Ye Old Ships

This is Breath. Breath was built by Peter Muilenberg in the late 70's-early 80's on St. John. Its a cool boat with lots of history. It has been across the Atlantic several times and through many storms and up rivers in Africa. It has lots of history and Peter has written a book telling stories of of his travels. A group of us went out on breath last week. It was cool to see a boat that was traditionally rigged and very salty.

Trust for Public Lands

Today I met Gary and John from Trust for Public Lands. They negotiate the purchase of land held by private entities and then give the land in some way to the public. This is done by giving it to National Parks, public land for cities, and other non-profit organizations whose work it is to protect the land for people. The have recently put under contract the 415 acres that makes up Estate Maho Bay. Their next project is to try and save Maho Bay Campgrounds. The lease on our land runs out in January of 2012, and the lease will not be renewed per the landowners. TPL wants to put this property under contract to preserve it as an Eco-Resort. This is great news. They have saved some 2.2 million acres from development. Hopefully they can add the 13.8 acres we are on to that.

My front porch

Here it goes, an attempt at something new. Welcome to my world. For the last 5 months I have lived and worked at Maho Bay. It is an Eco-Resort on St. John. I will continue to live and work here for at least the next year and a half. We are currently in the middle of hurricane season. So far, so good (as far as St. John goes). This is my front porch. I intend to share more of my life in the months to come which means pictures, stories, complaining, and my views.

Tropical Depression 8

Well, Invest whatever number it was never did anything. It was like a bottle rocket that turns out to be a dud. Well, Invest 91 is more like a roman candle. We thought it was a dud, then 7 hours later you find out it is actually a depression. It could end up being Ingrid or Jerry. There is something in the gulf that could get named before this one. I've learned that in a place like this, job security can depend on weather, what a crock. (click on the title to visit the tracking website to play along at home)

Invest 98

No, its not a late 90's slogan for Wachovia Securities. You better believe most people in the Caribbean know what it is........

http://www.wunderground.com/tropical/tracking/at200798_model.html

I hope voting rights isn't a requirement for a FEMA trailor.

Katrina Hangover

With one Hurricane Season out of the way (06-07 season) and one underway right now, things like this are more relevant to me. This is mainly because i live on an island where there is no fleeing north. This NYTimes article is about whats going on in the aftermath of Katrina. Specifically with people living in FEMA trailer parks and not being able to find work. Gene Torti and his friends are building houses in the Gulf area for Katrina victims. There are no doubt others out there doing the same thing. Churches are still involved financially and service trips to clean or build. So there are people still working on this. I can't believe New Orleans is bringing people in from South America to do work instead of bringing their own people back.

(I foresee my blog taking more of this approach for a while as opposed to what i used to do)

Phileas Fogg

He traveled the world in 80 days, at least through the pages of Jules Verne's book. He didn't soak anything in while stopping along the way. He pretty much just went from place to place, and it took him 80 days. That was considered fast back then (late 1800's).

Today 80 days would be slow. You can easily travel the world in 80 days and take in the sights. And that is what i want to do. Who do i know in the world? Where can i stay on the couch of a friend? Can i hit Australia in this journey? How much is all of this going to cost?

Only one of those questions can be answered at the moment: How much is all of this going to cost? Answer: A lot.

The way i figure it, i have roughly 8 months to figure it all out before i leave this fall. tick tock

Love I Cant Find

I honestly don't know his name. I heard people call him John, J, Jase, and Chase. I just called him my bud, so that is what i will do from now on.

We were in Chicago on a Mission Trip. I was an adult leader for the week with the High Schoolers from Brentwood Baptist. It was a great week, but i am going to focus on one afternoon for right now. It was our last day of service in Chicago. Our assignment that day was to run a kids camp. By this time we already heard from the other groups about some of the children we would have. I was excited because i love playing with little kids. Kids make me smile because of their innocence and love. We get there and kids start showing up. Instantly the youth start hugging on them and loving on them. They know their names in no time and are playing games. Bud comes by and then leaves for whatever reason. You can tell within the first 2 seconds of meeting him that he is much slower than the other children. So the day goes on and we play with the other kids. I think they are cool and the youth think they are great.

