YOUR ATTENTION FOR A MOMENT

I was shopping at the local supermarket yesterday and happened to overhear a conversation between a couple. This would not be remarkable except that they were speaking English. And that would not be remarkable unless you remember that I live in Mexico.

Ken and Michele Trapnell are, it turns out, missionaries in a small town south of here. We had a very enjoyable conversation and agreed to exchange email address and web site info.

Over the last two days I have researched this couple and their commitment to Mexico and to Jesus Christ. Both are solid and strong. So here is the reason for this message.

Support this mission!!!

Mexico Medical Missions delivers the goods.

They walk the talk, it's that simple

Please check out their web site.

So, when you're in the next meeting of your church group or social club, or even if you have a calling to help on a personal level, remember Mexico Medical Missions as a place where your energy and resourses will have a maximum impact.

Also, please feel free to forward this message to your contacts across the web. Thanks

"people should have to pay to go to church and theater should be free"

2009-10-14T13:03:00.002-05:00

FINAL ESSAY FOR THE COURSE
THE FOUR GOSPELS
REV. ROBERT JAMES SHAND MS, D.DIV.
http://freechurch.faithweb.com

As a minister of The Free Church of Universal Life, I have a close personal connection to all of the gospels of Jesus the Nazarene. This course both challenged and frustrated me on several levels. After many years of study and research of the “alternate” gospels, I found myself confronted with this seemingly simple interpretation of the four traditionally accepted gospels. The text presented these books in a way that was both simplistic and enlightening. This text even further confirmed my belief that there was only one source for all of these gospels. As presented, the gospels are almost a verbatim narration of one story that was circulated throughout early Christendom. This is not surprising, however. When Jesus sent his followers out to teach in His name, they took with them the oral narrative of the life of Jesus. And in at least one situation, this narrative was written down and circulated to the early Church. The original version of this written story is lost to history. But what we now read as the four gospels of the Bible, I believe, is a close approximation of that early text. That the 4th century Christian leaders who met to determine the “true” Bible saw these four narratives as inspired by God is not that difficult to understand. Imagine being in a crowded room with hundreds of people, each with particular points of view and a cannons of beliefs that seem either too conservative or liberal to those you profess. And during these weeks and months of deliberations four stories seem to surface, each from a different country, written in a different language, and each being put forth as the “truth”. In those days, only one or two generations away from paganism and polytheism in Rome, seeing four documents stating essentially the same exact thing must have seem divine. After much discussion and debate, these early Christian leaders could agree that these four nearly identical stories must present the true account of the life and ministry of Jesus.
This theory is not intended to diminish the importance of the Word. It only highlights the need to read and understand other narratives of the teachings of Jesus. I believe that Jesus the Nazarene was, and is, the Messiah sent by God, the Creator. But, the four gospels do not present the entire teachings of Jesus. In recent history we have been able to see and read other documents which shed more light on Jesus the Nazarene and his life and teachings. These new texts allow for a rethink of the four traditional gospels. It is important to note that none of the new documents suggest anything that pulls the gospels into question or that might diminish Jesus and his teachings. The one exception might be that Jesus may not have actually died on the cross and ascended to heaven, but lived to marry and have children. Even if that was true, it doesn't take away from His message. But that is another essay.

"people should have to pay to go to church and theater should be free"

2009-07-25T22:21:00.001-05:00

ON FAITH AND FACTS
Some may ask why this discussion needs to be revisited. We all know the differences between these terms. Don't we?
Well, apparently not. In researching the literature for my upcoming book, SAY WHAT YOU MEAN-MEAN WHAT YOU SAY1, I found that even today, in the age of electronic everything, people are still compelled to blur these terms to fit their own agenda.
FAITH is what we hope to be true. We do not need any facts to back up our FAITH. As a matter of fact, if there were to be facts available to prove the point, we wouldn't need FAITH. We have FAITH in information we receive from outside sources. Someone, either in person, through the electronic media or in the written word, has told us something and we BELIEVE them and have FAITH that the information is true. What they have to say may be pure fantasy or it may be based on a pseudo-science such as astrology or Tarot readings, or, in the case of we Christians, the information we have FAITH in comes from the writings about Jesus the Nazarene. Whatever the source, it sounds good and offers to meet some unmet need and we attach value to it and have FAITH that it will turn out our advantage. Much of the time it is based loosely on mythology or “traditional History”.2 Some of the time it is based on the teachings of a mystic, guru, prophet, or even God. But no matter how much of these stories come from an oral tradition, text books, or religious doctrine, something appeals to us and we have FAITH in the message. We want it to be true and in FAITH, we impose “TRUTH” on the message. As a result, we oftentimes profess that what we have FAITH in (BELIEVE in) is TRUTH. As a result, TRUTH then is the internalization of these stories from outside sources which we BELIEVE and assign them to be TRUE. What we BELIEVE is TRUTH. When many people have FAITH in a message and BELIEVE it to be true, they frequently band together in this common, shared BELIEF. When the BELIEF concerns God we call these groups religions, and when the common belief concerns the life and teachings of Jesus the Nazarene we are known collectively as Christians.
The accounts written in what we call the New Testament are a few of the stories, mythology, and folktales about Jesus the Nazarene. As science advances we are slowly being able to see and study other stories and mythologies about Jesus from outside sources. We have manuscripts, books, and other archaeological evidence that Jesus probably lived, that He was a devotee of the Essene sect of Jews, that he was a rabbi and teacher, and that He rebelled against the establishment. He was a radical left wing pain in the side of the established Temple hierarchy. It was this hierarchy who manipulated the Roman government, and as a result, Jesus was sentenced to death.
We also have 2000 years of the continuous, uninterrupted FAITH in Jesus' teachings, HIS life as the message and HIS divinity. Not bad for a man who, during HIS entire ministry, only actually spoke to a few thousand people in a small, relatively unimportant part of the world and in a language spoken by only a handful of people. Today a preacher can go on television and speak directly to millions of people. What would Jesus think of that? I believe that HE would be (and is) extremely upset at the misinformation and manipulative messages being broadcast.
We have this Heritage of FAITH because a few of Jesus' followers thought that what He had to say was important enough to jot down some quotes and to write a few letters. But we don't have any facts to back up these stories and accounts of HIS life. Just because someone says so, doesn't make it so. “What if several people say so? Doesn't that make it so”, you may ask. Well, only if you are willing to admit that the world was actually flat right up to the point that it was proved a sphere. After all, everyone BELIEVED it to be flat and therefore it must be so.
Fortunately, we don't need to prove anything. Facts are fun but unnecessary when it come to Jesus the Nazarene. Jesus, you see, never asks us to BELIEVE anything. He never says “ I want to you to trust Me” or “BELIEVE in Me”. Jesus states , with authority, “I am the way!” He doesn't 'ask' us to do anything. He tells us that if we want salvation we must follow HIM. Jesus does not offer qualifiers like “if, and, or, but”. He doesn't hint, suggest, or elude, He simply states that He is the “way”. And, how do we know this is true, that he said these things? Because we have FAITH that the stories written in the New Testament are accurate representations of what Jesus actually said and did. And we have these stories from at least four separate, independent sources. And we have 2000 years of continued reliance on the accuracy of these stories, past down from generation to generation, first in an oral history and later in the written word.
Facts are fun, but FAITH is forever. Facts change as science continues to uncover the physical mysteries of this world. Someday maybe someone will find the facts that disprove the existence of Jesus. Even if that should occur, the message from Jesus the Nazarene would continue to be valid. His teaching of love, patience, and salvation through baptism and the forgiveness of sins through confession and absolution will go on.
1Due out in Fall 2009
2A term I made up to represent the stories and other oral traditions of our heritage, family, or tribe.

"people should have to pay to go to church and theater should be free"

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO CHECK OUT MY WISH LIST AND SEND ME WHATEVER TRIPS YOUR TRIGGER

2009-06-10T13:39:00.001-05:00

THE MARINE

2009-06-04T09:26:00.001-05:00

THE MARINE

We all came together,
Both young and old
To fight for our freedom,
To stand and be bold.

In the midst of all evil,
We stand our ground,
And we protect our country
From all terror around.

Peace and not war,
Is what some people say.
But I'll give my life,
So you can live the American way

I give you the right
To talk of your peace.
To stand in your groups,
and protest in our streets.

But still I fight on,
I don't fuss, I don't whine.
I'm just one of the people!
Who is doing your time.

I'm harder than nails,
Stronger than any machine.
I'm the immortal soldier,
I'm a U.S. MARINE!

So stand in my shoes,
And leave from your home.
Fight for the people who hate you,
With the protests they've shown.
Fight for the stranger,
Fight for the young.
So they all may have,
The greatest freedom you've won

Fight for the sick,
Fight for the poor
Fight for the cripple,
Who lives next door.

But when your time comes,
Do what I've done.
For if you stand up for freedom,
You'll stand when the fight's done

By: Corporal Aaron M. Gilbert, US Marine Corps
USS SAIPAN, PERSIAN GULF

Hey Dad,
Do me a favor and label this 'The Marine' and send it to everybody on your email list. Even leave this letter in it. I want this rolling all over the US ; I want every home reading it. Every eye seeing it. And every heart to feel it. So can you please send this for me? I would but my email time isn't that long and I don 't have much time anyway.
You know what Dad? I wondered what it would be like to truly understand what JFK said in His inaugural speech. 'When the time comes to lay down my life for my country, I do not cower from this responsibility. I welcome it.' Well, now I know. And I do. Dad, I welcome the opportunity to do what I do. Even though I have left behind a beautiful wife, and I will miss the birth of our first born child, I would do it 70 times over to fight for the place that God has made for my home. I love you all and I miss you very much. I wish I could be there when Sandi has our baby, but tell her that I love her, and Lord willing, I will be coming home soon.Give Mom a great big hug from me and give one to yourself too.
Aaron

Please let this marine (and all our military) know we care by passing his poem onto your friends even if you don't usually take time to forward mail...do it this time!
Thanks,
Let's help Aaron's dad spread the word .... FREEDOM isn't FREE Someone pays for you and me.

IN MY HUMBLE OPINION

2009-06-02T13:03:00.000-05:00

There were two causalities in the War on Terrorism on Monday. Pvt. William Long was killed and Pvt. Quinton Ezeagwula was wounded in a attack on a military outpost by a Muslim extremist.

