adios amigo

adios compadre
a shell of man buried
a living man
now walks among us
as Lazarus
a friend and follower
of Jesus
born of tears
sorrow pain fears
putting down the old yoke
taking up another
the story of man
a story redemption
¡hola amigo
my brother returns
let's leave this sitefor Brian walks among the living

dating advice usually ignored

I will admit that there are nutty guys out there just as much as there are fruitcake gals. Dating is a mine field and one can't be so desperate or emotionally involved as to go into a relationship with eyes wide shut and common sense unplugged. It's a wise thing to consider the strange idiosyncrasies and realize the craziness won't get better along the way or go away. Chances are, the idiosyncratic behavior will only become more pronounced or even worsen. Lovely feeling won't make it all better. Be picky even if the pick'ens are slim.

There's another kind of crazy ~ to think one can change a partner in time. Good luck with that. My advise is, you got to know when to hold'em, know when to fold'em, know when to walk away and know when to run.

storytellers we

I tell more stories than jokes.  My dad was that way.  I was thinking today about the jokes my dad used to tell ~ and they weren't many.  He had a few funny jokes.  His kids knew them well because we heard them whenever company had joined us at the dinner table.  Dad also had some standard jokes that he'd tell for his lay ministry work visiting churches.  Those jokes were always new to different congregations.

Dad did have plenty of stories.  Dad knew how to tell them.  I always enjoyed listening to his stories of his growing up in a big family in Cheraw, South Carolina.  Most of his childhood tellings had to do with his mischievous older brother Murdoch who was the teaser of the family.

There was that time Murdoch fell asleep in the bathtub and failed to get out when his Papa, Mr. Burruss Finlayson, was banging on the door to get in.  There were two entries into the bathroom and Murdoch woke up too late and ran out the door when his Papa gained entry using one of the doors.  Murdoch grabbed a towel as he escaped through the front of the house.  The towel, unfortunately, was snatched by the screen door as he fled.  Murdoch ended up running down the sidewalk buck naked.  In his haste, he literally ran into a little lady that was their neighbor.

Needless to say, Murdoch spent the remainder of his childhood and young adulthood avoiding her.  It was a funny story to hear and just one of many stories my father used to tell.

My older brother used to tell jokes, but he too is a better storyteller than a joke-teller.  Brook can tell a story with perfect accuracy and make it entertaining to boot.  His stories can go into overtime because of the needed setup for accuracy's sake.  Brooky is as a history buff and knows his scripture too.  He can tell a story, teach a lesson while entertaining you at the same time.  He's a high school teacher and I know he is an excellent one at that.  I've run into many of his past students down through the years and they've all told me how he was their favorite.  I must agree, he's taught me many a lesson as my big brother while growing up.  Even when he's not teaching, he's entertained me with many a fascinating tale.
“If history were taught in the form of stories, it would never be forgotten.”
-Rudyard Kipling

As for me, I am a good storyteller too.  I once had a job where my supervisor once commented what a wonderful and interesting life I have had and am having ~ with all the many rich experiences I had shared with him.  I replied that my life was probably no more adventurous or interesting than anyone else, I just knew how to tell a story.  Every life has a story, it's just that not everyone knows how to tell it.

My stories don't always have a moral like those of my father.  Not all my stories have a lesson like those my brother can tell.  I tell stories that encourage laughter, because that's what I'm about.  It's the funny things in life I remember and enjoy recounting.  I like to tell stories that inspire laughter.


Afterthought: I hope that when I die, family and friends don't gather round to mourn, but rather come and tell the funny stories that came from what was my life.  I really want my end to bring on a good punchline.  

Goodbye Mickey Rooney

I just read that Mickey Rooney died. The only time I ever recall my dad talk about an actor, it was in regards to Mickey Rooney.  He said that Mickey Rooney was one of the most talented fellows he'd ever seen on the screen.  His talents seemed to be limitless. Mickey could perform comedy to drama, sing, dance, do pratfalls, impersonations and was also quite a musician.  What couldn't that fellow not do?

My favorite role of Rooney's was that of the all-American depression era teenager - Andy Hardy.  I can't help but think that my dad saw a little Andy Hardy in himself.  I guess most of his generation felt the same way about Andy Hardy.  I'm sure that most of my dad's generation had a great fondness for Mickey Rooney. 