Finally Bud comes back. We are about to have our bible story and snack time there in the grass of Garfield Park. He sits right in the middle of the group. He squirms and moves a lot more than the others because of the way he is, and we all know it and just let him be. His peers know he is different too. Some people who are slow are too slow to know it. They won't know when they are being picked on, it will be more of a game to them. Bud is not one of those. He is definately slow, but he knows when the others are being mean to him. It doesn't take 30 seconds of him being there in the middle before it begins. They are laughing at him, poking him, messing with his clothes and his reactions only add to their laughter. I get on to a couple of them instantly, hoping they will let it go. I caused only a temporary pause in their behavior. They kept right back with it. I even moved some of them away and it wouldn't stop. I decided to sit in the middle with bud and he wanted to sit on my lap. They tried to start up again and my face let them know that it wouldn't be a smart thing for them to do. I spent the next 30 minutes with him going where he wanted to go, doing what he wanted to do. Occasionally they would laugh at something but thankfully he couldn't hear or wasn't paying attention, even though i heard it every time.

Here's the point: I know that kids will be kids and that they aren't going to understand everything and are going to be mean. You could see that one or two of the group weren't as gung ho on giving him a hard time and knew that i was right in wanting them to stop. I am not writing about them. I am writing about those who will never do anything genuine for Bud. I don't want to see those kids ever again. Now everyone else there would probably tell you they can't wait to see them again next year and that is fine, i'm glad that they have love for those children. But i hated what i saw in them. There was no sweet innocent child there. There wasn't unconditional love. The way they acted went beyond kids being kids. It wasn't a behavioral problem, it was something deeper inside of them. They didn't look guilty when i told them to stop, they were merely perturbed that i was slowing them down. They will never be his friends. They will never stand up for him. In fact, others will stand up to them for Bud. They went beyond thinking his behavior was funny to being evil towards him.

I think this shows that although i want to be able to have the perfect love that is spoken about in scripture, i won't be able to grasp it here on earth. It should be easier to find in kids. Kids can't hurt you the way a peer can. I should be able to love all of the kids equally. Obviously we have favorites, but that doesn't mean we don't love our nonfavorites. But now i find a gap in that love i desire to have, and it just outs me more in awe of the unconditional love that christ has for us.

My delegate doens't get a vote....

Dear President Bush,
Please do not attack Iran. I think we can all agree that this guy is much crazier than Saddam. In fact, Saddam is just the weird uncle that comes around on the holidays compared to this guy. W, he's crazy. It doesn't matter what intelligence says, he doesn't care about the U.S.. He cares about Israel, and Holocaust 2.0 (which in his view would actually be the first one). He merely uses the U.S. to gain support from other U.S. haters should something happen. Let him be, he'll cause trouble by attacking someone on his own, with little cause, then you can attack with everyone behind you saying, "yeah America, kick him in the balls". His hope is that you will attack first, making us the bad guys and gaining him support with say, Russia (who i don't think recieves our fan mail), and taking the pressure off of him. Attacking first will only drive our currency down even further, and prohibit me from being financially able to buy gas to drive my SUV which i love so much, it is part of my identity. Thankyou for taking time to read my letter, and not pushing the flashy red button in front of you.

Scott

Interview with Crazy McLunatic

I'm not very political these days, especially since i now am a resident of a territory and have no voting rights. Actually i haven't really talked about politics in a long time accept to nod my head when someone else is speaking on it. It is exausting keeping up with both sides on even just one area of debate. I have more important things to learn right now than to read the latest Anne Coulter or Al Franken book. But i have been following what Capt Insano from Iran has to say over the last couple of months. He is not going away anytime soon, and is going to cause lots of problems in the world. He worries me, and so does the fact that we can severly mishandle him if we are not careful. That's all i ahve to say until until '08. (Hillary vs Condi, man that would be somethin)

Community Math

A man is driving home late at night. He is in a place and time where hitch hiking is normal and safe, its just part of life there. This place is also very small, so at midnight, there is hardly anyone on the roads. He comes up on a light post with a woman standing under it trying to get a ride. He pulls over and tells her how far he is going as is the custom if you choose to stop and offer a ride here. As soon as she opens her mouth he realizes she doesn't speak much English as she just says the name of the one town there is. He isn't going that far and she doesn't want to go only part way, and that is perfectly acceptable here. A person will just wait for the next one to come along. But it is midnight......