The facts are clear. Abdulhakim Bledsoe, aka Abdulhakim Mujahid Muhammad, armed with at least three firearms and, according to his own statements to police, acted on his religious beliefs as a practicing Muslim by driving by a military recruiting outpost in Little Rock, Arkansas and firing as many as sixteen shoots at the young, unarmed soldiers standing outside the office.

Pvt. Long was killed and Pvt. Ezeagwula was wounded in action as a direct result of enemy fire. Little Rock or Baghdad, it doesn't matter. They are causalities of armed aggression against the United States by a Muslim terrorist. They deserve the Purple Heart and to be listed as casualties of war.

Bledsoe is an enemy combatant and as such does not, and should not, have the civil protection of the constitution. He should be charged with acts of terrorism against the United States, confined in a military prison and afforded the same treatment as all other enemy combatants in the War on Terrorism.

Rev. Robert James Shand, MS. DD
Ciudad Victoria, Tamaulipas, Mexico "people should have to pay to go to church and theater should be free"

These people were there for me! Be there for todays servicemen and women

2009-06-01T10:47:00.001-05:00

2009-04-22T11:05:00.000-05:00

Vietnam Vet giving back by helping wounded soldiers.
Dr. Donald Hall a veteran of the Vietnam war has published a novel. The book sells online at most of the major bookstores, Amazon.com, Barnes and Nobles, Books a Million, Indie Books, Authorhouse.com bookstore. Disney is looking into a possible movie from the book series. The title to the book is "The Cross-Over Chronicles" by D.L.Hall.
With every book that is sold he is donating a large percentage of the profit to
The National Rehabilitation Hospital in Washington DC to help the soldiers who have been severely wounded in the war overseas to date.
Get the book it is a good story and helps a great cause. Thanks

2009-04-16T19:33:00.000-05:00

2009-03-26T11:07:00.001-06:00

URGENT MESSAGE

Hola, from beautiful, warm and SAFE, Mexico. I watch with interest the reports on travel to Mexico. As you may imagine, I watch and read everything about traveling to Mexico because I tutor people on how to retire here.
It is true that drug dealers and the people who smuggle illegals into the States are at war with each other and sometimes the police. And it is true that EVERYONE needs to take precautions against becoming a victim of street crime. That goes for Mexico as well as Maine and every other of the United States. The crime rates in the States is rising and violent crime leads the list.
I have lived in Mexico for 2 years now and not only do I feel right at home, I feel very safe in town and traveling withing the country. Since I don't use drugs, sell drugs, coyote illegals across the border, nor do I associate with those that do, I am at a very low risk of the types of crime sensationalized in the media. Crime is always here as in every place else. People here need to be diligent and aware, just like those in Philadelphia or New Haven to minimize the potential for being victimized.
I encourage everyone who wants a pleasant, fun, exciting retirement in the sun to come here to live. For those looking for a respite, come to Mexico, bring your money, spend it wisely, and then go home to tell all of your friends how much fun you had and how inexpensive Mexico is as a tourist destination.
However, if your goal is to buy and sell drugs, get sloppy drunk, flash your wealth, be overly promiscuous, and generally act like an ass, STAY HOME. You will most likely be part of the next headline.

Why Counseling

2009-03-11T14:57:00.002-06:00

WHEN FAITH ISN'T ENOUGH
(Or at least it seems that way)

Prayer, meditation, fasting, and other forms of spiritual cleansing are each, in their own way, forms of internal self-talk that we all use to make sense of the events of our lives. Most of the time we don't even know that is what we are doing. Somewhere in our history we have been taught how to cope with stressful situations. Some us were taught to pray for guidance. Some have been told that meditation and fasting will lead to peace of mind. Others of us were taught that stress is best dealt with by chemical intervention, legal and otherwise. Of course, not all of these methods are effective all of the time. At least, not to our level of expectation. Sometimes, even after doing what we know has worked in the past, we find that we are still unsatisfied. Our needs are left unmet. The most common reason that these methods are not always effective is because they rely on the individual to have the insight and strength to carry on alone. When we get stuck in the loop of stress and disappointment we need to get outside of ourselves and involve another. One of the best ways to do this is to visit our spiritual guide. Most minister, pastors, priests, etc. have some training and expertise in counseling people through stress. There are also groups of professional counselors who have specific education, training and skills, some of which use a spiritual and/or biblical approach.

HOW DO I KNOW WHEN I NEED A COUNSELOR?
There is no easy answer to this question. Only you can know when you have done all that you know how to do and still are not satisfied. Some of us go immediately to a spiritual guide when things get stressful. Some go inside ourselves and pray or meditate for guidance. And some of us go inside of a bottle. A professional counselor can be the next best option. First of all they are uniquely qualified to do the job. Next, they are bound by ethical mandates of confidentiality. And, sometimes most importantly, they can act as a disinterested third party who can give honest feedback, insight, and confrontation, allowing you to see your issues from another point of view. To gain perspective, so to speak. Oftentimes this new perspective is the key to resolving your stress.

WHERE DO I FIND A COUNSELOR?
When we are experiencing stress, we oftentimes become concerned that others will see us as weak and vulnerable. This makes it difficult to ask for help. Who do you trust? Your family? Pastor? Friends? When the answer is difficult to find, get out the BOOK. No, not that one, although it never hurts to consult the Bible for answers, the book here is the Yellow Pages. Go to the “Marriage and Family Counselors” or “Mental Health” sections and go down the list. Do you recognize any of the names? Did someone you know use one of these agencies? Are any of them specifically offering a Christian or Bible based approach? If none of the names stand out, pick up the phone and call the agency who's ad grabs your attention. You need to ask these three questions:

Do you have Christian counselors available?
What are your fees? Do you have a sliding fee schedule? What, if any, insurance do you accept?
Are your counselors licensed or certified in any way?

The ideal match would be a Christian counselor who is licensed or certified, who is able to provide services you can afford without adding to your stress.

WHAT SHOULD I EXPECT FROM A COUNSELOR?
When you are “in counseling” you are in it 24/7, not just the 50 minutes you are with the counselor. Your counselor will only be able to help you with the issues you bring with you to the sessions. Some counselors are clever and can sometimes “trick” you into areas you are trying to avoid. But, here it is, it's your dime! You can decide to jump into the deep end right away and get down to it, or you can hem and haw at $$ an hour, waiting for the counseling to “work”. If you choose the later approach, don't be surprised if the counselor asks you to come back when you're ready to work.
Write down what it is you are feeling, thinking, and looking for as an outcome of the counseling before coming to the first session. Your counselor may even ask you to complete an intake questionnaire, inviting you to explain your background and current situation. Be as specific as you can. The more you can get your issues out and onto paper, the quicker you can get down to work in the sessions.
Counseling sessions take may forms. The most common is the office interview, conversation style. You and the counselor discuss your issues in a quiet, comfortable room. The counselor may ask open ended questions in an attempt to guide you through a particular point. You may be asked to talk about your belief system and how your beliefs effects your issues. Don't be surprised if you are asked to describe your relationships. Sometimes how we relate to others explains a lot about how we deal with stress. And you should expect homework to be completed between sessions. This may be a journal, notes to yourself, questionnaires or worksheets, etc. Or, you may be asked to read something or watch a video. Let's face it. You are in counseling because what you have always done to deal with stress has failed. You need to learn something new. Knowledge is the key to changing beliefs. And beliefs are the framework of our behavior. It's as simple as “A,B,C”.
A- Activating Event
B- Belief/Behavior
C- Consequences
Something happens, we make choices based on our beliefs about the event which lead to behaviors, and there are consequences associated with our choices/behaviors. These consequences become the next activating events and the whole cycle begins again. If, at any point in this process we take a detour or are confronted with a roadblock we can't get around, we can spin out of control. What we “know” no longer provides relief. What we believe comes into question, and what we do is based on faulty logic. It is this faulty logic that a counselor can discover and help you get back on track.

WHAT COUNSELING CAN'T DO

FIX IT! Counseling can not “fix” anything. Only you can do that. Your counselor can only point out some of your faulty logic which is clouding your choice making ability.
MAKE IT GO AWAY! Your stress is a naturally occurring result of some event that your prior coping mechanisms are not able to deal with. If fact, you don't want the stress to go away, unresolved. It will be there in the background, eating away at your self confidence and self esteem. Skin conditions, heart problems, nervous tics, and high blood pressure are oftentimes the result of unresolved stress. You must deal with it.
CURE YOU! Happily, stress is one of those conditions that we have the ability to “cure” ourselves, with assistance. Once you have determined the cause of the stress, you can take steps to reduce the symptoms and avoid their return. Your new knowledge and understanding will lead to changes in your belief system. These changes in your beliefs will lead to changes in the way you view the world and how these events effect you. And, consequently, this new perspective on the world will result in better choices when similar events occur in the future.

WHAT ABOUT MY FAITH?
It is possible that some of your beliefs about God, Jesus, and religion will be challenged. Don't worry, God can take it. Jesus will never be hurt by your questions. And your religious beliefs can always use a little tweaking. If they are true, they will be your base, your support system, your foundation. If they let you down, maybe they weren't true in the first place. If you are a Baptist, Methodist, Catholic, or whatever, because your parents were, or you belong to a church whose focus has turned away from the faith it had when you joined, it maybe time for a change. At least it's time for a review of your core values. If, during the counseling process you are suddenly confronted with a crisis of faith you have the obligation to tell the counselor this. A faith-based counselor will be able to guide you. You may be asked to join like minded people for group sessions dealing with this specific issue.

Acceptance is the key. Never, absolutely never, does anything happen in God's world by accident.1

God don't make mistakes. And God doesn't answer to us. We answer to Him

1Paraphrased from the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous

"people should have to pay to go to church and theater should be free"

2009-02-12T12:15:00.000-06:00

Create your own travel map or travel blog

Travel Info at TripAdvisor

"people should have to pay to go to church and theater should be free"

Allright, Already

2009-01-30T20:12:00.004-06:00

As you may know, I have recently been ordained as a Minister. With that ordination has come many more people reading my writings. And, as some of my writings contain words that some believe are offensive, I feel a need to comment.

Words are just words. They neither enlighten nor offend. They only have the meaning we assign to them. It is the user that determines whether a word enlightens or offends, does neither, or both. The same word, when used in a different context can have the exact opposite effect.

