Emails!! and Unformation!

I am so tired of people forwarding me an email that they nave not bothered to check the validity. I receive many emails from friends regarding politics and the state of our nation.
They have received them from another friend, who got it from another friend, who got it from another friend, who got it from another friend........Well you get the picture.
Passing along viral messages without checking the truth is not only spreading rumors, it is furthering an agenda.
Today with us having a minority President, the claims range from the simple to the outlandish to the down right hateful. Every thing from phony photos to claims of socialism. Recently an American religious leader made a statement comparing our President to Hitler. Shame on him, not only shame on him, but shame on any one that passed along the mail. Our Christian fathers should not push a political agenda, despite whether or not they agree with their politics. Comparing an individual to a hate-monger is absolutely ludicrous. There is enough strife in our society without having a talking head weigh in with their two cents. It troubles me that my church friends and my pastor revel and laud the inflammatory remarks made by the likes of Rush Limbaugh and Glenn Beck.
Christians, listen closely to these role models and notice not only the tone of their commentary, but the intent of it. They are entertainers, not experts.
How can anyone support the heated claims of someone paid to talk nonstop for hours a day. These speakers pontificate their expertise in all matters, but really have no knowledge of truth.
I visited with my daughter and son in law at a football game. During the tailgate, I overheard one of the "just out of college conservatives" spouting about how FDR ruined the country. This young man attended a land grant college, used TVA power, drove on roads that would not have existed if not for the recovery acts passed during FDR's administrations. He went on to brag about the great contributions of conservatives to improve education, not knowing that the conservatives routinely vote against all school funding. Yet these same individuals will gladly take Pell grants and other government sponsored academic assistance, they do however want someone else to pay for it, just not them. It was perfectly fine for them to get these "government handouts" but heaven forbid they might have to support someone else.
Our conservatives want a large military, but don't want to pay for it. They stymie veterans at every turn, but claim to support our veterans.
Wake up and smell the stink, be skeptical of "too food to be true" emails (especially those that are severely one sided). Discover the truth. Investigate history. Find out what you actually have because some one in our "big" government saw fit to provide it for the ungrateful souls that think security grows on trees.

So long Summer

Long time gone. School has started and the summer passed quickly. Almost impossible to get anything accomplished with the kids back.

KCBS CBJ School

Saturday, wife and I took a Certified Barbecue Judging course for the KCBS (Kansas City Barbecue Society).

Along with this new qualification, my wife and I are certified judges for KCBS, MBN and Memphis in May.

Will be judging a KCBS contest held by the Variety Club of Memphis this weekend.

School Days, School Days.................

Thinking back to a time of my youth, I find myself remembering the oddest things. I remember walking home from school, taking shortcuts through the yards along the way. Some days with classmates, some insufferably alone.

I can still recall the machine in the cafeteria of my elementary school having a machine that dispensed milk just like the ones in a restaurant. You know, the ones with the weighted handles that would stop the flow, just in case an errant school child would try to leave it open. The large stainless machine had a whole white milk side and another that gave the “good” kids chocolate milk. Before I moved from the elementary school to the junior high the nostalgia of the machine was replaced by milk in a carton. Five cents for white milk and a whole Six cents for chocolate. Milk, not the 2% kind they serve in schools now, but honest to goodness whole milk. Lunches were about 25 cents back then.

I can almost smell the stairwell leading down to the cafeteria from the ground level classrooms. Oiled covered stairs that retained the aroma of the oil used to treat the floors or for that matter any thing wooden in the building. Up and down each hall and each classroom the janitor moved with a deliberate stride. Taking time to push the floor mop along to gather any dust left behind by the traffic of children.

I can remember riding to school with my mom and dad. Taking the new Buick, with chrome holes on the fender, each morning to the land of learning and the planet of play.

