He sits in his Chevy Avalanche for hours on end at all hours of the day – with the engine running, often in reverse or with his brake lights on. I’ve seen him at 5am doing this and as late as 11:30pm and every time in between. I’ve left the house at 11am and returned 2 hours later to see him sitting in the same spot in front of his house with the engine still running. At night, I’ve seen him sitting in his driveway with the engine running, in reverse, with his foot on the brake pedal and his headlights shining on his garage door for 45 minutes before pulling out and leaving.

We’ve spoken once or twice. I know it’s not his only house. I know he has a “thick woman” (from the Marriage Ref) with a kid and a big momma who has only been sighted in a mu-mu a dozen times in two years.

I simply can’t think of any reason in the world why you would have to sit in your running vehicle that already only gets 20mpg when moving and 0mpg when sitting idling at your house. What could possibly be so special about the truck that isn’t available inside? There’s no bathroom, no refrigerator, no big screen TV.

Here are my best guesses:

• Maybe his wife/girlfriend wears the pants and holds the remote so he has to watch DVDs on his in-dash DVD player.
• Maybe he hates the idea of “going green” even more than I do.
• Maybe he has a girlfriend that lives at his other house, so he sits and talks to her on his cell phone rather than risk the conversation inside.
• Maybe he has some illegal activity going on and the truck is the safest place to do that business so his mu-mu momma doesn’t crack him over his skinny little butt with a wooden spoon. I sure can’t afford two houses and support a mu-mu-wearing momma.
• Maybe I’ve seen too much Perry Mason, Matlock, Murder She Wrote, Law & Order, and Monk. I could totally write a crime show script based on this behavior.

Any other bright ideas about what he could be doing? All I know is that if I were one of those neighborhood security cops, I’d be at his truck door every day asking him what he’s doing. Heck, I’d walk right by the truck and knock on the house door and ask them if they are aware of the strange man sitting in the truck outside with the engine running.

One of the most commonly known tidbits about His life is that he recruited 12 men to live, follow, learn, and ultimately come to an intellectual and spiritual knowledge of his divine identity. What most of us don’t think about is the makeup of his troupe and how diverse they were, which is what blew my mind in a fit of deep thought that prompted this writing. Let’s run down a few of them, as that will be enough to boggle minds worldwide:

• Jude: a farmer, a man of the land.
• Matthew: a tax collector – worse than today’s IRS, these guys pocketed money for themselves and often charged as much as they could regardless of the tax rate.
• Simon Peter: a fisherman, so think Cape Cod fishy dude with rough hands and smelly hair.
• Simon: a zealot – we have those today. They are called terrorists. Zealots in the day would attack and kill Roman soldiers and other gov’t officials. Terrorism isn’t anything new.

Let’s try to put a religious terrorist extremist (Hamas or KKK, take your pick), corrupt IRS agent, the Gorton fisherman, and a redneck farmboy from Iowa in a dormitory setting with someone, anyone, as their mentor and let’s see how long everyone stays together… or alive. That must have been some group that would automatically generate respect and admiration from local authorities in today’s media hungry society looking for a shocking story.

That’s all I have for now, and maybe I’ll have more later, maybe not.

If only 25-40% of the nation votes in the Presidential election, how in the world can approval polls be worth anything?

Even if the polls were directed at those “potential voters,” I’d venture that nearly half of them don’t actually cast a ballot.

I think everyone who votes in November should get to put a card in their wallet that gives them the right to complain or brag about how things are going.

Otherwise, shut the heck up!

That’s another dose of Petersen. What do you think about the polls and the bashing and praising? Do you really think your favorite celebrity voted against Bush and is mad that the result? Really?

Here in the U.S. we have great opportunities to shed stigmas and break barriers that are not possible in some societies or countries. A perfect example comes from a little girl in the annals of history — long forgotten, but forever literally changed the face of history.

Grace Bedell

Just 11 years old, young Grace wrote to Abraham Lincoln just before his first election. Innocently, respectfully, and un-presumingly, that little girl told Lincoln that if he grew out his whiskers she could get more people to vote for him. Such honest words of a sweet appraisal of an adult she respected prompted Lincoln to complete the look engraved, stamped, and carved into countless memorials and depictions — a bearded Abe Lincoln.

Her words come alive when you read them. Put yourself in her shoes as you read this:

Hon A B Lincoln…Dear Sir

My father has just home from the fair and brought home your picture and Mr. Hamlin’s. I am a little girl only 11 years old, but want you should be President of the United States very much so I hope you wont think me very bold to write to such a great man as you are. Have you any little girls about as large as I am if so give them my love and tell her to write to me if you cannot answer this letter. I have got 4 brothers and part of them will vote for you any way and if you let your whiskers grow I will try and get the rest of them to vote for you you would look a great deal better for your face is so thin. All the ladies like whiskers and they would tease their husbands to vote for you and then you would be President. My father is going to vote for you and if I was a man I would vote for you to but I will try to get every one to vote for you that I can I think that rail fence around your picture makes it look very pretty I have got a little baby sister she is nine weeks old and is just as cunning as can be. When you direct your letter direct to Grace Bedell Westfield Chautauqua County New York.

