Biltmore Estate, Ashville, NC 

Let me tell you about the best thing I saw as I toured the Biltmore House, a ridiculously opulant estate in Ashville, North Carolina.

Everybody told me it was a must-see.  But I've never been keen about “Lifestyles Of The Rich And Famous”.  I grew up in a shotgun house in the hills of Appalachia, quite poor.  Nothing has been given to me.  And I contrast this to George W. Vanderbilt II, inheritor of the Vanderbilt fortune and builder of the largest home in North America.  He never worked a day in his life.  His early adulthood was spent touring Europe, collecting artwork, and elsewise living the lavish lifestyle of the idle rich.  At the appointed time he married a fellow noble.  His gift to his new bride was The Biltmore House.  It took five years of constant labor to construct, and was completed in 1895.  And I am sure Madame Edith Dresser was impressed. 

But I did find it intriguing to learn from the tour that the couple maintained separate bedrooms.

We drove several miles onto the estate before we saw the house.  And it was an impressive scene, reminiscent of a castle.  Still, I later saw something even more impressive.

The tour was interesting.  The indoor garden included trees over three stories tall.  The library was larger than that of my hometown.  The pool table would dwarf my living room.  All of these were notable, but later I saw something of greater note.

There was room after endless room of lavish furnishings, wall hangings, and European art.  The pantries held enough food for an army.  The kitchens were completely equipped, ready for a hundred cooks.

I saw a chess set originally owned by Napoleon.  There was an indoor bowling ally, a rudimentary air conditioning system, a weight room, and even a swimming pool.

I began to be truly bothered that one man could spend so very much money on himself.  He was not self-made.  He was not an entrepeneur.  He just spent money.  I looked up at the painted ceilings and read of how a French artist was commissioned and allowed several years to complete the art.  I looked at the ornate carvings.  I thought about the contrasting, simple, almost prison-like quarters of the “servants”- located in the steamy lofts of the house.

And as I gazed at the ceilings it hit me.... No, not a brilliant insight.  IT hit me.  Bird poop.  Several swallows had somehow entered the mansion, and were busily flying around and desecrating various antiquities and works of art. 

The hired help was frowning.  I was smiling.  “Do your best, my feathered friends.”

I left with a spring in my step.  That was the best part of the tour.

06.25.06 (8:51 pm)   [edit]

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This morning I came across this interesting little item for sale at Circuit City.  Check it out and see what you think.

http://www.circuitcity.com/ccd/productDetail.do?PID=404255&" title="http://www.circuitcity.com/ccd/productDetail.do?PID=404255&" target="_blank"http://www.circuitcity.com/cc...;oid=100487&URL=http% 3A%2F%2Fwww.circuitcity.com%2Fccd%2FproductDetail .do%3Foid%3D100487&AID =10375042

It's a toilet tissue holder that also serves as an am/fm radio.  The price is pretty good- only $5.99.  If you are not interested in its intended purpose, but need a portable radio, then this may be what you are looking for.  It even has a built-in handle.  And if Nature should call and the public facility is out of tissue, as so often is the case, then you could just be at ease while laughing at the unprepared public.

I am wondering how many of our fellow T-bloggers have a musical toilet paper holder?  I'm thinking surrogate, and perhaps toztee.  But that's about it. 

Do we really need music while we use the bathroom?  Weird to me is the guy in the other stall who wants to have a conversation.  The other day this guy said "Hello?".  I thought it kind of an imposition upon my time of privacy, but I wanted to be friendly, so I replied, "Hi there."  In a moment he said, "I was just wondering how things are going."  Well, he knew how things were going- I was sitting on the toilet.  So I said, "O.K.  I guess I do this everyday.  How about you?"  Then I heard him say, "Honey, I'm going to have to hang up.  There's an idiot in the stall next door who thinks I'm talking to him."

It's a place for work, not leisure.  I don't need music for the bathroom.  I don't read the paper.  And I'm not about to touch a magazine left there by the person previous to me. 