Recess stands out in my mind most of all. During our planned excursions to the playground, socialization allowed us to meet others of our age. Recess was the ultimate networking time. Ball games were played after painfully choosing sides. Shouts of “Red Rover Come Over” filled the air. Hopefully your team could withstand the charge of the opposing side, capturing the assailant. Monkey bars climbed to the sky. If you were brave enough hanging upside down was a show of daring. They are called seesaws or teeter totters, but all we knew was that you tried not to step off while your companion was in the air. Lots of running, jumping and yelling burned off the pent up steam from classroom work.

How those teachers calmed us down I still can't comprehend. Those carefree days gave me a world of experience that I value today: Spend some time in play to remain sane in this fast paced world we live in.

We have forgotten how to play without it being a competition. Play refreshes the soul, as well as the body.

Take time to play today.

Memorial Day, it's "Q" time!

Smoking (not grilling) any of the following: Ribs, Shoulder (pulled pork) or Brisket; entails using proven methods of “low and slow” cooking. “Low and slow” means keeping the temperature around 200 to 250 degrees.

If you are going to grill ribs without the benefit of smoking, do so. However, if you want true Barbecue Ribs, you must use some type of hardwood to assist in getting the meat permeated with authentic flavor.

Pork Ribs (St. Louis cut, trimmed or baby back ribs)

Look for ribs with a slight fat content, but not too much. This small amount of fat will render out and tenderize the ribs.

Pork Shoulder (Includes the shank bone and the butt, the butt is the upper part of the shoulder; not the hind end) Also select a cut that has a portion of fat, not too much, but enough to add flavor as it renders.

Beef Brisket (choose a cut with good marbling, a mix of fat and meat, the fat enhances the flavor)

Beef Ribs (Select your favorite type and apply the same principles as Pork.

Ribs will take 5-8 hours, or until the bones will pull apart with a gentle tug. After the initial smoking process (the wood is consumed) wrap in foil to finish cooking.

Shoulder, Butt and Brisket require from 10 to 16 hours, seriously. This time is dependent on the size of the cut. With Shoulder, you should be able to pull the shank bone with little effort. Brisket should be cooked to medium to medium well for the maximum flavor and texture. Slice Brisket across the grain for more tender meat.

Anything that takes time, is a labor of love will pay huge benefits.

Start with a very hot fire! It needs to be hot as to not lose heat when the wood chunks or chips are added.

In order to maximize the flavor, yet not over power the meat itself: Soak the wood chunks or chips for at least 30 minutes before adding to the fire.

Only use one type of wood to begin with. Select any hardwood or fruit wood to try. Cook a couple of times with one type of wood to determine your favorite flavor.

Hickory is preferred, but it has what some call a bite. To me there is never enough Hickory. Hickory some times gives people indigestion, because of the heavy smoky taste.

Oak will burn hotter and give a more subtle smoke.

Apple, Peach and Cherry add a hint of the fruit.

After you determine the type of wood you prefer, stick with it until you are happy with your results.

Here it is, Memphis in May

The time is now, I can almost smell the smoke.  Contestants are preparing their cooking areas.
Let the smokin' begin.

Barbecue is defined by the Memphis Barbecue Network (MBN) and Memphis in May (MIM) as pork meat (Fresh or frozen and uncured) prepared only on a wood and/or charcoal fire, basted or not as the cook sees fit, with any consumable substances and sauces the cook believes necessary.

Whole Hog Entry
Defined by the MBN and MIM as the entire hog, whose dressed weight is 85 lbs. or more prior to removal of the head, feet and skin, and which must be cooked as one complete unit on one grill surface.  No portion or portions of the whole hog may be separated or removed and subsequently returned to the grill, prior to or during the cooking process.

Pork Shoulder Entry
Defined by the MBN and MIM as the portion containing the armbone, shank bone and a portion of the blade bone.  The pork ham, considered a shoulder entry, contains the hind leg bone.  Boston butts or picnic shoulder alone are not valid entries.

Pork Rib Entry
Defined by the MBN and MIM as the portion containing the ribsand further classified as a spare rib or loin rib portion.  Country style ribs are not a valid entry.

