Mayans and Mud Shoes

In a little less than a month, the Mayan calendar will run out of dates and some are anticipating significant consequences for the Earth as a result. Among the entertaining memes making their rounds on the Internet are several pointing to recent events as portents to the end of civilization (even ascribing the potential demise of the Twinkie to the Mayans). There are fellow citizens proudly calling themselves “preppers” who are stashing supplies, building shelters, and arming themselves with everything from guns and ammunition to windmill driven power plants.

As an aside, during my undergraduate days at Hillsdale College, we knew “preppers” as those bedecked in certain shades of pink and green, who popped the collars on their Izod shirts, and whose standard uniform likely included kilts, monogrammed sweaters, madras, and/or L.L. Bean style mud shoes. But, I digress.

So, let’s do a collective step back and take a deep breath – there may be some opportunities here.

I’m pretty darn certain that the sun will come up on December 22, 2012 and that we’ll continue our lives with the same interruptions and challenges we face today.

But, what if – work with me a second – what if the world really was going to end in a month and we knew it? How do we spend our last days?

Visit Prague? Revel with absolute abandon? Eat good chocolate or drink that vintage you are saving for a special occasion? Buy a Maserati on a 6-year payment plan? Finally let your dog on the bed? Use the good silverware?

Rev. Kerry Shook tackles this question in his short book One Month to Live: Thirty Days to a No-Regrets Life (Waterbrook Press, 2008). From the introduction:

Your time on earth is limited.

No matter how much this idea makes you squirm, it’s a fact. No matter who you are, how young or old, what measure of success you’ve attained, or where you live, mortality remains the great equalizer. With each tick of the clock, a moment of your life is behind you. Even as you read this paragraph, seconds passed that you can never regain. Your days are numbered, and each one that passes is gone forever.

If you’re like me, you may be tempted to view this reality as harsh and unwelcome, to let it overwhelm and even paralyze you. But that’s not my purpose in writing this book—just the opposite. I’m convinced that rather than inhibiting us to play it safe, embracing our time on earth as a limited resource has incredible power to liberate us. Most of us, if we knew we only had one month to live, would live differently. We would be more authentic about whom we are and more deliberate about how we spent our time. But such a contrast begs the question: what keeps us from living this way now? (pp.1-2)

What does keep us from getting our houses in order as it relates to our relationships (temporal and spiritual)? Can we assure those people in our lives that they are loved and communicate what they mean to us? Maybe we ask forgiveness, grant pardon, and ease others pain. Maybe we hug more. Not having a “tomorrow” to enable our procrastination changes the game a bit, doesn’t it?

So, really, what’s stopping us? Do we really need a doomsday scenario to spur personal growth and community charity? Do the Mayans have to remind us be kind and to reach out to others? Why not just plain live everyday like it could be our last and savor, grow, and share the joy life offers.

And, yes, that does include getting the good chocolate.

Reverend Shook's book available here: Book

Mayan Calendar image reported to be in the public domain and available here:  Here

Zen and the Art of Tractor Maintenance

The tractor awaiting rescue

The firearm deer hunting season has been fruitful at the Bog with six deer taken and similar reports from the neighbor farms. The ensuing packaged venison manifests as tenderloin, roasts, breakfast sausage, and cubed or ground meat for chili and other comfort foods. The farmers in the area encourage the hunters to buy and fill additional doe tags to help mitigate substantial crop damage from these ruminants.

This morning, my pals Craig and Jack came knocking at 6 am – Jack bearing his wife Diane’s homemade apple bread and a frozen tenderloin from the deer he took here on opening day. Craig brought breakfast sandwiches. I made the coffee.

We went afield, each to separate blinds/stands, and enjoyed a rosy sunrise punctuated by pheasant cackles, Mallard quacks, and complaining crows. This being the sixth day of the season, not many shots were heard from adjacent acres and our crew was silent. None of us saw deer one, but no complaints as the morning offered that crisp fall experience in the woods that keeps us coming back.