Mickey Rooney was one the greats.

into the outfield of dreams

Dad bought me this little baseball getup.  I still have it somewhere around the house.  My only baseball field was in my backyard.  I never was a little leaguer like many of my young friends.  I don't know why ~ perhaps I never asked.

My dad loved baseball.  He loved to go outside with his kids and play from his wooden stool.  We had a barrel of bats in the garage with ample gloves from which to choose.  I'm a southpaw, so dad made sure I had a glove just for me.  I guess I related family to baseball.  Everyone got to play from oldest down to youngest.  Everyone got to play.

In elementary school, R.A. Mitchell, I never played baseball with the rest of the kids during recess.  I'd often spend my free time on the bleachers pretending I was piloting a B-17 Flying Fortress, re-enacting scenes from the latest episode of 12 O'clock High.  I never thought to go out there and play ball.  Those kids, as young as they were at the time, seemed too serious about their sport.  It didn't look as fun as when the family played in our backyard.  Maybe that's why I never asked to play little league.

During one of my last days of elementary school I was made to play baseball.  The only time.  I couldn't get out of it.  It was one sixth grade class against the other sixth grade class.  The teachers were trying to make sure all the boys were in the game.  I spent most of the time in the dugout.  No one was about to let me get at the bat.  I was ganged up and threatened not to play.  I didn't want to play anyway.  I remember not wanting to sit in the dugout, on the cement slab seating. I'd rather be out there on the bleachers with my head in the clouds.

Time was running out and the bases were loaded.  It had been past my turn at bat several times.  Kids kept getting in front of me and keeping me in the dugout.  I just wanted out of the cage and out of the gate, into the school yard, away from the field.  The star players were arguing who was going to get to bat last.  One of the teachers came up and stopped the bickering and said it was my turn to bat.  I was told to take a bat and man the plate.  I heard a lot of angry voices around me.  One kid told the teacher that he knew I'd lose the game for them.  A couple of other of my classmates were yelling at me as I picked up a bat.  It was nerve-racking, but I'd swung at balls plenty of times before.  The teacher did not relent to the boys pleas.  She told the angry little mob that it was my turn to bat and that was that.  They all had plenty of chances, it was David's turn.

The bases were loaded and my team were not happy that the not so mighty David was at bat.  The first swing I swung and missed.  The second swing was a foul ball.  There was a boys voice in the background begging the teacher to please take me out of the game.  My eyes and thoughts focused on the next swing. 

I swung and made solid contact with the ball.  It went far out into the outfield and caught the boys out there off guard.  It was a good moment, just like in the movies.  All the boys ran home and the angry young voices turned into cheers.  I got plenty of pats on my back and praise from the very kids that had held me back.  I had never had a moment like that before or since.  No sooner had the game been won than the last school bell rang.  It was a fleeting moment of glory as all the children headed back into the school to grab their books to go home.  It was one heck of a way to start a Summer vacation.

all cars accounted for

We've been juggling cars for the past three weeks.  Katie was in a minor accident that did almost 2k worth of damage to the 2003 Buick Century.  An old gentleman crossed in front of her and decided to stop his SUV directly in front of her. It's a good thing a retired police officer saw the whole thing and pulled over to assist.  Drummond Auto Refinishing did a good job with the car.  It looks to be in better condition than it did when Mrs. Hale signed the car over to us for Katie to drive.

During the same time, Gina's car started making a terrible racket.  Eddie Floyd took her 2002 Buick Century into his care and replaced the entire air conditioning system.  It was expensive, but we we're not in the place right now to get a new car.  I am at a crossroads with this one.  How much is too much to keep pouring into this particular vehicle.  We replaced the radiator a few months ago.  Like all our cars past and present, we drive them until the wheels fall off.  We've put a lot of money into this Buick since we bought it from her dad about three years ago.  Maybe we've come to a place where we'll get ten years use out of it without having to repair something expensive.