Patio Porkers
This pork division encourages teams to participate without competing with the "Big Pigs."  Criteria for this division includes:
The team or its head cook must not have competed in a Memphis in May Sanctioned Barbecue Contest.  This does not include competing previously in a Patio Porker Division.
Total grill cooking area is no larger than 15 sq. ft.
Teams must cook with charcoal and/or wood only.  No gas cooking allowed. 
Spare or loin ribs only.  No country style ribs.  See "Pork Rib Entry."

Location:  Tom Lee Park, Memphis, TN on the Mighty Mississippi River

Come see and smell!
Rules courtesy of MBN, MIM and Smoke on the Mountain Galax, VA.

let's use scribefire

This is a test of scribefire.

Summer Time

If you have lived in the Deep South during the Summer months, you will understand this post.
Growing up in Alabama, I became almost immune to the constant heat and humidity of the South. As I grew older, however, the heat was more noticeable. As a youth you are either unaware or unaffected by the heat. When you join the world of employment, the heat becomes oppressive.

My Dad owned a salvage yard (junk yard) for automobiles. I began working for him at an early age. I believe that he just tolerated me to begin with. As the years passed, responsibilities grew as my experience and skill improved. I graduated from door handles and chrome trim to fenders, transmissions, engines and suspension parts.

One particular summer, while still below the lawful age to acquire my license, my Dad allowed me to drive the "cut down" to carry parts from one part of the yard to the office. Our ferry vehicle was a "cut down" Volkswagen Beetle. In other words the body was removed, the frame reinforced, and equipment to remove stubborn parts was attached. I learned how to use an acetylene torch to remove extremely stubborn bolts and remove rear quarter panels to repair other vehicles. Removing the gasoline tanks was a priority when using the torch, to avoid the ignition of fumes or leftover raw gas. Welding became a passion for a few short weeks one Summer.

That Summer was special for another reason. My closest friend at the time was my age, or a little older. He would ride his bicycle over to my house in time for us to ride with my Dad to work. My parents always found it funny and strange that he had to hide his bluejeans at our house, since his mom didn't want him to wear them in public. Each day he would arrive and change clothes. Each evening he would hastily take a shower in our basement before he rode home.

Later in the Summer we were afforded the opportunity to use our "expertise" to get a junker running to drive around the place in our spare time. Pickings were slim since we couldn't take a car that had valuable parts.

We scoured the entire place for a couple of days. Among the wrecks and overused hulks were many different kinds of vehicles. A Chevy, possibly a Dodge, maybe an Oldsmobile, perhaps a Ford, no not really each of them had parts that were valuable to one of the customers. Just when we thought it was hopeless, we stumbled upon an English Ford. There was not a straight piece of sheet metal on the body. Only the floorboard was straight, but the rust had eaten large holes in it. Upon further investigation, it was discovered that only the transmission was worthy of use. We were devastated.

Determined to find a project car we consulted the Holland Interchange Manual, the bible of Salvage dealers. This tome gave the possible interaction of parts not normally used on the same brand of car. We both knew that Pontiacs, Oldsmobiles, Buicks and even Cadillacs used some of the same parts. Long before the scandal came out to the general public. Our investigation revealed to us the possible combinations that were available for interchange and our use. As we had explored our supply of wrecks, we noticed that both the English Ford and a Hillman Minx were actually built by the same company in England; the Rootes Body Corporation. Holding out hope we dug into the Holland to pray for the possibility of a fit. There on the same page it showed that both of these vehicles used the same power train. The Minx would no go, but the little engine sounded alright.

We spent the next several weeks swapping out the transmission from one to the other. Being very inexperienced, it took us about three weeks to perform a job that could have been done in a couple of hours. My Dad and Uncle Jack reveled in the thought that we were becoming mechanics. Eventually we made the change, hooked all the linkage up and cranked our ride. We decided to give it a short drive around the yard, only to discover that the Minx had not one sign of a brake. We tried to coast to a stop, but only collision with another wreck would slow the Minx down. Slowly we learned how to down shift quickly as to slow the car enough to stop.