I must not write any more answer this letter right off Good bye

Grace Bedell

Now read it again… from Lincoln’s point of view. What changed for you?

Interestingly, it looks like Abe took some time to warm up to the idea or consulted with others, because this is how he replied:

Springfield, Ill Oct 19, 1860Miss Grace Bedell

My dear little Miss

Your very agreeable letter of the 15th is received – I regret the necessity of saying I have no daughters – I have three sons – one seventeen, one nine, and one seven years of age – They, with their mother, constitute my whole family – As to the whiskers, having never worn any, do you not think people would call it a piece of silly affectation if I were to begin it now?
Your very sincere well wisher

A. Lincoln

I think she was on to something. Are you on to something, too?

My boss’ father passed the weekend before last, so our department attended the funeral, basically as outsiders to their friends and family. It was a small chapel, yet one older man kind of stuck out from the rest.

It is an awkward time to figure out why someone you don’t know is attending your father/husband/uncle’s funeral, but they made an attempt to find out who he was and why he was paying respects.

That all ended when he became disrespectful and beligerant. He avoided questions and would not give his name. He seemed confused that he was in the vehicle processional to the grave site, but followed anyway.

Could it be that he was just looking for free cookies and punch? Too bad we didn’t have any. Too bad he acted that way toward a grieving family.

Have you heard of this happening before?

Wishin’, and hopin’, and thinkin’, and prayin’,
Plannin’ and dreamin’ each night of his charms,
That won’t get you into his arms.

So if your’re looking for love, you can share,
All you gotta to is hold him, and kiss him, and love him,
And show him that you care.

Show him that you care, just for him.
Do the things that he likes to do.
Wear your hair just for him,
‘Cause you won’t get him
Thinkin’ and a prayin’,
Wishin’ and a hopin’,

‘Cause wishin’, and hopin’, and thinkin’, and prayin’,
Planning and dreamin’
His kisses will start.
That won’t get you into his heart.

To me, the difference between “wish” and “dream” is another wordsmithing thing in my head that distingushes them.

I see them as without and with faith, in that order. Faith, described as “hopeful expectation.” Those two words are a few volumes by themselves. How can you be hopeful AND expecting at the same time?

I’m not sure how *you* do it, but for me, it’s as easy as expecting that I will make it to work okay, or enjoy a nice meal with my wife when I get home. I have no present proof that either will happen in the future, so I hope for them, but I have nothing to suggest that I shouldn’t expect them.

Dreaming is faith-full to me. I dream of things that are not yet, but there is no reason to expect that I can’t get/achieve/arrive at something. I don’t dream too big, but I also try to not dream to the extent of turning it into a wish.

Don’t we all wish we could have no worries, pain, trouble? Then again, how realistic is that? Do you expect them? No. That is why it is wishful to me, not dreaming.

My first experience with this problem occurred nearly two years ago when someone asked me what the 5 oceans ot the Earth are. I counted them out for her: “Atlantic, Pacific, Indian, Arctic… there are only 4 oceans. Is this multiple choice? There has to be something wrong here.” After pulling up Wikipedia, I discovered that there is now a Southern Ocean listed in the Oceans article. When I went to the Southern Ocean article, I learned that 28 nations from the International Hydrographic Organization (IHO) decided for the world that they wanted to create a new ocean. When were they going to tell all of us who had already graduated?

The next major change came recently when the International Astronomical Union (IAU) re-defined the term “planet” and removed Pluto from the Solar System. At least I read the paper that day. Now we have 8 planets and 3 “dwarf planets.” How do the Roloffs feel about that term?

What is next? Making a mile 5,000 feet to “make it a round number” or something like that?

I had a nasty dream up until I woke up this morning. I have no idea how long I was dreaming this awful scenario, but it freaked me out. For some reason, my subconscious dreamt that the chief of Company security, a security guard, and someone lurking in the shadows came to my highly modified dream-like work area to let me know that today was my last day and placed two 2′x1′x1′ boxes with lids on my desk to pack all of my things. Then I laughed and told him I’d need more boxes than that, so they all left me to pack up.

My cube mate was quietly crying around the corner, devastated that someone so fun was leaving, so I kept up a friendly chat the whole time. For some reason I had about 15 Beanie Babies, a laptop, and more gizmos than you can shake a stick at.

I was freaking out the whole time I was packing, thinking about what we were going to do for money. This is the best job I’ve ever had, it’s barely paying the bills, and we’d only have one more quarter paycheck coming if today was my last day. “That’s it; we’re sunk,” was all I could think for a long time in my dream.

Then something happened. I remembered that I have a degree. I have experience. Better yet, I have a network of people and friends and family that will chiefly make sure we don’t starve or lose our apartment. Best yet, I have a promise from God that all of my needs will be met on a daily basis.

I have full confidence that people will help funnel work my way until I can firmly settle down into something freelance. It was an uplifting event. I have never awoken so pumped about the day with a total “come what may” attitude. Not that today would be my last day, but what if Friday was? I think I would handle it a lot better than before my dream.

Now I hand this off to you. How would you take such life-changing news? Can you find it within yourself to pull yourself up and keep on trucking if today was your last day at work?