I pulled the 1973 Super Beetle out of the shop after I had new struts installed just in time to be without our two Buicks.  Katie had classes, so she took off with my 2005 Malibu for those weeks without her car.  Katie or I would take turns taking Gina to work  and from on weekdays.  Sometimes Gina would drive off with the bug and leave me stranded.  I've had plenty of work to do around the house so those days I didn't mind being stranded.  Most of the time Gina would be happy with a ride to and from work.

The Malibu held up nicely.  I did have to replace the battery, but it was still under the one year warranty from O'Reilly Auto Parts.  I got a new one for free.  This was nice to hear because all the parts and repairs as of late have left us strapped. 

Even though we've been without, we had what we needed.  It's nice to have the Finlayson family fleet up and running.  Though it cost a pretty penny, God provided. 

the yellow betty

The Yellow Betty in Betty Hale's driveway in Glencoe, AL in 2010.

My mother in-law, Betty Hale, passed away early in December.  She had given me her 73 Super Beetle about seven years ago, having said that I would appreciate and take good care of it.  I have and I will.  The day of the funeral services I was to meet the rest of my family at Crestwood.  I felt it fitting to drive her old bug there. 

Unbeknownst to me, Gina after finding out I brought the bug, arranged that we lead the procession on into the cemetery.  The car hadn't given me a lick of trouble going, but it started making strange noises as we made our way up the winding road behind the hearse.  It felt as if the bottom had fallen out of the car, dragging something loud over the dirt road.

I had the feeling that the car was ready to give up the ghost and wanting to be buried next to her old owner.  Strange timing.  Everyone was looking at each other in the car and I said a quick prayer for the VW to at least make it to the plot before falling apart.

After the graveside services, I looked under the car to see what was dragging.  Nothing.  The car started up, and I didn't want to take any chances with it.  We drove straight to Floyd's VW in Glencoe and dropped it off. 

Life got kind of hectic after Mrs. Hale's funeral.  We didn't need the car right away, so we just left it over there.  I figured Eddie would call me to get it out of his way when he could get around to fixing it.  I didn't pick it up until Wednesday.

As a Christmas present my sister Cindy gave me a new headliner for the beetle.  Unbeknownst to me, Gina paid Eddie to install it while he had the car.  Christmas came and went and I had no idea what awaited me.  When I finally got to see the car, Eddie told me that he had to use two headliners - both made in China and packaged FOLDED!  He tried ironing the first one out, but it was a no go.  It seems like those kind of items need to be packaged ROLLED instead of folded.  Oh well.  Eddie got the second one in and took the first headliner and custom covered the rear compartment.  He also used some insulation to baffle the engine noise.  I was really impressed that he took the extra effort to fix that back area for me - he was under no obligation to do so.

During Christmas of 2012, my sister had also given me a new front bumper to replace the old rusty one.  Eddie put the new bumper on the car too - attaching the rubber off the old bumper onto the new one.  The car looks so much better. 

I drove the car home, first time to drive it since the funeral, feeling like my car has a new life of sorts.  I told Betty a few years ago that I was going to slowly but surely restore her old car.  I doubt if it will ever be like new, but it's going to improve with age as time goes by.  Since she's gone, I can't help but think of her every time I scoot about town in it.

She drove that car around for over three decades, babying, pampering her car.  It was her prized possession.  Mrs. Hale once told me that the car represented freedom to her. She purchased it with her own money, meaning she could go when and where ever she pleased in life.  Anyone who knew Betty associate her with that little VW of hers.

I was once standing in line at Popeye's on East Meighan and a stranger came up behind me and asked if that was Betty Hale's VW.  I told him that it had been and that she passed it down to me.  I asked him how he knew that particular yellow bug had been hers.  He looked outside at the car in the parking lot and said "I'd know that car anywhere...never thought she'd ever sell it."  He said that he had tried to buy it from her on several occasions in the past.  Betty wouldn't part with it for any dollar amount. 

Mrs. Hale got to a place about eight years ago that she needed more dependable transportation as she got older, something automatic, a car with air conditioning.  She couldn't keep up with two cars and so she passed the bug onto me. 

I asked Gina why she didn't want to drive it much.  She only drives it when her car is in the shop and there's nothing else to drive.  She said she did when she was younger, but didn't care for the extra task of driving a straight.  She says The Yellow Betty smells like gas - even though I had the fuel lines replaced several years ago.  She says when she's in the car, she smells gas for the rest of the day. 