When I write stories, the characters tell me what they say and I write those words down. I know that that sounds like a cop out, but that's how it happens for me. Some of my characters sometimes use words that even I find offensive. But that is how that character talks and I feel a need to be true to him/her in the story.

So, to my newly found brothers and sisters who are questioning my faith and calling, please understand that I do not intend to insult or offend you in any way. Feel free to condemn my characters for their blasphemy or whatever, but please remember that they are just words, offered for your entertainment.

"people should have to pay to go to church and theater should be free"

Sometimes I just have to say it

2009-01-25T18:38:00.004-06:00

Sometimes I answer questions on Yahoo. Most of the time it's about traveling to Mexico. But today one of the questions asked "what can we do about all of the illegal Mexicans draining the welfare system and taking jobs away from "Americans". Most of the responses chastized the asker and attempted to set her straight. I really got pissed, though, when one of the answers lauded her for her "insight". I just had to add my 2 cents.

Just two new points.
1. Yes, it is true that only citizens can receive welfare in the US. However, all children born in the US are considered citizens, making them eligible, even if their parents are not. So, yes, some illegals are a burden to the systems.
2. It is true that many illegal immigrants work at "stoop labor" in the fields and factories for short wages.
A solution may be found in a fair system of legal "guest laborer" status so employers can hire immigrant labor to do the jobs unemployed US workers won't or can't do.
At the same time, there needs to be a change in the unemployment compensation system in the US. I recently heard that there are millions of "workers" unemployed. At the same time people complain that "millions" of illegal immigrants are working the fields and factories. Instead of collecting money from tax payers to sit around and be choosy about what jobs they will or will not accept, everyone who registers for unemployment should be required to work "day labor" "short term temp" and any other employment for pay, even short pay. NO ONE should be permitted to turn down any job!!! Lets require all of the unemployed US workers to take these field and factory jobs for the same money and under the same conditions the Mexicans get. Then, perhaps the market for illegals would dry up.
Until these unemployed US workers are willing to get out into the fields and into the factories, illegals will. In the meantime, the next time you enjoy a salad or buy a "made in USA" pair of jeans, thank a Mexican laborer for his/her willingness to leave the safety of his/her family and cross an artificial line in the sand to make them for you.

SPANISH LESSONS YOU CAN TRUST!

2009-01-15T13:07:00.000-06:00

2009-01-08T13:50:00.001-06:00

2009-01-08T13:14:00.001-06:00

I recommend this SPANISH LESSONS program

2009-01-08T12:17:00.002-06:00

Learn Spanish with SpanishPod

SKYPE

2009-01-08T11:17:00.002-06:00

Below is a link to SKYPE, a free phone service through your computer. I use it every day and love it. Even for people who don't have a computer, you can buy minutes and call any phone in the world for about $0.02 per minute. (2 cents!!!) I call my Mom and Dad at least once a week from here in Mexico and talk as long as they can tolerate for about a quarter. Also, if you click this link and sign up I get some money!! We all win.

2009-01-08T11:15:00.001-06:00

From my mind

2008-12-18T12:54:00.007-06:00

FOX

I saw a fox today.

This, in itself, would not be remarkable only that I had never before seen a fox, in the wild, that is.

It was early this morning, really early.

A fresh coating of crystalline snow had fallen overnight.

The sun was at that perfect angle... at that point in the sky where everything gleams.

It's yellow glow reflected off the new snow, lighting up the tree line like limelight.

I really don't like to use words like "bounding". It sounds so 18th Century.

But this fox, it's bright crimson red coat in sharp contrast to the almost transparent white snow, was bounding.

There is no other word.

He couldn't have cared less that he was being watched.

The field was his to use as he saw fit.

He ran up one side, over to the middle, and down the other.

He jumped, rolled, and scurried (another word from 'ago')

And I truly believe I saw him laughing as he played.

He took notice of me when I put the car in gear, making a groaning sound.

As I drove away, I saw him leave the field and disappear into the woods.

Perhaps he did care, after all.

I'm sorry that I interrupted his enjoyment.

Embarrassed that I was caught in my voyeurism.

And ashamed that I enjoyed watching him so much. Perhaps jealous.

New One Act Play for your enjoyment

2008-12-15T16:25:00.006-06:00

ACT I
Scene 1
Curtain is up at the beginning of the play
Stage is lit with harsh white light. The stage
should look like a show just closed and the sets
are in the process of being struck. There are some
small set pieces pushed to the upstage right and
left. One chair is set downstage center.

Off-stage sounds of a truck screeching to a halt
and a loud thud.

STANLEY enters stage left as if he has been thrust
out by force.
STANLEY
Wow, that was close! Did you see that? I was nearly run
down by that truck.
(Stanley notices that he is alone in a
different place than he was a second
ago.)
Wait a minute, where am I? Two seconds ago I was
crossing Broadway on my way to an audition. (panic)
Hello! Where is everybody? The street was crowded,
hundreds of people?
Stanley crosses to the chair and plops down. He
looks around and begins to wring his hands and
shake a little.
STANLEY (CONT)
This is very confusing.
(yelling)
What the fuck is happening to me? Where am I?
(quieter and frightened)
Did the truck really hit me? Am I dead? Did I die
right then and there? Oh, my God. Shit! Oh Christ,
what the...
(He looks around secretively, glancing
here and there)
Maybe this might be a good time to stop cursing. I
mean, if I’m dead than this must be(pause) where I wait
for... "Him".
There is a loud commotion from off stage, boxes
falling, furniture scraping across the floor, etc.
2.
HEATHER O.S.
Damn it! Who put that fucking crap there?. Shit! I have
a runner in my pantyhose. God Damn it!
HEATHER enters stage right, walks directly past
Stanley, not noticing him
STANLEY
Excuse me! Hello!
HEATHER
(She stops short staring downstage, then
slowly turns to Stanley and jumps back
in fear.)
Ah! What are you doing here? How did you get here? You
don’t belong here.
STANLEY
I don’t know where "here" is and I sure as hell don’t
know how I got here. I was crossing Broadway and...
HEATHER
You can’t stay here! I mean...Who did you say sent you?
(Stanley gets up and moves toward Heather. She
takes a Karate stance)
STANLEY
Whoa, wait a minute, I’m just trying to get to my
audition. I’m not going to do anything to you. Calm
down, will ya, for Christ sake. Who are you? And how
did you get here? I mean, you seem to at least know
where "here" is.
(Heather relaxes and Stanley moves
upstage center, examining the stage
walls and back drop curtain. Heather
matches his movements as she moves cross
stage to the opposite side)
(Stanley slowly realizes he recognizes
this stage)
I’ve been on this stage before. Many years ago when I
was in community theater. This is the stage of the
Omaha Community Playhouse.
HEATHER
Well, of course it is. Where do you think you are?
Broadway?
STANLEY
Well, ya, actually I am...was in New York, just before
I ended up here.
Heather’s Cell phone rings, State Fair theme ring
tone
3.
HEATHER
(perky)
Hi, this is Heather! - Ah huh, yup (she turns to look
at Stanley) Oh! What? - I see, well this changes
things. (pause) Okay doaky... ah huh... ah huh, yep...
OK, bye
Lighting focus transitions slowly from harsh white
to softer hues which bring out the actors features
and highlights the upstage scenery.
STANLEY
Was that call about me? What’s going on, God damn it? I
want to know what in hell is happening to me. Who was
that on the phone?
Stanley crosses to Heather and she takes the
karate stance again.
HEATHER
That was the Director. He wasn’t aware that you’re
here. Ah, you aren’t supposed to be...here. You didn’t
go to orientation, did you? Um, I, ah... You’re dead.
STANLEY
I’m what! What do you mean I’m dead?
HEATHER
Well you’re not dead, yet. I mean, you ARE dead, but
you’re not supposed to be. Here, that is.
STANLEY
Well am I dead or not? And I hope you say "not".
HEATHER
Oh, I hate this part. The Director usually handles
this. Oh, shit. You were hit by a truck and died.
STANLEY
I know it was close, but I didn’t get hurt, not even a
scratch.
HEATHER
Oh, you died alright. Splattered all over Broadway.
Guts smeared on the pavement. Your head came off and...
STANLEY
OK, OK I get the picture, very graphically. (pause)
What happened to my head?
4.
HEATHER
Well, lets just say that they need a new display window
at the Manhattan Mall. Really upset some people at the
Food Court. It ended up down by the McDonald’s, almost
went into the PATH station, but some French students
started playing soccer with it.
STANLEY
Oh Jeez, are you sure you mean me? I mean, here I am,
head and all. And if I’m dead, why aren’t I in heaven
or hell or whatever.
HEATHER
(very nervous)
Well, er, you see, Oh damn, I wish the director would
get here.
STANLEY
Tell me, how did I get here? And who is this Director
you keep talking about? Was that him on the phone?
HEATHER
Oh, I really don’t think I’m the right one to tell you
this, but you deserve some answers. So, here
goes. You’re dead, but you’re not supposed to be here.
You should have gone to orientation, first. There was a
mix up.
STANLEY
A mix up! What the hell does that mean?
HEATHER
This is hard enough without your interruptions, and,
frankly I could do with a little less of your attitude.
I’m doing the best I can.
STANLEY
OK, sorry, you’re right. Go on.
HEATHER
You are dead, and you are in what you know as heaven,
this is your heaven.
STANLEY
Heaven is Omaha? You’ve got to be kidding?
HEATHER
I asked you not to interrupt.
STANLEY
Sorry, but, come on, are you expecting me to believe
that not only am I dead, but Omaha, Nebraska is
heaven? Come on, I mean...
5.
Stanley begins to pace
HEATHER
OK I told you I was new at this and I AM doing the best
I can. I, or we, er, God... you do know about God,
don’t you? (pause) Well, it doesn’t matter if you know
or not. We, er, I, well, it’s just necessary to
believe. We are here, and that is all that really
counts.
STANLEY
What in the world are you rambling on about? Do I
believe? Does "what" really matter? Who, exactly is
"we"? Look, I’m just going to leave now. I’m obviously
in the wrong place, you said it yourself, I’m not
supposed to be here.
(Stanley exits stage left)
Stage goes to black