One interesting part of this Circuit City Toilet Music System is the built-in alarm siren.  It is activated by a red button.  I would very much not want people to come to me while occupied in such manner.  I wonder the purpose.  Any ideas?

 

Deb and I are spending three days in Ashville, where we have never been previously. We arrived at 1:30, and were told the room would not be ready for two hours. Half the maids did not show up for work. I can't blame them too much, since their pay is bad and the work is quite hard. Our hotel package includes a spit of wine. I'm not sure what that is. But, since I do not drink alcoholic beverages, I'm not sure what to do with it. Maybe I could send it to one of you guys. Who wants it? You'll have to be religiously affiliated with someone other than Baptists. Or, I guess, a backslidden Baptist! (And, if by chance a little lady from my church is reading this, relax! I'd never send that evil stuff to someone else....) We have tickets to the Biltmore House, a huge mansion which is the rave of everyone I know- 80 years or older. We'll most likely go to the place, but not for an all-day excursion. Unless, the gardens are interesting. Tomorrow we will take a passenger train excursion into the Smokies. 3 hours, complete with dinner. Should be fun! So, I'm away from the office for a few days. I managed to find a library, and have an hour limit. It's down to 6 minutes, and then the thing automatically shuts off. There's a bearded fellow whom I guess is the computer monitor. He keeps staring at me. When I tried to change my chair for a more comfortable one, he snapped his finger and intoned a loud "No!" I'd hate to hit him with a chair, but sometimes we have to do such things. By the way, check out some of the latest blogs from Dr Forbush. He's an amazing thinker and writer.

Friday I was introduced to the wonderful pastime of trout fishing.  Mr. Robb, a friend and paritioner, took me to the streams of North Georgia for a day of angling and fun.  It was quite a day.  However, the experience brought about some ethical questions and dilemmas I would like to pass along for your consideration and advice:

Ethical Dilemma # 1: It's Raining Fish
Apparently, trout are not native to these Georgia streams, at least not in numbers sufficient for all the anglers.  Thus enters the DNR, with several trout hatcheries throughout the northern part of the state.  We visited one.  It consists of big cement tanks of bubbling water, teeming with thousands and thousands of trout in various stages of maturity.  When they reach a point of sufficient size, a big water truck is pulled up beside the vats.  Fish are lifted by the dozens, with a huge net, promptly weighed and deposited into the truck.  When the truck is filled with a couple of tons, it takes off to an undisclosed destination.  There the fish are summarily dumped into the streams, to be quickly caught by awaiting fishermen.

As the truck was almost full and ready to leave, Mr. Robb signaled for me to jump into his pickup.  It was time to chase the tanker truck!  The driver of the truck knew how to negotiate the hills and narrow lanes along these mountains, since he negotiates them eveyday.  We followed the guy at breakneck speeds across the mountains.  And he knew we were following, which really was not against the law, and seemed to be playing some games with us.  One time he pulled over aside the road to casually check his load.  Another time he pulled into a drive, probably his house, probably to use the bathroom or make a sandwich- or both  We patiently waited, and followed.  Finally we followed him about five miles down a little gravel road.  He stopped, and dumped thousands of trout down the roadside and into the stream  They bounced off the banks and rocks on the way to the water, probably killing and maiming the majority.  This seemed a bit odd and cruel to me.  So we jumped out, hiked downstream a few hundred yards and started fishing.

I'm wondering at the true sport of such an excursion.  There is nothing natural about it.  Still I wanted to catch some fish.  And I did!

Dilemma # 2: The Silent Scream Of A Trout
When you catch the fish, you are going to put him on your stringer, take him home, and eat him.  Nothing wrong with that!  What would be wrong would be to catch him, injure him, and throw him back into the water to suffer and die.  Mr Robb thinks it cruel to string him through the gills, thinking he would needlessly suffer.  So he believes you should knock him in the head to quickly and painlessly end his misery  Also, this fast demise is supposed to preserve the delicasy of the meat.

I found out later you are supposed to do this with the back of a big, heavy pocketknife.  But, with the couple of fish I caught, I tried to humanely and ethically end their suffering with the nearest rock or stick.  It wasn't fast and it wasn't pretty.  It was a bloody mess.  I ended up beating the poor creatures to death.  I still feel guilty.

