IDHAIWIWBIDTIWAUFO

UFO—Unidentified Flying Object

IDHAIWIWBIDTIWAUFO—I don’t have any idea what it was but I don’t think it was a UFO.

Disclaimer—I suppose correct grammar is “an UFO”. But that sounds funny.  I’m going to say “a UFO”.  Just so you know.

This week I read an article about an American Airlines  pilot and  a Lear jet pilot who both reported to the tower that a bright object flew over their aircraft.  Both pilots reported the same bright light and the same rapidly moving object.  These were near simultaneous events. There’s nothing particularly unusual about a report of a UFO.  What was unusual was the number of people who said it wasn’t a UFO.  I think I get where they’re coming from. Their comments must be along the lines of “When I think of a UFO, I think of a space ship inhabited by aliens from deep space.  Whatever this was, it wasn’t a UFO.”  But I beg to differ.  It was in fact an unidentified flying object, or UFO.  If it was flying in the sky and nobody had any idea what it was, it was a UFO regardless of whether or not it was an alien spacecraft. Why argue that it wasn’t a UFO?

Why do we so easily dismiss obvious things? I find it difficult to believe that people still argue against “climate change.”  No matter what you think about “global warming”, you can’t deny that the climate is in fact changing.  Dramatic and deadly weather events are becoming more and more frequent and more and more severe. I don’t think there is a good argument against “global warming.”  You can argue whether or not the warming of the earth is natural or man-made, but you really can’t argue if the earth is getting warmer. Scientists believe he “greenhouse effect” created by CO2 emissions is driving this phenomenon.  Others argue that these emissions have no effect on the environment. So argue that the "greenhouse effect" doesn't exist, but don’t argue against “global warming” There is much visual and scientific evidence that year by year the earth is getting warmer. The earth is getting warmer= global warming.

This week, flat earth conspiracy theorist Mike Hughes launched himself several hundred feet in the air in a self-made, steam-powered rocket  and he returned to the ground relatively unhurt.  The stunt was to prove that the earth is flat.  Strapping himself into and blasting off in a man-made rocket either proved he was very brave or very stupid.  I’ll let you decide which  But in my humble opinion his flight to 1875 feet didn't  prove that the earth is flat. Hughes plans to build a bigger rocket that will launch him into space. I suppose if he successfully lands back on the earth's surface, he will prove once and for all that the earth is flat. Meanwhile, if you’re interested, you can attend the 2018 Flat Earth International Conference November 15-16 in Denver, Colorado.  One of the break out sessions will be ‘The Earth Must Be Flat Because My Plate Doesn’t Fall Off the Table When I Eat”.  And another will  be, “Do UFOs Really Exist”? 

As you know, there are a multitude of Holocaust deniers.  These misguided and delusional people honestly believe (or for reasons other than honesty) that the Holocaust didn’t happen.  It doesn’t matter that tens of millions of records exist regarding the over six million people who were put to death.  It doesn’t matter that you can travel to Germany and surrounding countries, and  visit these concentration camps where these millions were killed. For them, for reasons that are entirely unreasonable, they say that none of it happened. Do any of them believe in UFOs?

If a large disc-shaped object lands in your backyard. A staircase comes down and a little green man with large eyes  descends to the ground amidst smoke and steam.   And this little green man says in a computer-generated voice, "Take me to your leader."  Are you going to take him to Washington? Or just introduce him to his wife?

No worries.

"I ain't got no worries, cause I ain't in no hurry at all."  Black Water, written by Patrick Simmons of The Doobie  Brothers, from their album, What Once Were Vices are Now Habits. 1974

When she said it, I thought it was the first time I had heard the response “no worries”.  As many times as I’ve heard it since then, I’m quite sure that it wasn’t the first time.  I had just never noticed that response before my friend said it.  Maybe it was because of the nature of my concern. Maybe it was because this person was so kind. Maybe it was because of the convincing smile on her face and in her eyes.  Maybe it was because of her crisp southern California accent.  But for whatever reason or combination of reasons, when she said, “No worries” to my concern, I was deeply grateful and extremely relieved. I did, in fact, walk away with no worries.

People say that worrying is just a natural response to life concerns and situations.  People say that worry can’t be helped. The truth is that we choose worry just like we choose any other emotion. And as Patrick Simmons suggests, it becomes a habit. Years ago I read that worry is like music on a record album.  When you drop the arm, the needle immediately finds the groove and starts playing the same old song. The article went on to say that if you don’t want to worry, if you want to listen to different music, then you’ll have to drop the needle on a different record.