END OF SCENE ONE

SCENE TWO
Lights up with Heather sitting on the chair
talking on the phone
HEATHER
He just walked out.
(laughing)
Okay, Doaky, you’re the boss. Yeah...Yeah... Okay. I
think I hear him now. Bye!
There is commotion from off stage. The noise
tracks from stage left around upstage and down to
stage right
Stanley enters quickly from stage right and comes
up short
STANLEY
What the hell! What’s going on here?
Heather gets up and approaches Stanley. Stanley
takes a karate stance.
HEATHER
(with a pitiful laugh)
I was going to tell you, but you left in such a hurry.
You’re here now... You can’t leave.
6.
STANLEY
What do you mean I can’t leave? Am I being held
hostage? You can’t make me stay here.
HEATHER
I just talked to the director and he told me to answer
all your questions as truthfully as I feel you can
understand.
STANLEY
That’s a little condescending. I’m finding all of this
very confusing. And I’m more than a little scared. But
I’m not stupid.
HEATHER
Sit down, and I’ll start at the beginning.
(Stanley sits on the chair and Heather
pulls down a set piece to sit on)
First, the bad news. Everything you have been taught
about death, heaven, and God is false.
STANLEY
Let me get this straight, everything I was taught in
Church, Sunday School, and from my family and friends
has been a lie?
HEATHER
Pretty much... Ya! Well, not so much a lie more like a
long series of myths and misunderstandings, perpetuated
throughout what you know as history, and relied upon by
people who need someone or something beyond themselves,
to provide social order and behavioral expectations to
their lives.
STANLEY
Huh?
HEATHER
People made all that stuff up to make people conform
and to have someone to blame.
STANLEY
Oh...If that’s the bad news, what could possibly be the
good news?
HEATHER
The good news is that everything you believe about God
is the truth.
STANLEY
What I learned about God is false and what I believe
about God is true. Is that it. That’s crazy. My
beliefs are based on what I have been taught.
7.
HEATHER
I think you are beginning to get it! Tell me about
what you have learned about God. Be specific. What do
you know about God?
STANLEY
Let’s see. God is an all powerful being who created
heaven and earth in seven days about 6 million years
ago. He created man in his image and loves us
unconditionally. He sent his son to Earth about 2000
years ago to give the people hope and direction.
HEATHER
Is that so? Well about three quarters of the people on
Earth wouldn’t agree with you. What about the millions
of Muslims who are taught by the Koran? Or the Jews and
the Torah? And what about the billion people in China
who have been taught something completely different by
Chairman Mao? Are their teachings wrong?
STANLEY
Well, ya, I guess. No, not wrong, just different. I’m
confused. What about Jesus?
HEATHER
Ah, Jesus, what a guy...Handsome and VERY charismatic!
People really got his message. But turning him into
God, that was over the top.
STANLEY
Jesus wasn’t the son of God?
HEATHER
Yes, of course he was, just as you are. And everyone
else in the universe.
STANLEY
That’s the kind of talk that would’ve got you burned at
the stake a few hundred years ago.
HEATHER
It did.
Did you ever wonder where Jesus was from the time he
taught at the Temple and his time as a prophet? Those
unreported 20 years?
STANLEY
No, not really. But I bet you’re going to tell me.
HEATHER
Where do you think he got all of that ’peace and love’
stuff he talked so much about?
8.
STANLEY
I have thought about that, actually. It seems to me
that Jesus’ message about love and peace sounds a lot
like the teaching found in ancient Persia and India.
Buddhist and Hinduism, like that.
HEATHER
Very good! Of course those teachings are older than
that, long before any form of writing emerged on
Earth. And, of course, they had it wrong, too.
STANLEY
Now I’m getting confused and more than a little pissed
off.
HEATHER
Of course you are. All of this is very confusing if you
go by what people are ’taught’. Now, when you look at
the problem from a ’belief’ point of view, things fall
into place.
STANLEY
I think I get it. I took a class in comparative
religion in college and learned a little something
about a lot of religious teachings and practices. On an
academic level I tried to understand where the
teachings came from and what they meant to the people
at the time. All of those people can’t have been wrong.
It doesn’t matter in the end what you have been taught.
What matters is what you believe.
HEATHER
Exactly! No matter what people try to teach you and
what you have learned, It’s what you believe that
counts.
STANLEY
So everybody is wrong and everybody is right.
HEATHER
Right!
STANLEY
But what about religions? They all teach something and
most teach something different than the others. Are
they all wrong?
HEATHER
Well yes and no. All of the so called organized
religions have it wrong at the base. Each wants to
think that God is on their side and God is a member of
their religion. We know that can’t be. If that was the
case, there would be no such thing as Christians.
9.
STANLEY
What do you mean? Christians believe that God sent his
Son, Jesus, for their redemption.
HEATHER
Yeah, but was Jesus a Christian? No! He was a Jew, not
just a day to day Jew, but a teacher, a Rabbi. It’s the
followers of Jesus we know as Christians. And they have
it just as wrong as all the other religions.
STANLEY
So, following along with your train of thought,
everything Jesus taught was false.
HEATHER
Not at all. Everything Jesus preached he believed at
the core of his heart. So, for Jesus, everything he
believed was true, for him. The same for Mohammad,
Buddha, Mao, Luther, John Smith, and the rest. They all
believed what they preached. So, for them it was true.
STANLEY
This is beginning to get confusing again.
HEATHER
Even some of the most crazy and evil preachers in the
world, believed that what they were saying was true and
that their behavior was righteous and justified.
Everyone from the Egyptians persecuting the Jews, the
Romans against the early Christians, the Christians
against everyone who wasn’t Christian, all the way down
to the Catholics, who at one time or another have been
against everyone else. And most recently the Muslims
demanding everyone become Muslim. All collectively
wrong and at the same time, individually right in their
beliefs.
(Heather’s cell phone rings. Amazing
Grace is the ring tone)
Stage goes black

END OF SCENE TWO

SCENE THREE
Heather and Stanley are seated on the chair and
set piece, respectfully. The lighting has softened
and the stage looks cozy and warm. Heather is
talking on the phone.
HEATHER
He’s coming around, but I still don’t understand why
you want him to stay....Yeah...No!...Noooo...I can’t do
that!...Listen, your the director, you get your ass
down here and direct.(pause) I’m sorry, but this is
just more than I can handle...Okay...Okay. Thank you,
Sir.
STANLEY
Trouble with the Boss? Directors can be such pains in
the ass... God complexes, most of them. Always
expecting the PA’s to do the dirty work and never truly
appreciating the demands of they put on them.
HEATHER
"God complex"...interesting choice of phrase...So, do
you get it now?
STANLEY
Get what? That I’m dead? Yeah. That, in the end it
doesn’t really matter what you’ve been taught, it’s
what you believe that’s true.
HEATHER
Right! Why?
STANLEY
Why? What? What do you mean?
HEATHER
I mean...Why does it matter what you believe and not so
much what you have been taught?
STANLEY
What is this, Death School? I don’t know. I guess it
matters because...(thinking) because the way we behave
is based on our beliefs, not our knowledge! We make
choices according to what we believe. Yeah! That’s it.
HEATHER
That’s it, precisely.
STANLEY
But I’m still a little hazy on how this stage in Omaha
can be heaven.
HEATHER
What do you know about heaven? Where is it? What’s it
like?
STANLEY
All I know is what I’ve been taught... Oh, I see. What
I KNOW is wrong. It’s what I believe
that’s...true. But if that’s right, I must believe
that this stage is heaven.
11.
HEATHER
Tell me about your time as an apprentice with the Omaha
Community Playhouse. What was it like.
STANLEY
Oh, it was great. I had a wonderful time. I spent every
waking minute there. Learning all about theater, from
the inside. The stagecraft tricks mixed with the
glamor and beauty of the productions... One minute I
was painting scenery and the next running lines with
the actors. (weeping a little) I loved that theater.
I felt like I was in heav...en!
Stage goes to work lights. Workers enter carrying
set pieces, scenery, etc. Heather blends in. The
place sounds like a working theater, power tools
whining, people yelling to each other, etc.
Director enters stage left. He carries a clipboard
and a walkie-talkie.
DIRECTOR
Are you the new kid? Steven?
STANLEY
Stanley... Yeah, I guess I am.
DIRECTOR
Come on then, I’ll get you started
they walk upstage

FADE TO BLACK
CURTAIN

2008-12-12T12:20:00.004-06:00

HOORAY!!! BOB'S BOOKS IS OPENED

2008-12-01T17:22:00.003-06:00

Bob's Books, the digital bookstore where you can get

RETIRE TO MEXICO-20 Questions You Need To Answer

is now opened for business.

I am offerring a $10.00 discount for everyone who buys my book from this blog.

Just use the code blog in the check out page.

PLEASE-send an email to everyone you know promoting my store. Thanks. Bob

Veteran's Day, Damn it!

2008-11-11T12:57:00.002-06:00

This is the second Veteran's Day I've spent in Mexico. Last year I had only been living here for just three months and didn't have a full appreciation of how not the U.S., Mexico is.

I was half asleep this morning when I overheard CCN on my wife's TV. The talking head was reading a story about where Mr. Obama, Mr. Bush and Mr. "Whatshisname", the current vice President, were going to be honoring me on Veteran's Day. When I determined that none of them were coming to Mexico to thank me for my service in Viet Nam, I decided to go to the market and see if there was a parade.

Not to be unpatriotic, I put on my T-shirt from the VVA National Convention in 2007, my 2nd Battalion, 1st Marines Jacket with the Corpsmen patch indicating that "we did our best", and my Camo cap with those pins and patches that label me a Viet Nam Vet who needs to have others know it.

It was early on this cool Autumn morning. The dew was still on the grass, somewhere. But in Ciudad Victoria it was already getting warm and there was no dew. Just the aroma of fresh tortillas and carne asada mixed with the smell of papaya and mangoes being prepared for the crowds of locals making their way through the stalls and alleys of the mercado.