The rest of that summer we tooled around the junkyard in our convertible Hillman Minx, stopping when we could. This past year my friend passed away after a bout with depression and ill health. A few years ago both he and his dad had strokes. We had become estranged by distance and changing pastimes. Upon his passing, I was unable to attend his funeral. I could not help but think of that hot Summer too long ago.

I wonder if he can wear his jeans in Heaven, if not it wouldn't be Heaven to him............

Donald Duck

My sister is taking creative writing during a continuing education course.
She has written a story about "Donald Duck's Last Vacation". When we traveled cross country to visit my uncle and pick up his sister, my aunt, who was returning from a stint with the Armed Forces Education program. She taught school to Army and Navy dependents in Germany and Japan after WWII. We still have the slides to prove it!.
I had a rubber Donald Duck figure that I dearly loved, I think it was one of the ones made in Italy for the Disney company. My attachment to Donald Duck waned over the years, until he basically fell apart in my hands, only to be relegated to a storage container. My other sister found a picture of Donald and I from the pictures she got from my parents' house.
Rummaging through some boxes I had brought home when we closed up my parents' house several years ago, I came across the crumbling remnants of Donald. He was actually unrecognizable. The smell was still the same. Along with the colors, faded by the years. Memories came gushing over me as I took one last look at Donald. I think he got put back into the same box, if not I will still remember him as my first real toy.
Linus had his blanket, I my Donald.

Opelika Porker Tour Update

As hard as it was for us to believe it, we were not as shocked as our family and friends: WE WON! The amateur divison of the Inagural Boda Getta BBQ contest in Auburn, AL.
Our prize is the soon to be coveted "Hogsman" trophy.
With Auburn having the only two Heisman trophy winners in the state, it seems plausible.
Great finish, guys.

Mule Barn Revisited

Leaving my Alabama home on a sweltering summer morning, the neighborhood kids and I headed toward our public pool to cool off. Back in then it was still safe for kids to walk a few miles unsupervised, especially in the Southern town I grew up in.

We walked along occasionally kicking an empty can left by an inconsiderate person at the side of the street, in the days before we knew what “litter” was. Striding along the hot pavement toward the pool and refreshment. We took the same path most days. Today, humid on top of the oppressive heat. Steam already rising from a quick morning shower just before daybreak, made it more unpleasant than normal.

Up hill and down, past the German style homes, so prevalent in my hometown, with big porches and vaulted roofs. They would have been much more at home in Bavaria than in North Alabama.

Past the truck stop and the newspaper office, then a right turn took me by the Mule Barn and neighboring warehouses. No time for exploring now, the pool awaits.

After a comforting, but long and tiring day of Marco-Polo, cannonballs, diving for quarters and submarine it was late in the afternoon. Jumping out of the pool drops fell from our bodies, standing on the concrete slab next to pool. I had done this ritual so many times before with my friends. Leaving the comfort of the cool water was not something we enjoyed. Teenage lifeguards had already called for the pool to empty more than once and closing was only a few moments away. Even at a few minutes before five, the heat was still intense, as it was always on June, July and August days in Alabama. Whether the drops were sweat or the cool water of the pool was hard to distinguish. Toweling off, the we went inside to the sauna of a bathhouse to change into our street clothes. I dressed in my uniform of lazy summer days, cut-off blue jeans or shorts and a t-shirt as did my partners. Pulling on our P.F. Flyers or Keds to begin the long walk home. A long one at least to eight or nine year old adventurers.

Struggling to climb the hill that led up to the old high school. Where generations before our brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins, mothers and fathers had witnessed triumphs and disappointment. Past the dusty ball field where weeks before we had all tried out for summer baseball, ending up on opposing teams from your closest friends. Across the decaying street that led by the old high school, newly converted to the junior high we soon would attend. Wandering over the remains of the home bleachers of our old football stadium gave us a sense of belonging. Onto the field we raced, one of us rolling up a towel into a makeshift football. Tossing it as high into the air as we could, catching it and racing for another amazing touchdown. All the while imagining future glories and rewards that were easy for youngsters of our age. Boring quickly of running at break-neck speed in the tall grass, we resumed our journey across the field that held memories for others and would mean little to our troop.