Craig’s obligations had him leave a bit early . . . Jack and I sat on stand until about noon. We unloaded our guns and stowed packs into the six-wheeler and headed back to the house. Along the way, I mentioned that I needed some help attaching the brush hog to the Bog’s newest addition: a 1957 John Deere Model 620. I’m a foster parent to this classic as it was a friend’s deceased father’s tractor – she is moving out of state and wanted this family treasure on a farm and in use. Jack is a sucker for an old tractor.

Jack triaging the old beauty

It took about 20 minutes to attach the brush hog and I fired up the old beauty and set off to mow some lanes around the blinds.

There is an indescribable feeling one gets piloting a tractor older than himself around his farm on a crisp, sunny November day. I know I had my best silly smile beaming.

About 40 minutes into the caper, the old Deere sputtered and I quickly shut her down. I figured it was running out of gas and didn’t want to risk the 50+ year old dregs of the tank polluting the engine. Jack had followed me down to the south end of the property in the six-wheeler and we zipped back to the barn and collected some gasoline. The tractor was quickly refueled. Problem solved? Nope.

She would crank, fire up, but not remain running. We noticed that the glass bell (part of the fuel system on the old girl) was only partly filled – a clear sign that gas wasn’t getting to the engine. After fiddling about with the bell, we saw that the gasket was shot and needed replacing. Fortunately, a small family-owned tractor vendor is about 5 miles away. The gasket cost $0.78. I think I spent $1.85 in gas on the round trip.

The bell

Gasket replaced, all connections tightened. Still, no luck . . . engine fires, doesn’t stay running.

Draining the carburetor, we see some really “varnishy” gas expel initially, but with ongoing attempts, clean gasoline comes through the drain.

We’re stumped and we tow the tractor back up to the barnyard. Tomorrow, I shall replace spark plugs and potentially rebuild the carburetor.

The vacation days I’m using to hunt and do some other life maintenance activities coupled with weekends and the holiday, have me out of the office for 12 straight days – a rare occurrence. I will say that being a guest of history while trying to get this old tractor running is as enjoyable as any fancy trip I could have booked.

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Thank you!

For bringing this humble exercise to 10,000 hits.

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Pete

T'was the night before voting. . .

T’was the eve before polling and all through the night,

Not a pundit was quiet; not from the left nor the right.

The ballots were readied with precision and care,

In hopes that voters soon would be there.



The children of states painted all in reds,

Had visions of a new president locked in their heads.

Those sleeping in states traditionally blue,

Were confident the current guy would happily do.



When out of the media came such a clatter,

I was startled from sleep to discover the matter.

Changing the station to ComCen in a flash,

There is Jon Stewart spouting some trash:



“Romney’s a business guy; he’s mean and uncaring,”

Stewart went on with oaths and too much swearing.

“Obama’s a fake; he wasn’t born here,”

Roared The Donald for all 'round to hear.



“Hold up!” Cried all the reasoning voters,

“We’re tired of spin and sick of promoters!

“We’ve had it with attacks and slinging the mud,

“No country can survive with all this bad blood.”



A discussion of issues was the voters’ real aim

And then they silenced the hacks, calling them out by name:

“Hush Matthews, hush Sean, hush Maddow and Cameron,

Hush Dowd, hush Moyers, hush Limbaugh and Krugman”



Voting is a privilege and also a right

Taken often for granted and treated too light.

Don’t be persuaded by celebrity or guile,

Pre-read your ballot 'cause your vote is worthwhile.



Tomorrow, we decide who will be president,

Who then will be the next White House resident?

While passions are high, and tho you and I may disagree,

I urge you to vote - in person or absentee.



God Bless America – long may she shine

We are in this together, that’s our bottom line.

Whoever wins, there will be another day,

But vote, dear friends, don’t dare lose your say!

Ballot box image reported to be in the public domain and available here:  Ballot Box