Dilemma # 3: How Not To Clean A Fish
Mr. Robb likes to quickly skin and clean the fish there by the riverbank.  He showed me how, and those of you who are squeemish need not read the next several sentences.  First you slit his throat below the gills, carefully leaving the head intact.  Then you slit his underbelly from tail to  head;  entrails and organs are removed with the fingers.  Then, the tricky part, is to snap back the head and peel off the skin.  Finally, you wash the big hunk of remaining white meat, and put into a ziplok bag.

Is it really good to throw all of those fish remains into the river?  Mr. Robb thinks it is a way to feed the other critters in and around the water.  It seems kind of like polluting to me.  And I was so bad at the process that he advised me to just throw away the formless and ugly mess left in my hands.

Dilemma # 4: The Math
A license is required, and I was able to secure mine over the internet.  The limit of catch is 8 trout per day, per person.  And if caught with an overage, a stiff fine will be given.  I think it means that once you catch 8 fish, you are to cease your angling.  We decided, for convenience sake, to interpret it that once you catch your eight fish, then you help the other guy to catch his eight fish.

I noticed several men fishing, with wife and two or three kids nearby occupied with other things or just looking bored.  I knew what they were there for, and it was not for companionship.  Thus, husband/dad could catch 40 fish, and attribute them among family members.  It reminds me of how Baptist preachers count the number of congregants on Sunday mornings.

Final Dilemma: Fishing Lies
Here's the reality: Mr Robb caught 12 fish, and I caught 3 weak-looking litte guys  It took me about 20 minutes to clean two, and Mr. Robb cleaned the rest in about 5 minutes. 

Today at church, several men asked how we did.  I gazed at my blistered hands and thought about my sore feet, and replied,  “We caught & cleaned 15 fish!  And, several were quite large!”  Technically, I was right.  Lightning did not strike, and the church did not fall in.  After all, I was only engaging in the time-honored tradition of fisherman's storytelling.  Nothing wrong with that, is there?

 

A couple of friends are encouraging me to get a pedicure.  I'm not sure...

I am told it is such a relaxing, even rejuvenating experience.  Several places nearby are offering the service, and I understand more and more clientale are men.  One guy told me he was skeptical, but he tried it once and now he is hooked.

It involves soaking the feet in bubbly water, and rubbing with salts and moisturizers.  A hard brush is used to scrape away dead skin, and then a foot file is used for callouses.  This is followed by an intense massage, and then a final buffing of the nails to a glossy finish.

Excuse me!  Other than my mother, and mothers do not count in this matter, I have never had a woman touch my feet.  I do remember once as a little boy insisting that my mother paint my toenails just like hers, only to have the boy next door laugh me to scorn.  And even though I proceeded to punch him in the nose, I'm sure it traumatized me for life.  And now I know grown men, who lift heavy things for a living, and go once-a-month to have their feet pampered.  It just does not seem right.

I can just imagine my friend wearing cute little bunny rabbit slippers at night.  Real men do not do that.  And they don't  have sweet-smelling feet.  They cut their own toenails, and do it with their wife's sewing scissors. 

Real men don't do pedicures.  Do they?

I will not speculate about the quality of Amy Martin's home life, since I know very little.  But I want to write a few words about the unpredictability of teenagers, and I know quite a bit about that.  I understand that Amy was nicknamed “Strawberry” for her sweet disposition as a child.  And I know that she was killed in self defense, as she and a gang attacked a pedestrian who happened to be an ex-marine.  Her mom cried hysterically at the funeral.  Now, more than a few believe she was the product of poor parenting. 

Allow me to tell you some of the struggles of raising K, my daughter who is now 18.  As a child she was always daddy's little buddy.  Often she would tag along with me, and she consistently displayed such a wholesome attitude.  Unlike most other children, she would read her Bible and pray.  She made good grades in school.  And she had a special quality of seeking out lonely schoolmates and befriending them.  K was such a delight to me.