As he drives on, he starts doing math in his head. Its late and the man is really tired and needs to get to bed. He will be in bed in 15 minutes driving straight home. The woman obviously would like to be at home in bed as well. Once she gets a ride, she will be home and in bed inbetween 20-25 minutes. But, how long will it be before another car comes by, especially from the direction that it needs to be coming from in order to get her to town? And there is no guarantee they will stop to even offer (the odds are 50-50 on a person stopping). And if they do stop and offer, there is still a huge chance they aren't going all the way to town just like the man. It could easily be another 20-30 minutes before a car comes by, and again we have the 50% chance of them even stopping, and after that of them not going as far as she is which would leave her still standing there, so say 40 minutes which is extremely conservative and unlikely. She will probably be there longer than that. So if we quantify the minutes and add them, we get 15+20+40= 75. That is our total outcome on everyone being where they want to be (but is probably much higher).

Now, he can turn around and go back after realizing this, and add 15 minutes roundtrip from where he would normally stop to town and back. And this option completely eliminates the question of how long she will wait until the next car stops and can give her a ride. So if we do the same math, we have 15+20+15=50 for everyone to be where they want to be. This number however is certain, unlike the number above. This shows that it is in the best interest of the community (being the man and woman in the illustration) that he turn around and take her to her destination, then backtrack to his house.

Here is what I learned from this story. This is what it is to serve others. To instead of looking out just for number 1, to consider what it would take to look out for someone else as well. If we lived in the world alone, we could consider only ourselves and where we needed to be, and no one would be effected by our decision to do so. But this is not the case. Many times there is someone else involved. Often our numbers are not the only ones being effected by a decision, and if we took the time to do the "math", and make the best decision for everyone involved, the world would be a better place.