Down the bank,onto the street, then rambling on. Looking both ways for cars, just as we had been taught. Glancing toward and facing the next challenge of our task. The great hill before us passed by Ol' Mrs. Tiffin's house. The wife of the owner of our town's larger furniture stores and a civics teacher at the high school. Their sons attended one of the private schools in town. Most of us did not know them. We climbed and climbed for what seemed like an eternity. Reaching the top of the hill, we passed the boarding house my grandmother, “Mama”, moved into after my grandfather passed away. Doing volunteer work at the Hospital across the street, it was more convenient for her to walk to her Pink Lady duties.

Further along the street was the most hated building in my hometown, in our school boy minds, the County Health Department. My companions were as fearful of that ominous building with the glass front and high steps leading to aching arms and other parts of our bodies. Memories of vaccines and cups of medicine that protected you from polio, required to get prior to starting school. Its sight still brings back unpleasant memories for someone who had the mumps, measles and chicken pox all within six weeks, my seventh year. It was most unpleasant.

Level ground for the next few blocks. One side of the street higher than the other though. In past days there must have been some small hill or terrace causing the slight rise in the land. If we left the pool early enough and had pocket change, we could stop by the bowling alley for a few games or a snack, specially the hotdogs. Further along we passed the Christian Church, none of us members there. Wondering if it looked different inside, you know, from our church. Doubling back we would cross the street to the treat of our long journey home.

Across the street, lay buildings that sparked our interest on our trip to the pool, the Mule Barn and its adjacent warehouses. Sometimes, accidentally, a door or window would be left open. There was a large cotton warehouse next door, at least to a child it seemed to be larger than any other building in our town. It was cavernous inside. Bales and bales of cotton stacked as high as you could see. Smells of burlap, fresh cotton and cigar smoke. Odors that still remind me of hours spent in clandestine exploration. We thought ourselves brave for getting in and out without being caught. Occasionally, a worker caught a glimpse of one of us while we joined in the fun. Running us out into the bright sunshine, our eyes forced to adjust quickly to the warming, afternoon rays of the sun.

Now as I remember, its was not so big or cavernous. The building looked much smaller than it did to an eight or nine year old traveler. The cotton bales don't look as grand as they once were, however, they are still as heavy as I remember. The cigar smoke has long since dispersed, along with the old men that sat in the shade of the warehouses.

Most intriguing was the Kinney Mule Barn. Strategically sitting on the corner of two main streets. Whitewashed walls, a black sign with white painted letters and the stalls within were inviting enough to budding, adventuresome explorers. In its years the mule barn provided a place for farmers to stable and rest their weary animals after their long trip from the remote country side. At sometimes they could leave them there to offer them up for sale. I always hoped that, even years after farmers stopped bringing teams of mules to town pulling their heavily laden wagons, there would still be one of those mules stabled there. Occasionally, I was right. Slowly as the years progressed and my walking gave way to riding a bike, the mules vanished and the Mule Barn fell into disrepair. Safety, an issue to the owners. After falling through the upstairs floor, I decided my visits to the Mule Barn would have to come to an end.

Little did I know that these afternoon adventures would grow into the full scale wanderings I experienced as I matured. Expanding my world beyond the small North Alabama town I called home. Life moved me all over this glorious place, the South. New Orleans, its humidity, the highlands of Virginia, Kentucky's bluegrass, Tennessee's rolling hills, and South Alabama's flat peanut country. I've rambled, through bayous and forests, over hills and down thorough valleys, across streams and rivers, hiking silent trails among her great mountains and fishing off the coast of swampy Louisiana.

