Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Friday, February 17, 2006
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
My robe and my computer
Last Friday I received my Apple iBook via Fed-EX. Today, I received a gift from my friend who is a part-time missionary. He gave me a hand stitched robe from Guatemala. Tonight, while wearing this robe and playing on my new computer, I felt some mixed emotions; I felt guilty, humble and grateful all at the same time. There is a story attached and bound to this robe. There is a pastor in Guatemala who has moved his wife and seven kids into his church because they lost their home to a hurricane this year. Along with his family, he has taken in several homeless street orphans as well. All of them are living within this church that has a dirt floor, and isn’t much bigger than a home garage. This robe that has been given to me was hand sown by the pastor's wife, which I was told took her several months to do. My friend along with his team of other missionaries didn’t know what they would be doing when they got Guatemala, but once they met this pastor and heard his story, they knew they were sent to build this man and his family a parsonage.
My two newest possessions come from two different worlds and those worlds are not likely to meet anywhere else except here in my front room
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Thursday, February 09, 2006
My birthday and his death day.
While taking criminology classes in college, I had to prepare a research paper for a Police Evidence class I was taking. I chose to write the paper on the subject of finger printing. For my assignment I interviewed a detective named James Schabenland. Mr. Schabenland was the Tulare County Sheriff’s Department finger print specialist and worked in the crime lab, which was located in the basement of the jail. He was a nice man, who spoke few words, which made my task of interviewing him a little more difficult. He was short, and round, kind of like an over grown hobbit of the sort. He most definitely had his share of extra doughnuts over the years. He was semi bald and had a red complection in his face. He didn’t look much like a cop. Maybe he did in his younger days, when he was working patrol, and wasn’t cooped up in a dungeon analyzing crime scene photos and finger prints.
I met with Mr. Schabenland on two occasions; he gave me all of the information I needed for my research paper. He showed me how the Cal-ID system worked and gave me a tour of the office. That was my extent of contact with Mr. Schabenland.
Living in a small town, I would sometimes see him driving around town and I knew where he lived. Spotting him was easy, because he drove an old Chevy station wagon, that had the Sheriff’s star on the door and had Crime Lab Unit written on both sides.
On this date, February 9, 1999, I got up and went to work at the Tulare County Youth Facility at 5 am in the morning. Pretty much a normal thing for me. I was working as a T.A.C. Officer on the morning shift. It was my 23rd birthday and it was storming that day. There was no march and drill this morning because of the rain. The thunderstorm had some of the darkest clouds I had ever seen. Just like typical thunderstorms that we get here in California, it would rain hard for about 20 minutes, then lighten up, then it would stop raining for a couple of hours and without warning, the sky would open up the flood gates for another 20 minutes worth of down pour.
It was about 9:30 in the morning, the Cadets were in school and I was in the break room with a couple of other officers. While watching the rain through the break room window, word had come that there was a shooting at the main jail. This was pretty big news. We didn’t know the details, but suspected that it was a jail break of some sort.
The morning carried on with the normal tasks and duties being fulfilled. Around noon, we received word that the shooting at the jail was the suicide of detective Schabenland. Mr. Schabenland had shot himself in the head with his department issued firearm out behind the jail, near the parking lot. I remember feeling deeply sad for this man, that I had once met while working on a research paper. The weather seemed to fit the news of his death; it was cold, dark, and uncharacteristic.
Its been seven years now since that day and I still think of Mr. Schabenland every year on my birthday. His death day is bound to my birthday forever.
RIP Mr Schabenland
While taking criminology classes in college, I had to prepare a research paper for a Police Evidence class I was taking. I chose to write the paper on the subject of finger printing. For my assignment I interviewed a detective named James Schabenland. Mr. Schabenland was the Tulare County Sheriff’s Department finger print specialist and worked in the crime lab, which was located in the basement of the jail. He was a nice man, who spoke few words, which made my task of interviewing him a little more difficult. He was short, and round, kind of like an over grown hobbit of the sort. He most definitely had his share of extra doughnuts over the years. He was semi bald and had a red complection in his face. He didn’t look much like a cop. Maybe he did in his younger days, when he was working patrol, and wasn’t cooped up in a dungeon analyzing crime scene photos and finger prints.
I met with Mr. Schabenland on two occasions; he gave me all of the information I needed for my research paper. He showed me how the Cal-ID system worked and gave me a tour of the office. That was my extent of contact with Mr. Schabenland.