When Nature Calls...While in Nature

If you are guy, you will understand what i am about to say. You will smile to yourself and say, "yeah, he's right. i do love it". Thesis statement: Peeing outside is great. I don't know what it is about it, but its special. Maybe its the way it sounds hitting the ground. Maybe its that you don't have to aim at all (just keep it off the shoes). Maybe you just feel like you're part of nature at that moment, out in the elements, bein a man, doin what men do. And what do real men do? They pee outside. You may also find that going from an elevated place, say off of a deck, is even more fun. It is for this reason that i am emotionally torn. You remember Jason. Well recently this half of the Spanish Armada lost some recess time, I'll start from the beginning.
The surface of the sun (otherwise known as the playground) was extremely steamy that day. The kickball was intense. Tension was so high before the game that i knew i would have to be "All Time Roller" for both teams. I don't generally play kickball with them. If I were to play on a regular basis, our students would suffer from many more head injuries than is normal. It's not that i aim for their heads, its that my aim isn't very good. But my arm strength is, especially compared to that of a 2nd grader. So the game progresses. People are getting tagged out at home, miraculous catches are being made, and the number of home runs is incredible. The game even managed to arouse some spectators (those who are weak kickball players and generally don't even watch the game). No one wants to miss a thing. At this point, they will play dehydrated, injured, and crying with tears running down their cheeks as they make the out. Now Jason is intense. He loves playing more than anyone else i think has ever loved playing kickball on that court. He will slide across the surface of the sun without hesitation, without regard for self, a true lover of the game and everything it stands for. I look around to make sure the outfield is ready before the role (this kicker has chosen a "bouncy" role, so there is a better chance of a pop fly). But wait, what is Jason doing? Why is he by the telephone pole?
"Jason!!" i cry out in a convicting voice, as i know he is up to something, "What are you doing?". He quickly walks away form the pole and starts to play with the grass.
"Nothing" he replies as he paws the ground with his foot. "Can i go to the bathroom?"
I knew it, i knew it the moment i saw him standing there that way. Standing the same way i have stood so many times before (maybe not on a public playground). I know what's coming, i know what i have to do. "Jason, were you peeing on that pole?"
A sad, slow, and unconvincing "Nooo" comes his reply.
"Jason, were you just peeing?" I know, but i still don't want to believe. I walk to the pole, look down, and there it is. The Evidence. The sun reflects off of the wet spot near the base of it. The reflection off of it burns my eyes as i remove my polarized glasses. I can see where it started, and trace with my eyes the trail down the pole into the grass at its base. "Jason, why, why would you pee outside?"
An even slower "I dunno" while not making eye contact.
"What were you thinking?" I ask, although i know what was going through his mind at the time as i have had the same thoughts run through mine: It's here, I'm here, i have to go. The dog can go here, why can't I? Besides, it will save water by not having to flush, and it hasn't rained in a while so we really need the water.
He just stand there and shrugs his shoulders. "Jason, go inside to Mr. Loveland. You have no more recess this week."
I killed me to say it. The boy (and maybe even the man) inside of me says he did what he had to do. The teacher inside of me says i can't allow that on the playground. I am caught in a cosmic battle full of inner turmoil. My male instincts vs. teacher logic and reason. Can i really punish him for this? Shouldn't i praise him in front of the others for following his intuition and instincts? Alas, the game had to go on, I will deal with it later i tell myself. "Who's up?"
I tell Mr. Loveland about it when i get back. I explain my stress over it, and he agrees; peeing outside is good, but not on the public playground. Jason's Aunt is told about it when she picks him up. She sighs in a thick Spanish accent, "I know, i know. He always does this. He doesn't want to stop playing so he just holds it until he can't hold it anymore. Then he just has to go where ever he is."
Jason's love for playing, not just kickball, but playing anything is outstanding. He has a passion i admire. His love, when combined with skill, will take him to the top of whatever sport he may pursue. His only obstacle will be a bad public image for the many "Urinating in Public" violations/citations he will receive. I swear, when you work with kids it may not be a code yellow, but there is always gonna be something with urine.

***I wrote this originally for my e-mail group. If you want to be added, go to Vicarious Island Living to subscribe and read the other ones i've written.

Solamon is a Nude Beach sometimes

Complacency is an easy thing to find. It's not the same as apathy, but maybe they are cousins. Complacency is found on every corner, in every city, in every state, in every country, in ever minor outlying island in the Caribbean. Why is it there? Because that is where humans are. Because we are wrapped up in "us", we become complacent. It is in the times that we are not so concerned about ourselves that we thrive in our existence. Two things have prompted this thought process.




The first prompt was me sitting on the beach, Salomon Beach to be exact, pictured above. It is a great beach as far as great beaches go. I was looking at an Island Travel Magazine of some sort, I'm not sure which one. It had pictures and descriptions of all these other islands and resorts in it. The water was so blue and clear, the sand was perfectly white. I wanted nothing more than to be relaxing in those photos right then and there. I was even gauking about it to my friends who were sitting around me. Then I sat up, looked over the top of my magazine, and realized I was already in the picture. I looked around at my postcard life and I couldn't believe how complacent I had become in those few minutes of looking at a stupid travel magazine.

The second was coming across a blog of a ye old friend of the past, Sir Tim Bedi (see tim's blog). Tim is in Moldova (its really cold, all of the time) working at an orphanage. Now I don't know a whole lot about Moldova, but I know it will never, ever, show up in my travel magazine. Tim will be in this place for a year, working, and using a translator because most people don't speak English. Tim felt called by God to go here. It's hard being there, but Tim is growing and learning. He has to, or he won't make it. He must have faith in order to survive in a place like that. If he focuses on himself, all he will think about is the cold, the snow, the neverending clouds, and the lack of being able to have all wants met at any time like in the states. If he focuses on himself, he will lose site of why he is there, which is not for himself. He is there for a higher purpose, because that is where God wanted him at this time in his life, and at this time in the lives of those he works with.

If man's focus is on himself, his focus will lead him to emptiness. An emptiness full of dissatisfaction and want. It will never be good enough. Nothing will fill it. Man must take his focus off of himself in order to enjoy his place and time.