From the ages of 12 through 17, K became increasingly difficult to parent.  There's no need to go through the whole saga, but let me list some of the challenges:
*Ran away from home numerous times
*Middle-of-the-night rendevous with boyfriends
*Drugs and alcohol
*Expulsion from school for gang activity and fighting
*Expulsion from alternative school for lack of respect
*Arrest and confinement
*Pregnancy

I do not know why K was this way.  We have two other children who have not displayed such behaviour.  We have joined with her in professional family counselling for years.  We have prayed diligently.  And we have never given up.  She has always had a home and a hug to come back to.  Right now things are looking better than ever, but it's not perfect.  And there are many scars for my family, and especially my wife.

So, I am not so quick to blame the parents of this Amy Martin, nor the school system, or society.  Something happened to fill her with darkness.  Maybe mental illness played a part.  And I believe the Evil One was bent upon her destruction.  Probably she was failed in a lot of ways.  And mostly, she chose to make some stupid decisions, hang out with some stupid people, and do some stupid things. 

I would like to think if she had managed to get through this crazy phase in her life, then she would have been O.K.

I believe we all have the responsibility of helping such wayward kids.  I'm talking about tough love, but love nonetheless.  Community, church, authorities, parents, school. 

My K is going to make it, I think.  But, it has not been easy. 

When I look at the sad story of Amy Martin, I think: Except for the gift of grace, there goes my K.  And I have no stone to throw.

Thomas Meets Amy 

Many of you probably know the news story of Thomas Autry and his ordeal last week in Atlanta.  Aged 36 and an ex-marine, Autry was walking home after nightshift at Jocks & Jills, where he worked for $82 per week, plus tips.  A Cadillac pulled up beside him, and five teenagers proceeded to give chase.  One had a shotgun, another a pistol, and a third wielded brass knuckles.  Autry ran for his life and shouted for help.  Finally he was cornered, with no place to run, and the thugs attacked.  His self-defense training kicked in.  The victim pulled a pocketknife from his backpack, stabbed one assailaint in the chest and severely cut another.  The pistol was aimed at Autry from point-blank range, but misfired.  The attackers fled, climbed into their car, and drove to a nearby hospital.  The 17-year-old stabbing victim died.  A young man was critically wounded.  Now all attackers have been arrested and charged with assault.  Autry refuses to receive the label of “hero” and remains shaken from the ordeal.

Amy Martin is the one who died as she participated in this robbery attempt.  She was known as a good student with a loving family, who enjoyed sports and shopping.  Her family tells the sordid and all-too-familiar story of a promising young person who started hanging out with the wrong crowd and ended up doing foolish things. 

Soul-Searching

Here is a link to an article about her funeral:
http://www.ajc.com/metro/content/metro/a tlanta/stories/0602gradyf uneral.html?imw=Y" title="http://www.ajc.com/metro/content/metro/a tlanta/stories/0602gradyf uneral.html?imw=Y" target="_blank"http://www.ajc.com/metro/cont...
The funeral home was packed.  In addition to family, a crowd of teenagers gathered.  The pastor, Craig Oliver Sr., spoke from his heart and apparently with great courage. 

Some quotations from the eulogy
:
As he patted the pale pink casket, he said, “Once you get here, you don't come back to get it right.”

“Her death, like the deaths of so many youths, is senseless.  And the madness has got to stop.  There's a high cost to low living, a high price for living a reckless life.”

As some of the kids chuckled, Oliver said, “There is nothing to snicker or smile at.  Life is not a game.  You weren't created to wander through life.  You were created to make a difference.  We don't need to have any more funerals or senseless deaths.”

“I bet some of you have a gun.  I bet some of you are even toting now.  If not in the church, then out there in your automobile.  I dare you to come down to me, right now, to get rid of it.  Unloaded.”  At the end of the service, about 30 young people gathered with the pastor.  Police report that several turned-in guns the next day.

This is quite a story.  Here we have:
A reluctant hero
A wasted life
A grieved and broken mother
A daring pastor
I will comment much about this in the coming days.