I don't mind it.  Maybe I'm just used to the smell of the old VW.  I don't mind driving straight shift, it's fun. 

spaghetti night now and then

Last night was leftover night because I had too much running around to do.  I didn't have time to cook like I usually do.  It's a good thing I had made spaghetti a few nights earlier.  It's a good thing my family loves spaghetti.  They mind having a spaghetti repeat a few nights later.  I had to make more noodles and toast some garlic bread.  I added a little more spice to the sauce because sauce has a tendency to mellow after refrigeration.  It didn't take long and seemed better than it had been on Tuesday night.

While setting the table, before calling them in, I thought of candles.  I didn't set candles, but I thought of them and smiled.  Why did I think of candles?  EVERY TIME mom served spaghetti to the FInlayson family growing up, there were candles on the table.  The table would be set with a table cloth and candles burning.  It always made spaghetti night special to me as a kid, all eight of us eating our spaghetti dinner in the dark, to the light of the flickering candles.

I wish though that I had a picture of the man on the ceiling. There's no way I can describe him for you.  Every time the candles were burning beneath the old lamp fixture, there would be a shadow cast upon the ceiling over our heads that resembled a huge smiling face.  It was an unusual of old hanging fixture in the kitchen.  I haven't seen one like it before or since.   Ours was a mere happenstance that a candle lit beneath beneath would cause such a funny looking fellow up there.  It did every time. 

So I reheated the spaghetti last night thinking of spaghetti nights of my youth.  Thinking of the old vinegar bottles covered with colorful candle wax that I had not thought of in years. Thinking of all my siblings eating our spaghetti, while giggling at the big happy shadow on the ceiling smiling down at us. 

discriminate movie goer

I used to go to the movies all the time.  Going to the picture show has become so expensive these days that I just don't go to ANY new release.  I do a little online research to see if the movie of interest may not be worth going to see.  I end up not going more than going.

This weekend I noticed that the new RoboCop movie had just been released.  I mentioned to Gina that I had been wanting to see it, but wanted to see some reviews first.  She later asked me if we were going and I told her that we can wait until it's on Red Box or Netflix.

I'm tired of paying premium price for mediocrity.  Even though I try to check out movies before going I still get burned every now and then.  The last recent burn was The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug.  It received great reviews and a movie that I had been looking forward to seeing.

I also abstain from movies with a left wing political agenda.  I like Russell Crowe, but will skip seeing him play Noah.  Early script reveals  God punishing man with a flood because of their lack of respect for the environment.  Hollywood's Noah might be politically correct, but not Biblically correct.  I'll pass watching this one from Redbox or Netflix.
“It’s about environmental apocalypse which is the biggest theme, for me, right now for what’s going on on this planet. So I think it’s got these big, big themes that connect with us. Noah was the first environmentalist.” 
–Darren Aronofsky (Director)

To be frank, I am tired of Hollywood.  The sad thing is, I really enjoy film. I was once an avid movie goer.  I find watching old classics more entertaining than paying to see newly released super-hyped schlock.

what if

hell was not made for man
but to hell many have gone and will
man's flesh temporary
a man's soul eternal
with only two places for a soul to go
only one narrow road
where a small gate awaits

there are those who say
God is too loving too good
to damn a single sinner
but it is man
always man
that chooses his path
the way each man wills to go

sin will be paid for one way or the other
for the wages of sin is always death

there is simply no room no place

for the rebellious Godlessness unbelieving ones
in the presence of the holy God

there is no tolerance
no more grace
for those who refused denied rejected
 a great love and adoption
so freely and often offered

and so comes the second death

hell was not made for man
but many have gone and will

even if God so loving so good
made a third world for those to go

what if
God created a third world

for all who in life rejected salvation
the true and only one and way
what if
God had created a third world
for the fallen unbelieving
what if
another world made
where there is eternal separation
a world made for the unrepentant man
without his divine presence protection and light

that world too
would be
just another hell


The wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God.

-Psalm 9:17-

“There are only two kinds of people in the end:
those who say to God, “thy will be done,”
and those to whom God says, in the end, “Thy will be done.”
-C.S. Lewis-
The Great Divorce