Mysterious Phenomenon

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I have never seen or heard of anything like this.

It is like a mass suicide. Millions upon millions of gnats floating dead on our lake.

Almost the entire lake was covered in this strange looking scum. The dead gnats appeared suddenly.

This cloud on the water you see are all gnats.

My educated guess is, the gnats swarmed, formed a cloud, flew over the lake, got blasted by a downpour of rain and drowned in the water.

What is amazing, all that is in God's plan. Let me tell you why I think it is.

With millions of gnats floating on the surface of the lake, thousands of polliwogs, or tadpoles if you will, came to feed on them.

Naturally, as the polliwogs feasted, the fish in the lake feasted on them.

Quite a wonderful cycle of nature.

I feel sorry for folks who try to find peace in the ways of the world. I consider myself blessed by finding peace in the ways of the Lord. The Word states: "Be still and know that I am God."

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Speaking Of Jobs

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Now-a-days we hear a lot about real jobs vs government jobs.

This in itself gives me grief just analyzing the difference. On a real job, working for a private company, all people employed have one goal. That goal is to produce a product or service to sell to the consumer, make a profit, re-invest, hire more people, grow the business.

On a government job absolutely nothing is produced to sell, not even one toothpick. (The only thing such jobs produce are votes.) On a government job there is no need to re-coop the cost of salaries and overhead. Why sweat it? If there is nothing to sell, it makes sense not to care how long one stays on an assigned task, or when to finish it.


I recently enjoyed an early lunch at a fast food place. Sitting by the window I watched the traffic, people, and yellow, small truck with warning lights blinking.

As the truck slowly eased my way, down the divided avenue, I noticed two workers lethargically digging and scraping in the grass-covered center isle.

I realized it was the local city's crew. Frequently they observed periods of leaning on shovels, drinking liquid (?), as they gradually, step by agonizing step, worked their way to where I could get a closer look at their duties.

One of these two men dug a hole in the ground, about a five-gallon bucket's worth. Then, after another pause of leaning and drinking, the dude who had dug the hole stepped off ten paces and began to dig the next hole. The second guy, also armed with a shovel, promptly filled in the freshly dug hole. Ten strides later, the same sequence repeated itself.

As I watched, and totally puzzled, I gulped down the rest of my water, left the restaurant, and headed toward the working crew.

"Hey, I watched you guys from the restaurant," I said. "Could you clue me in as to what purpose you fellows have in digging a hole then filling it back in?"

"We are planting trees," one of them said with all sincerity.

"I don't understand," I said. "Where are the trees?"

"Oh," said the helpful fellow, "The guy putting the trees in the hole took the day off."

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MORAL RELATIVISM

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MORAL RELATIVISM

Moral relativism claims that morality is a matter of cultural or social preference. A matter of ethics and even personal opinions. 

This mindset translates that there is no such thing as absolute truth. 

So, if absolute truth does not exist, it makes sense to those who promote such beliefs that no one has the right to condemn another person’s beliefs. In such a world one must never condemn another’s attitude, or even their actions. Thus, one person’s morality is another’s liberty.

Moral relativism is an empty philosophy. In its purest sense, it simply attempts to allow all human being to do what they want without fear of guilt or punishment. Such an approach to morality is diametrically opposed to the Christian faith. 

Scripture, the Word of God, the bible, is filled with moral absolutes. Commands that show God demands specific behavior from mankind, His precious creation. His Word also clearly states that He will punish the disobedient.

Moral behavior based on prevailing situations and opinions are introduced by the devil himself. A way to entice the selfish human nature to do what seems right in their own minds. A way to draw mankind closer to the pit of hell.

So, what is truth? God is Truth. Jesus said: “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life; and no one comes to the Father except through Me.”  John 14:6

The apostle Paul warns us:

“For we are not contending against flesh and blood, but against the principalities, against the powers, against the world rulers of this present darkness, against the spiritual hosts of wickedness in heavenly places.”  Ephesians, 6:12

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Never An End To Projects

Never An End To Projects.

What does a man do in his retirement? 
Well, . . . have wood, . . . will build!

I have a treasure of 100 year old wood in an old house on our place in Floyd County. Plenty of American extinct chestnut, oak, pine, walnut and other woods that no one can identify.

To the project list below, you can add two vanities, an end table, and numerous other doodads like backscratchers, napkin holders, tissue boxes, cutting boards, serving trays, condiment holders, and stuff.

We used the wood to furnish and finish the new cabin.

After months and months of tearing out the wood, we spent months of pulling out old nails, and scraping crud from the joints. 

The old house, my quarry for wood.

Heart pine in bedroom

Random width chestnut on floor. Buffet same wood

Buffet top

Dining trestle table. 42"x92". Chestnut top, oak bottom

Night stands in the making. Chestnut wood

Kitchen cabinets. Chestnut wood

Kitchen cabinet detail wood. Wormy American chestnut, now extinct.

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Palet Knife Oil Painting

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Impressionistic painting does not have to be a challenge. Just dab, smear and watch it come alive.

 Look at the fun our seven year old granddaughter had.

Dabs of paint are fun. But, but - - all projects start with bubble gum. This pot was full an hour earlier.

The tools and paint are simple. No thinners needed to clean up. Just wipe the pallet knife clean.

Remember, a pallet knife is a little spatula. You paint with the pointed end in dabs and strokes and smears. The theory is: let the eye mix the colors. These oil paints have hung around since 1982, the last time I painted on canvas.

A closeup of the dabs and smears of the seven year old's piece of art.

This one is the master piece of one of my thirteen year old granddaughter's.

This one turned out to be one of our ten year old boy's masterpiece.

I re-sized some old frames to show off their work. The kids went home happy. A good time was had by all.