After finding a place to park I got out of my car and adjusted my uniform. I was already questioning the wisdom of wearing the lined jacket. The sweat was already staining my T-Shirt. But I decided that I wanted everyone there to know that this is my day. Veteran's Day. So I began my own parade of one, fully expecting the people I met to smile and thank me for being a veteran. After all, if the United States hadn't sacrificed our men and women in wars around the world, Mexico may not have become a major player in North America. Mexico didn't send anyone to Viet Nam, Korea, Europe in either World War, and they do not have any troops in the middle east. As a matter of fact, the last time Mexico was involved in armed combat it was against the United States. And yet, they enjoy all of the benefits of our sacrifice. With this frame of mind and the self confidence that only comes from an egocentric American, I set out. My black satin jacket with the patches and medals shining in the early morning sun and the brim of my cap darkening from sweat, screamed out to be acknowledged. I am an American combat veteran, damn it. This is my day.

Well, you know the rest. Nobody understood the symbols I was wearing. No one cared that I was a veteran. And, no one said thank you. Except the old woman who sold the watermelon and papaya she grew in her back yard. She said "Thank you" in English when I bought my breakfast melon and papaya juice.

That's enough for me, for now.

Hug a Vet, today. We earned it.

Excerpt from my book RETIRE TO MEXICO-20 QUESTIONS YOU NEED TO ANSWER

2008-11-06T21:44:00.004-06:00

RETIRE TO MEXICO--Cost of Living

Even before we decided to retire and move to Mexico, our family, friends, and sometimes even total strangers, questioned our sanity. They all want to know why we would sell off everything we own, leave our home town and all of our friends and family behind and move to another Country. ESPECIALY MEXICO!

Well, the answer is simple. Money! The low cost of living, to be more specific. In Mexico our meager pensions go much farther than they would in the States. Overall, the costs in our part of Mexico are about 30% lower than they were in Pennsylvania.

There are places in Mexico where the cost of living is the same or higher than retirement communities in the States. These areas are either prime tourist areas or communities with heavy concentrations of American and Canadian retirees. Many of these areas boast of a clean, healthy climate and oodles of Mexican culture. I looked into these areas and found that some of the Mexican culture was becoming a caricature of itself. The mere presence of so many gringos in one area had resulted in little enclaves of American culture secluded within walled communities. The 'clean healthy climate' in these areas was not that different than that found here in our community. The biggest impact these mini American cities have on Mexico is inflation. Because there are so many dollars being injected into the local economy, the costs of housing and food in these areas have become so high that native Mexicans can no longer afford to live in their own home towns.

We live in Ciudad Victoria in Tamaulipas in Northeast Mexico. This is not a tourist area and there are very few expatriates here. While we freely admit that we live a very quiet lifestyle, our costs are pretty much what we expected. This is mostly due to two very important factors:
I had visited the area some years ago during an extended trip to Belize. I stopped in Ciudad Victoria and explored the area. I didn't know it at the time, but the germ of an idea was forming. In the following year when telling the stories of my trip to Belize, I found myself remembering this small city with fondness.

COST COMPARISONS

As I said, this area is not a tourist area, it is not a "quaint" colonial town, nor does it have any significant history. As a matter of fact, Ciudad Victoria is never listed as a place to retire, and Tamaulipas is not mentioned in most travel books. When it is, Tamaulipas is described as a "vast wasteland" that "is best passed through as quickly as possible". Of course, this is not true. Tamaulipas is a huge garden with millions of citrus trees, sugar cane fields, and large fields of corn and sorghum for the cattle that range the high chaparral in the north.

We love it here. We are just three hours drive from the US border on very good multi-lane highways. We are just an hour away from the pristine, sugar white sand beaches along the Gulf of Mexico and the mountains are literally right outside of our back door. The climate is very friendly with 300 + days of full sunshine and cool, crisp nights when a sweater is necessary.

There are some down sides. It does gets HOT here in the summer. And it gets cool in the winter. We don't have air conditioning and we don't have a furnace. We use a space heater when it gets really cool and a fan when it gets hot. There is always a nice breeze, though. Ciudad Victoria is nestled up against the mountains to the west and is about 30 miles from the Gulf of Mexico to the east. To the North is a flat expanse of agricultural tracts and thousands of acres of high desert where cattle graze and wildlife is abundant. We also have maybe the best Bass Lake in the world. Travelers going south will find a more tropical ecology, colonial Mexico, and higher prices. Being two or three hours from anywhere else, Ciudad Victoria is an oasis of culture and commerce, as well as a very nice place to live.

The prices listed below are NOT remarkably low for this area. We live 'on the economy'. This means we live in a Mexican neighborhood, shop in the local markets, buy what's fresh that day, and avoid expensive treats. I have listed some of the major expenses we have here in Mexico. The currency exchange rate is in our favor right now. But this changes everyday so I am going to quote the prices in Mexican Pesos.

Rent of a large (for Mexico) two bedroom house on a quiet lane in the city...$2600. This came unfurnished, I mean completely empty. Before we could move in we needed to buy new kitchen appliances, furniture, hot water heater, and even the tank to hold the propane gas for the stove and water heater. The rooms are very large. The living room/dining area is larger than the entire apartment we had I Pennsylvania which costs us four times as much. Our house is literally surrounded by big windows that let the breezes flow through every day. We even have a little apartment attached that was intended as the servants quarters. It has it's own entrance, private bath/shower, closets, and space for a bed, small table and chair. We use this for guests housing.
Electric...~$250/month. The electric service is the same as that found in the United States. It is provided by hydro-electric power and is very reliable. We lost power once when a truck hit a utility pole on the next block. It was restored in about two hours.
Water/sewer...~$45 every 3 months. Our water is drinkable right from the tap. There is no need to boil it or use those purification tablets other writers say are necessary. 1
Cable/Internet...$850 for the premium level Cable. 200 channels, about half of which are in English provide all of the popular shows with the exception (mores the pity) game shows. We also subscribe to the highest speed Internet (2megs). Neither of these services have ever been interrupted in the past 14 months.
We don't have a phone because we use SKYPE, the Internet based telephone communication service, for all of our international calls (free to other SKYPE users-2¢/minute to other phone numbers). I have a TelMex phone card for the pay phone on the corner for local calls. (pizza delivery)
Gasoline is high right now at $9.90 per liter. Gasoline as well as all other petroleum products, is regulated by the government company PEMEX. Although the prices do vary from place to place, they are all controlled by PEMEX and are kept relatively stable. During the recent economic fiasco in the US, our prices did increase gradually. However, when world prices fell, our costs went down sooner and more radically then those in the States.

Everything you could possibly need is available in the local Mercado or street market. Shopping at these markets can be a fun way to spend a few hours in the morning. With our difficulties getting around, we seldom go there, though.2 We shop at the local supermarket, Sam's Club, and Walmart. Fresh fruit, veggies, and meat are very inexpensive when compared to the US. Almost all of the produce available is grown within a hundred miles of here. Things like apples, pears, grapes, broccoli, and cabbage come from the US by way of NAFTA and South America, especially Chile. We can by Tyson precut and packaged chicken in the supermarket, but the locally raised poultry are so much better and less expensive. This is live stock country and beef and pork is very inexpensive and of the highest quality.

Canned goods from Mexico are a good bargain but those from the US and Spain are expensive. Cleaning supplies are about the same as the US. Many of the US manufacturer have Mexican brands of the very same products from the US. Mr. Clean is Mr. Musculo, for instance. Clothes, bedding, and furniture can be expensive. You have to watch were a product was manufactured. If the item you want was made in the US or Europe the cost will be about the same as in the US. But if it was made in China, watch out. There is a 1000% import tariff in effect right now and all things Chinese are very costly.

Movies in either of the two megaplex theaters cost $38 if we go to in the afternoon. Most of the time there is at least one new film in English with Spanish subtitles.

As the capital city of the State of Tamaulipas, Ciudad Victoria is the hub of culture for this area. Live theater, concerts, art exhibits, and sports events are very popular and VERY inexpensive. The local government values the Arts and underwrites the costs, making these events affordable to most of the residents.

If we need a break there are several very nice restaurants and fast food joints in the area. Applebees, McDonald's, Burger King, Pizza Hut, Church's Chicken, Subway, and Domino's Pizza to name a few. These are nice and exactly like those in the States. However, these American brands are expensive when compared to the vast variety of local restaurants and street vendors who offer everything from shrimp cocktail, tacos and gorditas, and hot dogs, to roasted ears of corn and fresh orange and grapefruit juice. My personal favorite is the tamales made fresh by the lady on the next block and sold door to door everyday.

Medical care is available. We joined the government health scheme for about $2000 a year. This gives us unlimited access to medical, dental, vision, and emergency care with no further costs. This system is crowded and the clinics are slow. But it covers all of the costs of t our prescriptions, a savings of $400.00US each MONTH in co-pays. We have this local medical program primarily to cover catastrophic injuries from a car accident or medical conditions which preclude a road trip to Texas. Should a major medical situation arise that can wait, as it did when my wife needed to have her gall bladder removed earlier this year, we can go to Texas and have Medicare cover the expenses.

The bottom line is, of course, the BOTTOM LINE. When all is said and done, we have a hard time spending $800US per month here in Ciudad Victoria. As I stated earlier, we live a very quiet life style. Neither of us smoke, we don't drink, and we stay at home most of the time. We moved to this area because it offered everything we needed, a comfortable home in a modern city with affordable prices that allow us to live on our social security and veteran's pensions.

1. One of the reasons utility prices are so low is because the companies pass on the costs of emergency repairs to the customers who suffered the interruption. An example of this occurred just last month when a water main broke, causing a six hour interruption in service. The water company sent in a crew of several dozen men who worked well into the night to repair the problem. The costs of this emergency repair showed up on the next bill as a “surcharge”. When I questioned this practice, I was told that the cost of making this repair was shared with all of the customers who were effected by the break and then spread out over the next four billing cycles. The result is a $30.00Peso increase in my bill for the next year.
2. My wife relies on a wheelchair and we seldom have problems getting in and out of most places. Although sometimes not up to ADA standards, the city has ramped most sidewalks at intersections and all public buildings are required to offer ramps.