15 minutes of fame

News Article: The Tennesseean

This was taken from the Tennesseean article about high school elections for the 2000-2001 school year. They say nice things about me, and for that, I applaud them, and myself. Hello Scott's ego, nice to see you are still around and eating well. I can't find the picture of me that accompanied the article.

"At Brentwood High, student council campaign speeches were a live event held in the school's auditorium. Students in grades nine through 11 packed the room to listen to all the candidates from class representatives and class officers to student body candidates.

Junior vice president candidate Ryan Adcock used 'N Sync songs throughout his speech, even singing a few bars. His slogan was, "Get 'N Sync, vote Ryan Adcock."

But the speech that brought the house down belonged to student body treasurer candidate Scott Drennan. He gave his entire speech as the Saturday Night Live character Matt Foley, motivational speaker.

"Do you want next year's prom in a van, down by the river?" Scott screamed in strained voice not unlike that of the late comedian Chris Farley, who created the character. The junior struggled with his pants and readjusted his thick glasses under his slicked back hair throughout his speech. Students in the audience roared with laughter.

The humor worked. Both Scott and Ryan won the offices they sought."

those were the glory days.......

In 2005....

....I floated down a river in Belize
....I watched Auburn go 13-0 (was at every game but Citadel)
....I graduated college
....I drove across the country
....I stayed in the home of a celebrity (well, sort of a celebrity)
....I saw the Grand Canyon
....I bought a one way ticket to an island without a job or place to live
....I became a teacher
....I lost a best friend

A lot happened in 2005. We remember years by the events that took place during that year. A lot of big things happened in 2005 that are pretty cool and make good stories or life experiences. There were some great times with people and some hard times with losing people. But 2005 won't be the year I met ZTB, or the year I took the cross country road trip in a Jetta like you see in commercials. It won't be the year I received a college diploma or left the states. 2005 will be the year I finally got it, I finally figured out what life was about, what was important, and how satisfying it could really be. Sure there were the times I faceplanted and every year will have those down moments. But I will look back and smile on my 2005, not for the cool things I did, but because it was a year I could finally be proud of how I tried to spend it.

The problem with caring for people is that you will continually be let down. And I don't mean that they do something to you that hinders your life in any way or do something directly to you. I mean it in the sense that we perpetually want more for someone than what they actually seem to want or do for themselves. This can be done by never reaching full potential, or ever even getting close to it, by them never realizing what they could do or who they could be if they wanted to, or continually making bad decisions. This goes for everybody. While someone is doing something in our life that disappoints us, we are no doubt doing something in our own lives that disappoints someone else, or maybe even disappoints the person we are frustrated with. If we were to trace these disappointments i think we would find something that resembles a very intricate spider web, much more intricate than any of Charlotte's.

This reminds me of my Never Ending Story post from back in the spring, but with various subtle/large differences. Like having the perfect information of the character in a story, we can have a lot of information about those in our lives. Although we don't have perfect information, we can usually know enough to know where there is unfound potential, potential that is lost, or just really dumb decisions that are repeated habitually (disclaimer: yes, we can be wrong, but even if we are, at least we care enough to be wrong). That's the frustration, not being able to make the right choices for them. Maybe you've been down the path they are starting and know where it ends, or what possibilities for getting lost are along the way. Maybe you seem to remember the times they have been hurt along that same path even though they seem not to remember or care. Maybe you just know there is a better path for them to take, if only they would cut through the brush they've lost themselves in to get to it. You can give them advice, tell them how the story will most likely end, or tell them how the story could possibly end if they would just change their minds. But in the end, you can't decide for them.

So now what? What can you do? Surely there is more to do than just pray and wait it out? I'm not sure there is. All you can do is be there. You don't have to support it, encourage it, or even belittle it. You can say your peace, but after that, just be there. Be ready to congradulate, consol, or listen.

I imagine this is how God feels. He knows what's best (disclaimer: No, he cannot be wrong). This disappointment we feel comes from our love for that person. But that love, no matter how strong, pales in comparison to his. He hurts for us that much more when we fail to reach our potential, recieve our blessings, or make bad choices.