Living in a small town, I would sometimes see him driving around town and I knew where he lived. Spotting him was easy, because he drove an old Chevy station wagon, that had the Sheriff’s star on the door and had Crime Lab Unit written on both sides.
On this date, February 9, 1999, I got up and went to work at the Tulare County Youth Facility at 5 am in the morning. Pretty much a normal thing for me. I was working as a T.A.C. Officer on the morning shift. It was my 23rd birthday and it was storming that day. There was no march and drill this morning because of the rain. The thunderstorm had some of the darkest clouds I had ever seen. Just like typical thunderstorms that we get here in California, it would rain hard for about 20 minutes, then lighten up, then it would stop raining for a couple of hours and without warning, the sky would open up the flood gates for another 20 minutes worth of down pour.
It was about 9:30 in the morning, the Cadets were in school and I was in the break room with a couple of other officers. While watching the rain through the break room window, word had come that there was a shooting at the main jail. This was pretty big news. We didn’t know the details, but suspected that it was a jail break of some sort.
The morning carried on with the normal tasks and duties being fulfilled. Around noon, we received word that the shooting at the jail was the suicide of detective Schabenland. Mr. Schabenland had shot himself in the head with his department issued firearm out behind the jail, near the parking lot. I remember feeling deeply sad for this man, that I had once met while working on a research paper. The weather seemed to fit the news of his death; it was cold, dark, and uncharacteristic.
Its been seven years now since that day and I still think of Mr. Schabenland every year on my birthday. His death day is bound to my birthday forever.
RIP Mr Schabenland
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
"Down On The World Again"
This ain't the way it's supposed to be, there's a dark cloud
Following me
I'm disillusioned
And I'm down on the world again
There's movies going on in my head
And all I can see is the color red
I 'm relentless
And I'm down on the world again
Give me tomorrow's broken dreams now
I'm feeling like a loaded gun
There's a world of guilt written on my face and
I feel ashamed for the human race
I've been forsaken
And I'm down on the world again
Well, I feel so alone in this crowd, my thoughts of despair
Are getting loud
I'm disrespected
And I'm down on the world again
Love and tolerance have abandoned me and
I feel the gloom hovering over me
I'm resentful
And I'm down on the world again
Give me tomorrow's broken dreams now
I'm feeling like a loaded gun
Give me tomorrow's holy schemes now, so hopeless
When there's no place left to run
Well, I tried to play for the higher stakes
You won't let me forget my mistakes
I'm unforgiven
And I'm down on the world again
This ain't the way it's supposed to be, there's a dark cloud
Following me
I'm distorted
And I'm down on the world again
-Social Distortion
Monday, February 06, 2006
I am going Apple people! Bu-by PC; hello Mac!
Saturday I purchased an I-Pod Nano.
Today I ordered my 14 inch I Book.
Maybe tomorrow I will get the Apple Logo tattoo on my Arm.
Friday, February 03, 2006
It doesn't remind me of anything...oh, but it does.
I walk the streets of Japan till I get lost
Cause it doesn’t remind me of anything
With a graveyard tan carrying a cross
Cause it doesn’t remind me of anything
I like studying faces in a parking lot
Cause it doesn’t remind me of anything
I like driving backwards in the fog
Cause it doesn’t remind me of anything
The things that I’ve loved
the things that I’ve lost
The things I’ve held sacred
that I’ve dropped
I won’t lie no more
you can betI don’t want to learn what I’ll need to forget
I like gypsy moths and radio talk
Cause it doesn’t remind me of anything
I like gospel music and canned applause
Cause it doesn’t remind me of anything
I like colorful clothing in the sun
Cause it doesn’t remind me of anything
I ilke hammering nails and speaking in tongues
Cause it doesn’t remind me of anything
The things that I’ve loved the things that I’ve lost
The things I’ve held sacred that I’ve dropped
I won’t lie no more you can betI don’t want to learn what I’ll need to forget
Bend and shape meI
love the way you are
Slow and sweetly
Like never before
Calm and sleeping
We won’t stir up the past
So descretely We won’t look back
The things that I’ve loved the things that I’ve lost
The things I’ve held sacred that I’ve dropped
I won’t lie no more you can betI don’t want to learn what I’ll need to forget
I like throwing my voice and breaking guitars
Cause it doesn’t remind me of anything
I like playing in the sand what’s mine is ours
If it doesn’t remind me of anything
-Audioslave