I now find myself listening for the drawl of someone from Selma that is so soft you feel as if you might fall fast asleep. I also listen for a brash, near Brooklyn accent of the New Orleans native while “making groceries” at Schwegman's Grocery on Severn. Seeking the hill country twang of Middle Tennessee still brings a certain warmth to a cold winter night. I anticipate someone going to “warsh” their clothes as the tobacco planters in Kentucky did. Most of all I miss the ambling tongue of my native Sand Mountain, that comes out faster than any New Yorker could ever imagine, but with that melodious gentle lilt to each syllable. Every experience of my journey brought something new and valuable to me. I hope as I moved, I would leave something behind as well.

Things come to an end more slowly in the South. We tend to take things at a more relaxed pace. Our barbecue cooked low and slow and smoked to perfection, not just heated on a propane grill. We are resistant to change.

My old cotton warehouses and the Old Mule Barn are been demolished to build another convenience store and small office complex with a real estate agent and one of those payday loan locations. Yet, new experiences follow the old, but memories of walks home after a swim in the heat of summer and that old Mule Barn still make me smile, especially on warm summer days.

Now if I could only find an open window.....

Cappy,
There are "rib" championships all over the country. There are two major sanctioning groups: Kansas City Barbecue Society and the Memphis Barbecue Network. Going along with this are many other more "localized" Barbecue Associations. New England, Florida, California and even Europe. Kansas City sponsors "the Jack" (Jack Daniels, in Lynchburg, TN) and "the Royal" (in KC) along with many other contests in many states throughout the Mid-west, South, Texas, Arizona, along with many other locations. Memphis Barbecue Network sponsors many contests in Arkansas, Tennessee, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, Florida, Virginia, Illinois, Indiana, West Virginia, Maryland, DC, South Carolina and North Carolina; mainly.
Memphis in May has been known as the Super Bowl of Swine for many years. MBN provides most of the judges for this contest. You must take a course in both organizations to be a "qualified" judge.
About the only real difference between the two organizations is the following:
KCBS features only "blind box" (being only a numbered take out box the judges have no idea what team is represented) judging on several different categories.
MBN features two different types of judging in the main three categories": Ribs, Shoulder and Whole Hog. The two types of judging on the MBN circuit are "on site" and "blind box". Blind box is the same general judging as KCBS, but "on site" judging allows the judge to visit the cooking teams and sample the Barbecue at their booth or cooking location.
I am a "certified and qualified" MBN judge and pursuing a KCBS certification.
Yes, I am addicted to Barbecue. One note, if you are selecting a Barbecue Joint to dine, Pick the one that has a pig with the most clothes on, normally you can't go wrong.
Happy eating.

Opelika Porker Tour

It's coming the Botta Getta Barbecue.
Two weeks, my son-in-law and his friends have asked me to assist them cooking in this contest. I hope that I can be a help and not a hindrance. We will cook, no matter what.
We are looking forward to seeing the granddaughter. It has been three weeks and the wife is going crazy.
We will have a good time.
Also it is two months to Memphis in May and the World Championship of BBQ.
I can almost smell the smoke from here.

In December we discovered Central Barbecue, after having it recommended by many of the competition teams that we know. It lived up to expectations and then some.
Lots of choices, all good.

Barbecue

Barbecue season is upon us check out this link http://www.mbnbbq.com/ for the new Sanctioning Body for Memphis in May competitions. MIM is no longer sanctioning contests due to MIM being a month long festival. This year the featured country is Chile. Other contests are noted on the page.
Happy Spring and good cooking.

Spring Break and Daylight Savings Time

Spring Break is upon us! Along with Daylight Savings time are the most anticipated events of Spring.
The weather is warming and the grills and smokers are firing up. Springfest in Southaven is next month and I'm really looking forward to the Barbecue Contest.

EASYSHARE Software Downloads

EASYSHARE Software Downloads

Failures of the conservative movement.....

I know I'm preaching to the choir; but why are all these republicans so enamored with Fred Thompson?

Is it because he was or is an actor? Like their savior Ronnie?

Is it because he is or was a Southerner? Like Bill Clinton or George Bush tried to e?

Is it because they think he is a conservative or what they think is conservative?