An old Indian legend, told by Iron Eyes Cody, in Guideposts Magazine:

Many years ago, Indian youths would go away in solitude to prepare for manhood.  One such youth hiked into a beautiful valley, green with trees, bright with flowers. There he fasted. But on the third day, as he looked up at the surrounding mountains, he noticed one tall rugged peak, capped with dazzling snow. I will test myself against that mountain, he thought. He put on his buffalo-hide shirt, threw his blanket over his shoulders and set off to climb the peak. When he reached the top he stood on the rim of the world. He could see forever, and his heart swelled with pride. Then he heard a rustle at his feet, and looking down, he saw a snake. Before he could move, the snake spoke. 

"I am about to die," said the snake. "It is too cold for me up here and I am freezing. There is no food and I am starving. Put me under your shirt and take me down to the valley." 

"No," said the youth. "I am forewarned. I know your kind. You are a rattlesnake. If I pick you up, you will bite, and your bite will kill me." 

"Not so," said the snake. "I will treat you differently. If you do this for me, you will be special. I will not harm you." 

The youth resisted awhile, but this was a very persuasive snake with beautiful markings. At last the youth tucked it under his shirt and carried it down to the valley. There he laid it gently on the grass, when suddenly the snake coiled, rattled, and leapt, biting him on the leg. 

"But you promised..." cried the youth.

"You knew what I was when you picked me up." said the snake as it slithered away." 

 

HAPPY

ANNIVERSARY

DAVE AND DEB

25 YEARS!

 

It is hard to believe!  Much has changed: Look at that hair- not a bit of gray.  And the vest is no longer a part of my wardrobe.  And cake?  I need to stay away.  We married at a little church in Riverside, MO, outside of Kansas City.  She was from California, a military kid.  I was from the hills of Appalachia.  We had known one another for about a year, and that was enough.  Actually, I backed out of the first wedding, after family made arrangements and purchased plane tickets.  I think some still have a problem forgiving me for that one.

We've lived all over the place- KC, Detroit, Nashville, and several places in the Atlanta area.  We've never had much money, and now we have three adolescents, all about to take the same crazy plunge into adulthood.  We've grown in so many ways.  That crazy kid in the pictures worked hard to put on a good display of confidence, but he was scared in so many ways, and dumb in others.  He's still not too smart, but a quiet peace has settled in.  Life is good.

God has been so very good to us.  He gave me probably the one person who could put up with me through the years.  We've had good health, good friends, and never lacked for any real necessity.  We've laughed a lot.  And, now, there is much adventure yet to come.

I quote from Reuters:
“A man shouting that God would keep him safe was mauled to death  by a lioness in  Kiev zoo after he crept into the animal's enclosure,  a zoo official said on  Monday.
"The man shouted 'God will  save me, if he exists', lowered himself by a rope  into the enclosure,  took his shoes off and went up to the lions," the official  said.
"A lioness went straight for him, knocked him down and severed  his carotid  artery."
-------------

How can we respond to this incident?
(1) Obviously God does not exist
(2) Obviously this man's brain does not exist
I choose the latter. 

Can God protect a man from a ferocious lion?  I think of the story of Daniel in the Lion's Den.  Because of his unwillingness to compromise his faith in God, Daniel was thrown into a den of hungry lions.  But all night long those lions never took a bite, for God shut their mouths.  Notable to me is the fact that Daniel did not climb into the lions den to test the strength of God.  He was not a fool, but simply a man of faith.

Matthew 4:7(NLT), “Jesus responded, 'The Scriptures also say, Do not test the Lord your God.'”  We do that when we presume the power and protection of God for foolish enterprises.  And, when we seek to manipulate God.

Some examples:
Smoke a pack-a-day, and blame God for emphysema.
Give a second-rate effort at work/marriage/life, and blame God for bad results.
Live for self and sin and never seriously search for spiritual truth, and then claim there to be no God, or God does not care.

Galatians 6:7 tells us "we reap what we sow”.  There are good results as well as bad.

Moral of the story?  Love God, and stay away from the lions!

 

 

06.07.06 (10:38 pm)   [edit]

17 Comments