Sounds and Music

They say the sense of smell is tied the most to memory. This may be so in many instances, but when we speak of things like that we rule out, without meaning to, the power of the other senses. Sound. I think I probably give more weight to sound. In my head I don’t smell familiar things, but I can hear them. I can’t smell MeMa’s fried chicken, but I can hear her voice as she greets me coming up the walk.

I remember it from a movie. I’m not sure which movie, but I remember loving the idea. A man is describing the power of a song, of a melody, of a single note. Music. It has such great power. In the movie, Alexander the Great is mentioned. It is said that a simple melody could instantly prepare him for battle while only a matter of moments later another song could calm him to the point of weeping. When we are trying to find a song or a CD to listen to, we choose according to our emotions or moods at the time. Sometimes we choose in order to change our mood. We want something upbeat to cover up the aches of a bad conversation. On the flip side, we may choose something that helps to drive us deeper and closer to feel the aches that have begun, because sometimes that is the fastest cure.

Music and Memory. Every time I hear Eye of the Tiger I go back to Auburn, AL, to the field of Jordan-Hare Stadium. I stand there at the tunnel waving my shaker as the Tigers run past to take the field. Or I’m taken back to hours earlier strolling through a labyrinth of tents and grills on campus where the song blazes through the air from various tailgates. Song of the South by Alabama reminds me of high school. It’s blaring from the back of Luke’s K5-Blazer. I acquired the CD shortly after and can remember driving around Brentwood with Morgan singing it at the tops of our lungs because there was nothing better to do. Dave Matthews will always remind me of Ed, that night in his room freshman year and New Orleans. Toby Keith’s song about America will remind me of Michael and I singing the chorus over and over because we don’t know any other words. The sound of a Ukulele will remind me of living next to Dan the Dog that last semester and our crawfish boil extravaganza. Beverly Hills by Weezer will forever mark the So This Is America road trip with Tom. Damien Rice, Coldplay, Oasis and all depressed British guys with a musical instrument will remind me of Dan. Their songs alone are enough to bring tears of happy memories and sadness for a loss. Listening to Damien Rice actually inspired these thoughts. Dan dragged me to a small theatre in Nashville to hear him, this guy that no one had heard of and it was amazing. Forever songs or bands or just a genre will remind me of a specific someone or a group of friends I had. Not everyone will have a song linked to them, but those who do, they will most assuredly enter my mind within the first few measures, and that moment, that song has become so much sweeter to my ears…….and a small grin comes across my face.

Classroom AIM

Man, this really irks me. I am going to miss the newest wave/craze of classroom laziness in college. As wireless becomes more and more popular and more students continueing to turn toward laptops and universities providing free access, students will soon realize they can look like they are typing notes while really flirting with that special someone down on the front row with the screen name AUFrattyGuy. Yes, even most of the front row will be involved. There will be those few motivated individuals who really take good notes, but they can just e-mail them to the slacker next to them at the end of class before they leave. That student will then forward them to start the chain that will reach 80% of the class. Man, i can't believe i am going to miss out on that.

Sally Sells Sea Shells

Conch shells, turtle shells, oyster shells, mussel shells, hermit crab shells, etc. The list goes on and on. Being on an island, I see shells everywhere I go. They are used in decoration on nearly everything. You will see tourists loading their suitcases with them as cheap souvenirs for those they love back at home. There are necklaces and bracelets and anklets. Apart from those mentioned above, you might even see one or two when you go to the beach on any given day. We recognize shells. For the most part a person can look at a conch shell and know its a conch shell. The same applies to turtles, oysters, clams, etc. We have been trained to recognize these shapes and outward appearances. The recognition tells us what we are looking at. But it is not this recognition that makes them what they are. A conch shell is not a conch shell because it looks like one. A conch shell is a conch shell because a conch lived in it. We define a shell by what lives inside of it.

I was brought to this thought recently by thinking of a friend. Sometimes bodies get in the way. A body helps us to recognize who it is we are looking, but that body does not define the person. It's what's inside that defines who we are. It's what's inside that we love about people. It's their personality, their thoughts, their dreams, their character, the way they react in a moment that we will remember and cherish. A person's body can be broken while what we love about them remains intact.