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We Built Our Business

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   History of B&B Printing and Advertising, now Bison Printing, Inc.

   A 40 step history on how one can achieve success in the USA.

  1)  Started the business in our home basement.
  2)  Put up sign in cow pasture five miles outside of town.
  3)  Sought churches as our first customers.
  4)  Went to Harris Printing to borrow his folding machine.
  5)  Went to Harris Printing to borrow his stitching machine.
  6)  GROSS income the first year: $8,000.
  7)  Lived on savings.
  8)  Got a part-time job as a mail carrier.
  9)  Started to do negative work for Piedmont Label Co.
10)  In 1980 bought Depot Street building. Made payments with savings.
11)  Began renovations on Saturdays.
12)  I became a plumber, an electrician, a carpenter, a sheetrock guy, and a painter.
13)  Moved business to town.
14)  Got a loan to brick the exterior of the building.
15)  Started office supply business to draw people to printing.
16)  Bought larger presses. Made payments with savings.
17)  Bought adjoining Locker Plant (defunct frozen food storage place).
18)  Gutted and renovated the new space on Saturdays.
19)  Sharpened my plumbing, electrical, carpentry, wall hanging and painting skills.
20)  Moved equipment into renovated Locker Plant.
21)  Renovated a portion of the first building to lease to Arthurs Business Service.
22)  Bought four-color press and more binding equipment. Made payments with savings.
23)  Each of the 7 people working for B&B Printing earned more than we did as owners.
24)  More of our capital pumped into equipment and delivery trucks.
25)  My wife and I packed a lunch EVERYDAY.
26)  First son joined the business straight out of Virginia Tech.
27)  Bought adjoining building to Locker Plant.
28)  More renovations on Saturdays.
29)  Moved heavy equipment again to new building.
30)  Second son joined the business two years after graduating from VT.
31)  All aspects of business upgraded to new digital technology.
32)  Now three buildings jammed with employees and equipment.
33)  Third son joins the business, graduate of Radford University.
34)  Together, the whole family eats their daily sack lunches.
35)  My wife, Emily, died.
36)  We purchased 40 acres of industrial land on the outskirts of Bedford.
37)  My sons and I designed layout of a new 50,000 sq ft industrial plant.
38)  Three families mortgage their assets to make payments on this $1,000,000 project.
39)  Over the last ten years, over $3,000,000 worth of  new equipment has been added.
40)  Nearly 50 families depend on their income from  Bison Printing, Inc.

After twenty years of practically taking no time off, our sons insisted we take a lengthy vacation.
Did the business fall apart while we were gone? No.

We built our business, because this is America!  Praise God!

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1943, A Flashback

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I've started to rework my first book. A TIME AND PLACE, The Making Of An Immigrant. A book of 130 short stories with numerous pictures and drawings. I'm rendering the book to be available soon in E-book format.

Here is the first page:

AUTHOR’S NOTE

A flash and a big bang, a cold cellar floor, and a fear of falling from a window– these are the only things I distinctly remember as a three-year-old.

The air raid sirens, the approach and roar of bomber planes, those memories came alive only, when 30 years later I and my family visited the Smithsonian in Washington, DC. As I entered a wing of the museum, dedicated to World War II, sounds of bombers and sirens played overhead as a background to the exhibit. These sounds evoked dreadful emotions in me, so much so that I had to leave the building. I simply could not cope with them.

1943       

Südbahnhof, one of several train stations of Munich, stayed busy in 1943. Our four-story row house faced the rail yard and also the western sun. The rhythmic sounds of rail cars and steam locomotives became a soothing accompaniment to everyday life. My father shipped out to war from that same station. 

The wide window sills of the building extended outward and overhung the exterior wall. A basket-like wrought iron cage surrounded the lower half of the window from side to side. Mom used that window sill to grow geraniums as well as parsley and chives. The windows closed from the inside and kept the miniature garden exposed to rain and sun. My first memories of fear and trembling came when Mom decided I needed some fresh air and sun. She placed me, three years old, out on that ledge. I could not help but look three stories down to the sidewalk below. Sister Dagmar, then just an infant, also got to enjoy some sun as well.

The air raids of that time also made a dreaded imprint in this little fellow’s mind. The peace of the moment was often shaken by the ever more frequent, piercing screams of sirens. Each scream seemed to come through the windows, the walls, the curtains, the ears, the head, and straight to the soul. These death blasts never respected whether we were sleeping or swallowing our first spoonful of hot cereal. Instantly, in high emotional agitation, Mom and I, she carrying baby sister, raced down the long flights of stairs to the basement of the tenement. I do not know why, but once down there, I always sat and looked at that window . . . one small window up high.  It was level with the sidewalk outside. That window, it made me tremble so. The three of us sat on the damp floor, leaned against a cold wall and looked at that window. Many other people huddled around the walls of that cellar. All mesmerized by one source of light, that window. The light through that window did not stream from the sun, since most bombs rained down at night. Nor did it come from street lights, since power was cut off the render the city dark to the enemy. The light came from burning buildings. One burned so close by, it singed the window curtains in the apartment. 

The bursts of orange flashes, accompanied by earth trembling explosions, were a gauge in one’s mind as to how close every bomb hit. They were all close, because no rail yard was spared. Never any tears or screams came from the huddled. Fright is not accompanied by tears and cannot be consoled by one’s own emotions.

The last etching in my child’s soul came when the worst expectation became reality. A tremendous burst of white light, an earth shattering shock, the little window exploded amid an enormous flash of hell and was no more. The disintegrated window became the final blanket that put to rest the hell of a three-year old.

Soon after, the government evacuated most women and children. We were allowed to live in a small town in lower Bavaria called Griesbach.

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