2008-11-01T09:49:00.001-06:00

Flash Fiction Contest entry

2008-10-13T12:48:00.000-05:00

What I Saw At The Beach
I saw a dragon flying up the beach this afternoon. Some may think I’m making this up or that I must be nuts.
The only reason I bring this up is to explain why I am sure that I am not crazy. Back in ‘65, I joined the army, as many of my friends had done. There was a war where the southern part of this country had decided that they wanted to be their own country and the northerners decided that it would be better to completely destroy the south then to have it be it’s own country.
Well, my experience as a solder was a short one. I arrived at the regimental headquarters at about 6 in the afternoon and at eight I was in the hospital with a gunshot wound to the head. I was sitting by the kitchen tent cleaning the new rifle I was issued when a guy about fifty feet to my left thought he was being funny and aimed his rifle at a water bag hanging nearby. Well it was loaded and went off when this guy “accidentally” pulled the trigger. The bullet ricocheted off a cast iron frying pan, passed clean through the water bag and hit me right behind my right ear. I woke up about dawn with the most extreme headache and I was not able to move my left hand or leg. The surgeon explained to me that I had been shot, but the bullet had hit so many things before it hit me that it had flattened out and just barely penetrated my skull. The good news was that the damage was minimal to my brain and that most, if not all the use of my arm and leg would return, hopefully. The bad news was that first, they had decided to leave the bullet in my head. To remove it might cause more damage and it was best to just leave it where it was. Secondly, the war, for me was over. One day! And I wasn’t even shot by an enemy solder. I was home exactly four day from when I had left.
That was nearly forty years ago. The war ended. The north won to my disappointment, and the country is again reunified. I still have terrible headaches and I see crossed eyed when I get really tired, or drunk. The bullet is still there and I use it as a bar gag to get free drinks. I bet people that they can see the bullet in my head and they gladly buy me drinks for the privilege. Sometimes quite a few drinks.
But I wasn’t tired or drunk when I saw the dragon flying up the beach this afternoon. I was out pulling crab lines along the tidal pools about a mile from town. At first I didn’t hear anything. I just sensed a shadow passing overhead. When I looked up there it was. A hideous sight to be sure. Dark brown and glowing in the bright sunshine. It had two wings about forty feet wide, one on top of the other. Just as it passed me I heard it growl. A low whiny growl like the noise from an injured cat. And, then it was gone. Over the dunes and out of sight.
I hurried as fast as I could to town and went directly to the Sheriff’s office to report what I had seen. A large crowd had gathered in front of the office, so I assumed that I must not have been the only one to see the monster. As I drew closer, I could hear that the Sheriff was making an announcement. “Ladies and Gentlemen, It is my great honor to welcome Misters Orville and Wilbur Wright to Kittyhawk.”

2008-10-13T12:45:00.000-05:00

THE THREE SEASONS OF MAINE

An Essay by a Maine Man in Mexico
Let me begin by saying that I was not born in Maine so I am not a Native Mainer. That fact makes a difference to some "real" Mainers, although I can't for the life of me understand why. I guess it's like being Italian or Jewish. A way to include some and exclude others. I was brought to Maine when I was three and raised as a Mainer. I have not, however, lived in Maine for many years. Some of those years by choice and some by chance. If the philosophers are correct, we experience life as a succession of choices which have consequences, which lead to more choices and ...well, you get the idea. Anyway, through a long sequence of choices and consequences I have been away from Maine since 1973. But my memory of Maine and it's seasons is as clear as if I had never left. Maine has only three seasons. Humorists and cynics say there are only two seasons, Winter and Tourist. While others insist that Maine has four distinctly separate and beautiful seasons. This could be true if a Spring and Fall can be a week or ten days in length. And then there are those who divide Maine into recreational seasons. There's Black Fly season, Trout season, Mosquito season, Hunting season, Black Fly season, again, and, of course football season, High School Football Season, to be correct. But I know, having been raised there, that there are only three distinct seasons. One of these seasons, however, repeats twice during the year.
Winter is the longest of these three. It begins somewhere around Columbus Day and ends around Memorial Day. Other than being exceptionally pretty once in a while, winter is dark, cold and quiet. Dark because the sun doesn't rise until after school or work begins and sets at, or very nearly at, the time you get home from work or school. Quiet because everyone bunkers in, shuts down, and goes into hibernation mode for the entire season. The tourists are gone, the "away" people have left for another year, and, other than ice fishing, and that strange crowd that ride snowmobiles, there's really nothing much to do. Winter in Maine is cold. Not a refreshing, exhilarating type of cold. But a forehead numbing, finger freezing, peel the skin off your cheeks, cold. And damp. I have many, not so fond, memories of walking home from school in the dark when the temperature was dropping from a high of 15. By the time I got to the old iron bridge from Bangor to Brewer I was so cold that my tears froze on my cheeks and I couldn't feel my forehead anymore. Why was I crying? Well, I hated the fact that I had to go to that Catholic school five miles away instead of the public school which was literally in my back yard. Now I know that sounds like sour grapes, and maybe it is. I had no one to blame for my fate. I had behaved badly in public school and was sent to the Nuns for the discipline I so desperately needed. So, I made that trip every day for three school years. As it turned out, I learned much more about myself and life than anything the school taught me. These daily treks alone through the freezing cold and stinging snow gave me time to contemplate my fate, and I hated my life in Maine at those times. This same walk in the opposite direction, however, was full of promise and excitement. It was just as cold and just as long, but the walk to school was, somehow, fun. I looked forward to it almost every day. Some days I would stop at the Bangor Rye Company and buy a freshly baked "Boogie" roll for a nickel and use it to warm my hands. It also warmed my body as I savored it while walking up the hill to Broadway and St. John's School, and later, John Bapst High School. I loved my life in Maine during those times.Summer, or Tourist Season, began around the middle of June and ended precisely at 6:00pm on the first Monday of September, Labor Day. Why 6:00pm? That was the time when the restaurants brought out the "off-season" menus, priced for the Mainers. Summer was the time when Mainers would gear up to take money away from the people coming from "away". These "away" people were those who came to Maine each summer to work in the tourist traps. A lot of people refer to the "away" people as tourists, but they weren't. College kids, hucksters, Carnies, and "foodies" were the real "away" people. They would open craft stores, "antique" shops, and "Authentic New England" food stalls with food shipped in from New York. And summer was their time. Even though they were resented, Mainers permitted these "away" people to come to Maine to work because they always spent more then they earned. The did the work that Mainers did not want to do. And, for the most part, they provided a constant supply of beer and causal sexual opportunities for the locals. Otherwise, they stayed to themselves.
For me, Summer was that brief interval between school terms when I had to work. I worked in the tourist industry, sort off. My Aunt Anna worked in the New Franklin Laundry. For over forty years, she did almost every job in this large commercial laundry, from sweeping the floors to packing finished laundry for delivery. It was hard, crippling work, and she did it every day of her adult life. It was through her influence I was able to get a coveted position each summer. The laundry operated a second shift during summer to accommodate the motels and hotels in the area because they could never keep up with the demands by themselves. I worked the dryers. Four large commercial gas fired dryers that I kept busy for the entire shift. Each afternoon I would begin loading hundreds of pounds of towels, wash clothes, and bath mats into these dryers and then I folded the dried product and packed it for delivery. It was hot, heavy, and repetitious. But I thoroughly enjoyed it. I was left alone. I knew my job and did it without interference from the foreman or other distractions. These were happy times. And I got paid real money. Twice as much as I could get bagging groceries or picking beans or berries. Probably as an omen of the future, I spent a large part of my savings at the end of each season taking the Greyhound to Boston to see the Red Sox and be the same type of resented tourist in Boston we resented in Maine. My mother still says that I couldn't wait to get out of Maine, even then. Maybe she was right.The last of the Maine seasons is Mud Season. This is the few weeks at the end of winter when the melting snow and ice causes the ground to swell with wetness. In farm country, like Iowa or California, this wetness would be welcomed and promise banner crops and beautiful green, well, everything. In Maine, at least the part of Maine where I lived, it meant a soggy bog of slate gray clay mud. It oozed up through the cracks in the pavement, it crept out from under sidewalks. This disgustingly slimy, silvery mess splashed out of potholes large enough to sail in, dousing passersby with gray yuk. Every car was gray. Every tire on every car was gray. Every shoe not covered with rubbers, was gray. There was no escaping it. Now, as I said at the beginning of this piece, Mud Season is the one season Mainers get to enjoy twice each year. Enjoy is probably a poor choice of words because there is nothing whatsoever enjoyable about Mud Season. As slimy and sticky as the "after Winter" mud season was, at least it held a promise that things were getting warmer and that Summer was close by. The "after Summer" mud season was particularly uncomfortable. It provided all of the same yuckiness, without any promise of hope. This season was marked by rain. Relentless, cold, steady, days at a time, rain. Not a nice thunder storm to clean the air. But a cold, gray rain, falling from dark gray clouds that hung so close to the gray streaked ground that you felt like a iron gray anvil was hanging over your head. This mud season did not promise hope, it was the preamble to the long, dark, quiet, and cold winter. I believe that this Mud Season had a purpose, however. This Mud Season was designed to make people wish, no pray, for a change, any change. Winter, with all of it's problems was a welcome relief after enduring the clammy, gray cold of Mud Season. That first clear, crisp day of winter, with it's bright, sparkling blue sky that went on forever, was so refreshing and renewing that it made living in Maine a joy.In his infinite wisdom, the creator put those two sets of despicable, miserable few weeks in Maine to force Mainers to appreciate their short, hot, muggy summer, dominated by "away" people who had more money than sense, and their long, dark, and cold winter when nobody had anything except school, church, neighbors, and family.There is much I miss about living in Maine. My family mostly. I left Maine 35 years ago to earn a living, something not available in Maine at that time. I have traveled back "home" many times over the years. But each time, I was aware that I was now from "away" and not really a Mainer. I'm not alone in this. I heard the same thing at reunions from classmates who, like me, left Maine to find a career and go back now to visit. We had become tourists in our own home town. My wife and I have discussed returning to Maine now that we are retired. We remember events in our childhood and remember the places that were special to us. And then we talk to my parents, who continue to live in Maine, and hear that those places are no longer there. They tells of heating oil at four dollars a gallon and how it's a struggle to make it from one year to the next. So, unfortunately, now that we are retired and on a fixed income, we can not afford to live in Maine. We left Maine because of money and we can't go back for the same reason. We now live in a small city in Mexico. Our meager pensions go much farther here allowing us to live a comfortable, quiet life. No snow or cold weather. No heating oil bills, no snow tires, or heavy winter clothes. And, we get very little rain. But when it does rain, we get mud. Slimy, sticky, baby poop yellow mud that gets into everything. It splashes on the cars, cakes on our shoes, and tracks into the house. It's very yucky. It makes me homesick, sometimes.