I walk the streets of Japan till I get lost
Cause it doesn’t remind me of anything
With a graveyard tan carrying a cross
Cause it doesn’t remind me of anything
I like studying faces in a parking lot
Cause it doesn’t remind me of anything
I like driving backwards in the fog
Cause it doesn’t remind me of anything
The things that I’ve loved
the things that I’ve lost
The things I’ve held sacred
that I’ve dropped
I won’t lie no more
you can betI don’t want to learn what I’ll need to forget
I like gypsy moths and radio talk
Cause it doesn’t remind me of anything
I like gospel music and canned applause
Cause it doesn’t remind me of anything
I like colorful clothing in the sun
Cause it doesn’t remind me of anything
I ilke hammering nails and speaking in tongues
Cause it doesn’t remind me of anything
The things that I’ve loved the things that I’ve lost
The things I’ve held sacred that I’ve dropped
I won’t lie no more you can betI don’t want to learn what I’ll need to forget
Bend and shape meI
love the way you are
Slow and sweetly
Like never before
Calm and sleeping
We won’t stir up the past
So descretely We won’t look back
The things that I’ve loved the things that I’ve lost
The things I’ve held sacred that I’ve dropped
I won’t lie no more you can betI don’t want to learn what I’ll need to forget
I like throwing my voice and breaking guitars
Cause it doesn’t remind me of anything
I like playing in the sand what’s mine is ours
If it doesn’t remind me of anything
-Audioslave
Thursday, February 02, 2006
While driving Grace to her Great Grandmother's house this morning she made a request from the back seat.
“Daddy, Sing.”
“Ok sugar bear.” I replied and I began to sing “the wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, the wheels..”
“No!” she protested.
“This” she said, pointing to the car stereo.
Yeah, I don’t blame her, I don’t sing as well as Mommy or Michael Stipe for all that it matters.
“Daddy, Sing.”
“Ok sugar bear.” I replied and I began to sing “the wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, the wheels..”
“No!” she protested.
“This” she said, pointing to the car stereo.
Yeah, I don’t blame her, I don’t sing as well as Mommy or Michael Stipe for all that it matters.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
STATE OF THE BLOG ADDRESS
Today I stand before you and proudly proclaim that the State of the Blog is strong.
(Applause)
Though we have had some rough and slow times, we have persevered, and our resolve for reflection and creative thought will not wither. Writer’s block will not defeat us!
(Applause)
In another victory, we have stood strong against spammers. Because of our security procedures and inter-blogging spy wear programs, we have not had one spammer breach the security walls of spiltwine.
(Applause)
Over the last three years we have been introduce to new friends across the world who share in our vision for free speech and creative expression for all. The Blogsphere knows no boundaries and sees no colors. We have made friends with Robots, Skateboarding Philosophers, Poets, Teachers, Artists and Fellow Journey Men. Our alliances are strong!
(Applause)
For the future of all blogs, we must stay focus. Though these blogs are open for community sharing, we must remember that we write for ourselves, not for the audience. It is only this way, we can fully express who we are, and what we feel without feeling suppressed by the thought or worry of what others will think.
(Applause)
I thank all of you for reading and providing encouraging comments and most of all for being my friend. Thank you.
(Applause)
Today I stand before you and proudly proclaim that the State of the Blog is strong.
(Applause)
Though we have had some rough and slow times, we have persevered, and our resolve for reflection and creative thought will not wither. Writer’s block will not defeat us!
(Applause)
In another victory, we have stood strong against spammers. Because of our security procedures and inter-blogging spy wear programs, we have not had one spammer breach the security walls of spiltwine.
(Applause)
Over the last three years we have been introduce to new friends across the world who share in our vision for free speech and creative expression for all. The Blogsphere knows no boundaries and sees no colors. We have made friends with Robots, Skateboarding Philosophers, Poets, Teachers, Artists and Fellow Journey Men. Our alliances are strong!
(Applause)
For the future of all blogs, we must stay focus. Though these blogs are open for community sharing, we must remember that we write for ourselves, not for the audience. It is only this way, we can fully express who we are, and what we feel without feeling suppressed by the thought or worry of what others will think.
(Applause)
I thank all of you for reading and providing encouraging comments and most of all for being my friend. Thank you.
(Applause)