Conservativism has failed miserably since the Reagan years and his tax cuts for the wealthy and devastation of the tax base. Our national infrastructure is collapsing due to the lack of funds allocated to rebuild bridges, schools, sewer systems, airports, interstates, city roads, etc., etc. and etc.

I hear lots of conservatives try to lean on the constitution and say that it did not provide for taxation nor for government agencies. The visionaries that created the grand documents that found and base our government had vision, yet they had no concept of computers, cell phones, road systems with 18 wheel trucks running the length and breadth of our nation, schools for the number of citizens we now have, sewers, water supply, trash pickup, recycling, even the combustion engines that we use every day to power our automobiles to get to and from work were only a bright dream when our country was founded.

So, don't give me this crap about taxes not being in the constitution. The Constitution of the United States of America is a living document. Made to adapt and change with the times as new inventions make our live easier and more difficult.

The next time a conservative republican tells you he doesn't want to pay taxes; tell him or her they can't drive on your highway, use your water system, have his garbage picked up, send his kids to school, buy a tag for his car, operate his business, call the police, call the fire department, call an ambulance, or flush his toilet.

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Last Weekend!!!

Last weekend was superb, to say the least.
Memphis in May and the WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP BARBECUE COOKING CONTEST.

I had the pleasure of being one of the numerous judges that had the honor of eating some of the most succulent 'cue in the entire country.

I was honored to judge four different categories: Mustard Sauce, Exotic Meat (Friday), and Shoulder and Patio Porker (Saturday). Patio Porkers are amateurs that have won contest and are now attempting to step up to a higher level of competition. They all have to cook ribs to compete.

I ate more Barbecue than I've ever consumed in a week and enjoyed every bite.

I have changed the name of this blog....

The meaning of the following story is lost on most Christians: It regards Naaman being commanded to do a specific task by Elisha's messenger and not Elisha, himself. Naaman already believed that God could heal him, yet was baffled by the small task called for by the messenger of the Messenger of God. But when he allowed himself to be humbled, he was healed. How are we like this proud man when we do not allow God to rule even our "small tasks" each day.

Elisha's messenger said, "wash in the Jordan 7 times, your flesh will be restored & clean." Angry, he went away. "I thought he would come out, call on the LORD, wave his hand, and cure the leper. Aren't the rivers of Damascus, better than Israel?" He turned & went in a rage. Servants said, "If he commanded you to do some great thing you would have done it. How much, then, when he says to you 'Wash and be clean'?" He dipped 7 times in the Jordan, and was restored and he was clean.

The Lathe cuts a clean, sharp, straight line unless altered by an outside force. These outside forces nick away imperfections and leave behind a beautiful turned piece of metal or wood. So are our lives placed in the Lathe of Life to be subjected to numerous outside forces. If we endure the constant pressure with assistance of the Master Craftsman, we become a better person to society and ourselves. If we do not endure, it shows in our daily life through the trials and tribulations each of us is subjected to along the way.

We must become involved to grow, to flourish, to find the pathway. Allow the Master Craftman to exert his pressure to shape you into the art you were meant to be.

I love college football.....

I preface that remark, in that, I am overly fond of Auburn Tiger Football, then second comes Virginia Tech Hokie Football, if I have to pick a second choice. I prefer the football played in the SEC to most played elsewhere. The traditions of SEC football are too numerous to mention here, although I could. Yet this past weekend the UAT, did SEC and college football in general a disservice. The crimson and white faithful have yet to fathom the impact what they have done!

Besides the fact that they set a "glorious" new attendance record for a spring game.* *(FREE ADMISSION - with donation to the Enterprise Tornado Relief Fund) Sadly the 'Bama faithful only contributed in the neighborhood of $39,000.00 for Tornado Relief and with a new high attendance of over 92,000 plus that comes to around thirty cents a head. I thought the "'Bama Nation" loved their football. If they had just donated fifty cents from every soft drink sold it would have come to more than that.

They can glory in their "attendance figure" all they want, but in terms of compassion and lending a "helping hand to their fellow Alabamian" they fell way short. Sort of "in the RED...."

Have an ORANGE and BLUE day....