Flash Fiction contest winner

2008-10-13T12:42:00.000-05:00

Window On The World

“I am telling you the truth, Officer, I saw a woman running and screaming down the street with nothing on.” They never believe me when I call them. They think I’m nuts. Well, I’m not nuts and the woman was real.
I see the strangest things through my window. I’m lucky to have a good window. Some of my friends don’t have a window at all and some that do, can’t see anything through them. My window looks right out onto the street. The other day I saw a three legged man riding a bicycle, or was a two legged man riding a tricycle? Whichever it was it seemed odd at the time. I called the police, but they said that they really couldn’t spare an officer to investigate, but that they would cruise the neighborhood to see if they saw anything strange. When the officer was finished taking my report something must have happened in the station, because I overheard a lot of laughter on the phone. Maybe someone tripped or something.
“No, doctor, I’m not crazy. It was a woman, totally naked, running down the street, screaming.” I’m used to this. It happens every so often. Something weird happens through my window and people think I’m nuts because I report it. Most of the time they are polite and take a report and check it out. But sometimes they get upset and try to take my window away. I just remind them that I pay rent here and that they can’t just take my stuff away. I have rights, after all.
It’s been like this for the last seventeen years. Ever since I moved here. I needed a place to stay after my wife left. She was such a nag. Bitch, bitch, bitch! Well the bitching stopped the day she looked through my window. I don’t remember all of the details, but she stopped nagging at me all of a sudden. Whatever it was she saw through my window must have set her straight. There was so much blood. I had to move because of the blood.
“More medication? No, I’m fine thank you. Do you have any raisins?” They’re very nice here, always checking if my meds are OK. I have a medical condition. Kind of embarrassing, in a way. Apparently I need medications to be able to see clearly through my window. When I don’t get enough, the window seems too dirty to see through. When I get too much, I don’t go too close to my window, I might fall out onto the street.
“What do you mean, was the woman I saw running down the street my wife?” Some of the questions these people ask, I just laugh. I think they think I don’t know that my wife is in Des Moines, visiting her sister. She’ll be back soon. But I must admit, it is a lot quieter since she looked through my window. It’s time for lunch. I always get hungry on electric shock day. I hope they have fish.

HADLEY'S CAFE

2008-10-13T12:30:00.000-05:00

In the very small town of Brewer, Maine, the chances of anything exciting happening during the long, cold winter is very slim. Folks around here bunker in during winter. They stay to themselves and family. Other than to attend the occasional church and school function, they don't go out much. That's what makes this so remarkable. About a month ago, a series of events changed my life and the life of my life long, best friend, Hadley.The phone rang at about ten past midnight. It was not completely unexpected. It had been snowing and I had the contract to plow the IGA parking lot. I did think it a bit strange that they would be calling this early, or late, depending on your point of view. But it wasn't them, it was the Penobscot County Sheriff's office. The deputy asked me my name and if I was acquainted with a Joseph A. Hadley, of Brewer. "Yes", I said, "what's this all about"? Could I come to the Emergency Room at Eastern Maine? She would explain there. He was my friend, of course I would be there for him. The things that went through my head on the way from my home to the hospital ranged from suicide to homicide. From someone finally taking all of the shit they could from Hadley and beating it out of him. Or, maybe he needed my special services, again.
Hadley's Cafe is the kind of place that exists because it has to. It has no redeeming qualities whatsoever. The food's not good and it would be an insult to the word to claim any ambiance. The Cafe has been on this spot for 75 years. Ever since the Mill was opened. Now, that's not exactly accurate, and I want to be as truthful as possible in re-telling this story. The building housing the Cafe was moved once to make way for a new rail line to the Mill. It would have been cut in two, so they moved the building ten yards to the left. That was in "48. So, anyway, as far as anyone is concerned, the Cafe has been a fixture of this town, forever. It wasn't always called 'Hadley's' though. For 60 years this place was known as the JET Diner. Hadley changed the name when he bought the place. The whole of South Brewer was up in arms when he did that. Cries of "tradition" and "history" were thrown about the City Council meetings. A petition was circulated by the good members of the Committee for Historic Preservation to force Hadley to change the name back to the JET. When that didn't work, the City started to apply pressure by issuing codes warnings and threatening to rescind his permits. Hadley responded to these concerned citizens by closing the diner. He decided that it wasn't worth the hassle to keep fighting, so he just went in one morning and cleaned out the perishable food, shut off the gas and electric and locked the place up. It stayed closed for about two weeks before the Mill owners came to Hadley, asking him to reopen. It seemed that not only was the diner an historical place, but, (and evidently of higher importance) it was also the only place close enough for the mill workers to get lunch in the short time they had. In our town, the Mill always got what it wanted, so the City stopped pressuring Hadley and he reopened the Cafe. Feelings had been hurt on both sides and the resentments never went completely away. But Hadley didn't care. He didn't seem to care about anything except money.
Hadley was cheap. Not the "I don't tip" kind of cheap, but the penny pinching, hoard every dime, cheap. This was reflected in the way he ran the Cafe. Hadley charged for everything. If you had coffee he charged extra for sugar and cream. Crackers with your soup would cost you more. If you wanted your BLT toasted, extra. Don't even think about free seconds of anything. Full price, always.
Hadley measured out portions as if he was measuring chemicals, and to be off, even a bit, would cause an explosion. Not that his portions were small. Hadley was cheap, but he wasn't stingy. If you ate at the Cafe you went away satisfied, if not comforted. Comfort was in short supply at Hadley's Cafe. You see, not only was he cheap, Hadley was also not a nice man. He never, ever, smiled. He was rude and somewhat vulgar to his customers. The up side, though, was that he almost never spoke first. Most of the time all he would do to answer customers questions was grunt or utter one or two words. That is, if he chose to answer at all. If someone, especially a tourist off the bus, asked a question that Hadley deemed too stupid to answer, like "is the fish fresh" or "can I get change?" Hadley would let go with a string of curses and slams that would make a sailor blush. So most of the time the regulars didn't bothered to talk to him. They would point to the chalk board at what they wanted to eat and help themselves to a coffee or a soft drink out of the cooler in the corner. That suited Hadley just fine. The less human contact he had to suffer the better.
Now, why I even bring any of this up is... Well, it was last month, as I said, on a Tuesday. It was cold. I mean one of those colds that causes your forehead to freeze up. And damp. I was at Hadley's with Flynn, my friend from the Mill. Up until then it was just a typical day. we had snuck out a little early to get to the cafe before the rush. We needn't have hurried, though. Rush hour at Hadley's was really just rush 'ten minutes' because nobody who could avoid it went in there any more. And those that did, the Mill workers, wanted their food to go and got out of there as soon as possible. Hadley charged extra for the plastic cartons and forks, but it was worth the price to avoid him. Even on this cold, damp day in February, people would rather get their food and eat in their cars than sit in the warm cafe and endure Hadley. Flynn and I ate in for two reasons. First my car heater didn't work that well, and second, we knew Hadley from before. We all grew up on the same street. Flynn, Nichols, Reed, Mitchell, and Beck, God rest his soul, and Hadley, were all about the same age, and we went to the same schools. We played sports together, went to church together, we went exploring in Adams field and misbehaved at Puck's Muck together, we shared our lives as intimately as brothers. So, Flynn and I knew that the Hadley of today was not the Hadley we grew up with.
Something terrible had happened to him from the time we graduated High School and when he came back to Brewer from the service. The Globe and Anchor tattoo on Hadley's arm told some of the story. But without specific details all we could do was guess about what had happened. Hadley was one of the few people from our town who joined the service out of High School. Most of us went to work in the Mill or in our family's business. At that time, joining the military was an honorable thing to do. It was something to boast about. Servicemen were given respect. A man in uniform couldn't buy a drink in a bar because everyone there would buy for him. Girls still swooned over medals and stripes. Businesses would give discounts. Mothers would display stars in the windows of their houses and fathers had pictures of their military sons in their shops. That was 1966. Over the next few years all of that was to change. It changed while Hadley was with the Marines in Viet Nam. Now, I say Hadley was 'with' the Marines because he was not "in" the Marines, per se. Hadley joined the Navy, just as his father and grandfather had done before him. His was a Navy family. He went to Basic Training and advanced his education by attending the Hospital Corps School where he learned how to be Corpsman.
After training he was assigned to duty at the Navy hospital at Newport, Rhode Island. That's were we met up for the first time since High School. Hadley had been stationed at the hospital for almost two years, ever since Corps School. He had settled in to what had to have been the best duty station on the East Coast. Newport in the mid sixties was THE happening place for young people, especially young sailors. The clubs, beaches, and the half dozen all girls colleges in the area made Newport a party town. The Folk, Jazz, and Rock festivals were icing on an already tasty cake. I arrived in June of '67. I had completed Corps school three months after Hadley and was very excited to be stationed in the same town. I was already assigned to the Fleet Marine Force and was part of the Marine Security Detachment at the Naval War College. Hadley took me under his wing and showed me all of the ways I could get in trouble in Newport. It was Hadley who told me that "if you never woke up in the brig, with stitches you don't know how you got, you didn't have a good time". And, unfortunately, he was right. I didn't expect to live long enough to worry about a Good Conduct Medal anyway. All of the Corpsmen of that time eventually went to Vietnam and the odds of coming home in one piece were not in our favor. Six weeks after I arrived in Newport, he left. Hadley was reassigned to the Fleet Marine Force, Viet Nam where he joined a Marine platoon in a combat position. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one of our group who knows these details. I was one of the few from home who received letters from Hadley in the early days of his tour. After he was there for about six weeks he stopped writing and I lost track of him for about five years. His mother took down the star after a while. His dad changed jobs and never put the picture of Hadley in his Navy dress blues up again. Life went on and everybody just sort of forgot about him.
Then one day, out of the blue, Hadley showed up back in Brewer at a High School football game. We hadn't seen each other since Newport, six years earlier. This particular October Friday night was Homecoming. I was hanging out with Flynn and Mitchell. I didn't recognize him at first. He had lost about fifty pounds. His hair was long and shaggy and his clothes were out of place; combat boots, jeans, and a military style field jacket. He just didn't look as if he belonged there. It wasn't until I heard his voice that I could place him. I went up to him to say hello and it was then that I knew something was terribly wrong. This man was Hadley, but not the Hadley I remembered. The most striking thing was the absence of life in his eyes. Black holes where bright blue eyes had been. His skin was sallow. He looked dead. When I said hello, he nodded and walked away. That was it, not even a "how've ya been" or "get lost", nothing, he just walked away. When I told Flynn and Mitchell what had happened they just said,"fuck him, if he can't take a joke". The following Monday the JET Diner was Hadley's Cafe, owned and operated by my best childhood friend who I didn't know at all.
Back to last Tuesday. I was sitting with Flynn eating chili burgers and fries when it happened. The Bus from Portland stopped across the street and this guy got off. Guys getting off the bus was not that unusual, but this particular one, he was different. We watched as he hesitated a little, looked both ways, then crossed the road and walked into the Cafe. Flynn and I knew immediately that this was going to be good. We knew that we was going to see the closest thing to theater in Brewer. Hadley was going to blow his top. The anticipation of the show was so intense that I couldn't even eat. Hadley had his back to the counter, as usual. Flynn and I almost died waiting for him to turn around. We knew that Hadley had a very low tolerance for different people, and this guy was different. Maybe not different in Boston or even Portland, but in Brewer he was different. You see, the man was black, African-American, Negro, colored, whatever the politically correct term is these days. There were no black families living in Brewer. Never had been. There was that family in Orrington who had the great produce stand each summer, but that's another story.
The tension in the cafe was so thick it almost cut through the smell of the fries, almost. It all but exploded when the young black man walked up to the counter, took a seat on one of the stools, and spoke. "What can I get to eat for a dollar and seven cents?" Flynn and I almost fell out of our chairs. Here was this guy, a black guy, a stranger in our town, asking probably the cheapest, rudest man in Maine, the one person who we knew was last person to care about this man's problems, and he was asking Hadley what he could eat for a dollar seven. Flynn hit me in the shoulder and nodded toward the door as if to show me the emergency route, anticipating an eruption of anger and maybe even violence. Hadley turned and faced the young man, stared directly into this man's eyes, wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, and said in a calm, almost friendly voice, "you can have anything you want off the board". "You want some coffee?" Hadley poured the man a cup of coffee and brought him the sugar and creamer. Something he never does, not even for Miss Fickett, with the artificial leg.
Hadley talked to this guy. He actually engaged in polite conversation. Now, as I said before, I've known Hadley for all of my life and he has never, ever, had a racist bone in his body. So, that he was polite to this black man was not unexpected. That he was being polite to anyone, was. I didn't hear all of what was being said, only bits and pieces. A word here and there. "jar head", "2/1", "Iraq", "Nam", "1st Med", "Boston", "Calais". The man ate his food with gusto, like it had been a long time since his last meal. Hadley compounded our confusion when he asked the guy if he needed seconds. Flynn choked on that one. When he was finished with his meal, the guy got up and shook Hadley's hand. And then, to take us over the edge, Hadley refused to take the guy's money. He flatly refused to accept the dollar and seven cents. As confidently as he came in, the young man walked out of the Cafe. I saw Hadley watching through the window as the guy got back on the Bus. As it drove away, I heard that mean, rude, and sometimes crude man say, in almost a whisper, "Semper Fi, brother". That's when it all became clear to me.
The parking lot at the ER was all but empty. Only a few cars covered with the new snow and two Sheriff's department patrol cars at the entrance with their blue emergency lights still flashing. The combination of the orange light coming from inside the hospital and the blue strobes of the police cars reminded me of the light shows I saw at the Cheetah Club in Chicago while on Liberty from Great Lakes. Only much colder. It didn't take my mind off wondering why I had been summoned here. As I entered the lobby, I was immediately struck with the staff and how they moved in a rhythm, like dancers in a ballet. Nobody bothered to ask me why I was there. They apparently were anticipating my arrival. The lady behind the counter looked up and, without speaking, gestured for my to go down the hall to the left. The corridor was cluttered with spare stretchers, electrical equipment, and linen baskets on wheels. The bright florescent lights made everything parked in the hall look stark and cold. Two Sheriff's deputies were standing outside of the last room on the right. The door was closed. Before I could get to the room, one of the deputies, I guessed the one who called me, because the other was a man, approached me and asked, "Are you Bobby James?" I nodded. She went on "Mr Hadley has had an 'episode' of some sort". "He asked for you, specifically". "Can you tell us why?" It took me a moment to gather my thoughts, but when I did I told the deputy that I had a pretty good idea. "What kind of 'episode' are we talking about?"
Hadley's Cafe was closed for about three weeks after that. The sign on the door read "Closed due to family illness". No one knew any details, except me. It was the black guy, you see. That was the trigger. There wasn't a thing anyone could have done to predict it, or prevent it. Sometimes shit just happens. Hadley had been found crouched in the ditch along the Bar Harbor road, armed to the teeth with knives and guns. The sheriff's patrol almost shot him when they saw the weapons. It must have been very scary for them. When he starting raving about "VC" and "ambush", they understood, thank God. They had to mace him to get him under control. That's when he asked for my help. Even though he was experiencing vivid hallucinations and was totally consumed with fear, he knew that he needed help. And, he knew I would be that help. This was not the first time Hadley had needed this type of help. It had happened before. He was experiencing another of what they explained to me as a "flashback" to his Viet Nam days. The first time happened about two years after he had returned to the World from Viet Nam. Not as severe as this one, but just as dangerous. That time all he needed was to have his meds tweaked and his counseling sessions increased to twice a week. This time, however, I knew that Hadley was going to need a refresher period back at the PTSD Center at the Togas VA. I asked the Sheriff if they would drop the charges and permit me to take Hadley with me. "Did I want an escort?", "Was he safe?", they asked before calling their superiors to get the necessary approvals. The hospital people agreed to discharge him to my care. They knew me, after all. I'm "the veteran's guy". The guy they call when someone needs Viet Nam related help. When someone steps out of reality and regresses to that scary and dangerous place.
I know that at any time, for no apparent reason, any one of us could go off to that place and need someone who has been there to recognize the symptoms and intervene. I went to Viet Nam the year after Hadley. I had been a Marine Corpsman just like him. And I knew that what was happening to Hadley on that cold Wednesday morning in Maine might happen to me next week or next year. I was there for Hadley on that night so he can be there for me when I need him. You know what they say, "once a Marine, always a Marine"? It goes for Corpsmen, too. We live it, still, every day. Semper Fi, Brothers.