A metaphoric story......

I'm not sure who wrote this.


My father and I are standing in a field rich and lush with Montana
prairie
> grass.  It is the lightest golden color of straw and it shimmers with the
> reflection of the hot August sun.  My father, always a giant to me, is
small
> against this forever field that matches the vastness of the blue Montana
> sky.  We stand silently, side by side, our relationship, as always, marked
> by few words.  I hold a bucket of water in my hand as we watch for the
first
> of the flames that are surely going to ignite this dry, dry grass.  We
> search, our hands shading our eyes, watching, waiting for what seems like
> days.  Our legs and arms are hot and heavy with exhaustion from the
constant
> vigil.  And then, seemingly out of nowhere, a spark begins a small fire
very
> close to our feet.  It could have started anywhere, but it began so close.
> Surely we would be able to extinguish it before it turned wild.  I hand
the
> bucket to my father; it is the heaviest bucket I have ever held.  He takes
> it easily from me,
> >  always strong, always sure of the task ahead and the manner in which it
> should be handled.  My father dumps the water on the flames, but as he
> pours, we can both see that it is already too late.  The water kills very
> little of the fire that has already started to spread through our Montana
> prairie.  It is not enough.  We were ready.  We were waiting.  And yet, we
> were powerless in the face of natures wrath.  It is one of the very few
> times in which my father and I stood together as a team, and we have lost.
> There was nothing we could do.  The forces against us were just too big.
> And we turn and run, just hoping to escape the roar and the heat that is
> rapidly closing in behind us.

Where is the fine line between giving up and facing the reality of life.

Lindy Lindy.......

....come the chants of the children as they walk to the playground and
see the old island local walking, or as in today's case lounging
about.  Lindy is a tall man, tall enough for me to turn my neck up to
look at him, and i am 6'3.  He would make a great basketball player at
this height.  Maybe not in the pro's, but on these islands courts he
could turn an eye.  Just skin and bones, he has long lanky legs and
arms.  Its hard for him to find clothes on this island to fit his long
slender body. Rumor has it Lindy is an unbelievable piano player.
Someone who when they play, people just sit and watch in amazement.
This is of course past tense.  No one knows how long ago this musical
genius lost his ability, but his tired eyes say it has been a while.
The chants of Lindy Lindy are not a chorus of endearment, but a
childish mocking of fright.  Lindy is a local crazy eyed whino.  Today
he was feeding that stereotype as he sat on the bleachers nursing his
cheap bottle of wine.  They say he has family around who support him
by giving making sure he eats, and probably the occasional bottle for
dessert.  You wouldn't know this, however, by his frame, which is all
that holds him up.  He walks the streets of St. John trading clothes.
Not in a barter system manner, but by finding something on the ground,
putting it on, and placing in the spot the clothing he was wearing.
Sadly enough, he does not trade up every time, many times it is a
worse artical of clothing than before.
He sat there sipping on his bottle.  The children use him as a way to
pass the time.  They run to see if he is still sitting there, and then
run off again.  He slumps over to his bottle and he shows some sort of
emotion.  At first you think he is weeping, but it is hard to tell
because sometimes he appears to be laughing, just chuckling to
himself.  It makes no difference.  It's a sad story either way you
tell it.  He was good enough at something for people to still talk
about it.  I don't know what kind of music he played.  It could have
been blues, or jazz, or classical for all i know.  What i do know is
that this one time prodigy will be a legend.  Not for his talents, but
for the sadness his life has now become.  The children will scare
their kids one day with stories of old Lindy.  They will say his ghost
still haunts the courts at night, looking for half empty bottles of
booze.
This story is familiar enough, but it's not the way its intended to
be.  People will say, "How can God let things like this happen."  We
say the same thing when someone steals something from us, or there is
a murder, or a drunk driving accident.  Lindy is a tragedy as much as
the things i just listed.  But God gave us free will.  But in giving us free will, he still has a will for our life. It is then up to us whether or not to make his will our own.