Probably the most important thing I have ever done

2008-10-13T12:04:00.001-05:00

In 1969 I was sent to Viet Nam as a combat corpsman with the US Marines. Never before and not since, have I ever been so alive and so proud as during those days in the mud and sand of I-Corps with "H" 2/1 and then 1st Med Batt.

In honor of Mr. Libby

2008-10-13T11:59:00.000-05:00

I fancy myself a writer. There is absolutely no reason for doing so. I just decided to be a writer. I teach English to students on the Internet. One of my students, Marcelo, from Brazil, asked me to explain why I had become a writer. I was stuck! What does it take to be a writer? I couldn't give him an answer that made any sense. The flippant answer was all it takes is a pencil and a piece paper. But that didn't sound like a fair answer to a legitimate question, so I told him I would give the answer at our next class. What follows is that answer.
While a student (and I use that expression loosely) at Brewer High School in Brewer, Maine, I was routinely called to the Guidance Office where Ms Curran would tell me that I was not working up to my potential, that I was at risk of being held back, and that I would not graduate with my class. She was correct, of course, and as a result I failed Junior English and was required to take both Junior and Senior English the following year. This would be difficult under any conditions, but there was a tricky bit of fate at work. On the first day of my Senior year I was assigned to Mr. Libby's home room. For those who are unfamiliar with Homeroom, this is where each student starts the day, receives announcements, and is counted for attendance for the day. On this first day of classes I was given my class schedule for the school year. The scheduling gods, for whatever sinister reasons, had assigned me to Mr. Libby not only for homeroom, but for Junior English, Senior English and for my only study period. Of the seven class periods in the day, I was to be in with Mr. Libby for four of them, three of which were consecutive.
Having to take both Junior and Senior English in the same year placed a tremendous strain on my ability to fake my way through. Having Mr. Libby in four out of seven class periods each day made it impossible to slide through and ditch classes. It seemed that at last the academic powers had caught up with me and I was actually going to have to do some school work. But the real kicker was that I was now responsible for reading books and writing reports on these books. Twelve books for Junior English and 14 books for Senior English. I was being required to both read and write a report on 26 books in one school year. And to complicate matters further, I was required to do these reports for the same teacher.
I was to find out only after completing High School and enlisting in the Navy that I was essentially blind in my left eye do to an astigmatism. I was unable to see words in the correct order. So it is enough to say that I didn't read any books, or anything else for that matter during school. But I did complete 26 book reports during my Senior year. I would go to the library and find the books that hadn't been signed out for over a year believing that if they had not been signed out no one else would be writing a report on those books. I would read the dust cover and maybe the first and last pages of the book and then create a complete four page synopsis of the book from my mind. I would sign out the books and keep them out until Mr. Libby graded my reports. That way he would not be able to go the library to check my work. My God, I was clever!
Mr. Libby was a very good teacher and a very compassionate man. As a good teacher he held me to very high standards of behavior and compliance with the expectations of the classes. As a compassionate man, he knew that I was not reading any of the books I wrote about in my reports. But he accepted my reports anyway and graded them for content, grammar, and spelling, knowing full well that I had not read the books. I know that now, but at the time I was sure that I was getting away with the biggest hoax in the school. It wasn't until Graduation Day that he stopped me in the parking lot and told me, in a very calm but serious tone, that he would very much like to read the books I had written the reports about, and that it was a shame that a God given talent was being wasted on me.
I graduated in the class of 1966 from Brewer High School and went immediately into the service. While in the Navy, I was fitted with glasses and was, for first time, able to read the words in the order they were placed on the page. I was able to go on to earn a Masters Degree in Education and recently retired as a Guidance Counselor. I have just had my first work of fiction published, a short story entitled Hadley's Cafe. I can't help but to think that Mr. Libby would be sure that I stole it from the dust jacket of someone else's book. And who could blame him. I don't know if he lives today. I hope so. And I hope he is still inspiring students to be creative while complying with the expectations of their school. I would like him to know that I did go on to write and that his influences on me were not wasted, and neither are my talents, limited as they may be.