The truth about worry is that it doesn’t change anything besides you.  “Worried sick” isn’t just a figure of speech.  Chronic worry can cause a multitude of physical and mental health issues. Worry pumps poisons into your nervous system that affect every part of your body.  The neurotransmitters involved with worry are God-given biochemicals that are in your brain for a good reason. But when you worry the pumps stay on and these chemicals, among other things, wreak havoc on the lining of your stomach and digestive system.  The worries may not be real, but the ulcers are. And I don’t need to tell you that all the worry in the world doesn’t bring any more money into the bank account and doesn’t get a single teenager to her destination. Furthermore, worry doesn’t change the outcome of a small thing any more than a big thing. Your worries about being late to the wedding do no more good than your worries about the possibility of nuclear warfare. You’ll get there when you get there and you have no access to the people with the launch codes.  Your worry is futile in both cases. It does nothing but rob your soul of its joy and destroy your peace of mind.

To deal with my own temptation to worry and other issues of mental health, I read a lot about my brain.  And about your brain. Researchers and biologists at Caltech are studying the brain to find out why we worry, where we worry and how we worry. If you read about their research, you will learn about the septohippocampal axis, parasentricular nuclei, double-inhibitory neurons, the lateral septum and several  other brain areas and functions.  They are trying to determine what parts of the brain are involved with worry so that they might find therapy and medication that can help. Then if you read Lisa Feldman Barrett’s How Emotions Are Made, you’ll find that she suggests that you need to forget all that.  That your brain creates emotions on the fly.  She says that each emotion uses its own unique brain chemistry in every new situation. “There is no ‘worry center’ in the brain”, Barrett says. 

Meanwhile, since worry doesn’t help anything, if worry is entirely useless, how do you stop worrying?  I don’t know. It’s not easy.  But try these steps.  1. Ask yourself if you want to feel the way you feel. 2. Ask yourself, “Is the worry accomplishing anything good?” 3. How had I rather be feeling right now?  4. Play a different record.    Put yourself in another state of mind.   Mentally, take yourself to another place.

I owe a lot to my California friend. Because of her personal warmth, it was like the angel of the Lord was saying to me “No worries”. In my inner self the angel said, “Do not worry about this. This is not a problem.  For that matter, don’t worry about anything.  It doesn’t help.”    An old Swedish proverb says, “Worry often gives a small thing a big shadow.”  If you stop worrying, you are immediately walking in more light. “And God said, ‘Light's a good thing."

Enterprise, Alabama. David was here.

de.com.mis.sion—withdraw something (especially weapons or military equipment).

“I guess I thought you’d be here forever

Another illusion I chose to create

You don’t know what ya got until it’s gone

And I found out a little too late.”   Hard Habit to Break, Chicago

My wife and I made a quick trip this weekend to my hometown of Enterprise, Alabama.  We had official family business there, but we took time to just drive around and reminisce together. My wife is from Jasper, Alabama, but since we’ve been married nearly forty two years, she shares much of my Enterprise history.  After graduating from the Enterprise State Junior College in 1973, I made my way to Birmingham to continue my college education at Samford University. That is where I met my wife the next year. We shared a ride from school to Jasper every weekend.  We fell in love somewhere along Highway 78 between Birmingham and Jasper.

We drove down Main Street of Enterprise a couple of times and stopped for a photo op at the famous Boll Weevil Monument.  That monument, erected to thank the boll weevil for destroying  cotton and forcing local farmers into growing peanuts, will turn 100 years old next year. I plan to be at that celebration.  I have written several local leaders that it would be good and appropriate for the monument to also memorialize Dr. George  Washington Carver who influenced those farmers.  But so far that recommendation has fallen on deaf ears.  Meanwhile, I'm still proud of the history and heritage of that storied monument which stands right in the middle of town at the intersection of Main and College Streets.

From the monument, we drove down College, left on Doster, right on Crawford and left on Glenn Street. On the right is 102 Glenn Street, the home of my childhood, adolescence and young adulthood. I was nineteen years old when I hugged my sister, mother and father, and drove away to Birmingham in the Olds 88 my grandfather gave me. There was probably a voice telling me “Pay attention. You will never live here again.” But I was listening to other voices coaxing me toward my destiny.  From my childhood home, we drove down the street to the home of my high school girlfriend. One irony of that visit and that “girl” is that over the years, she and my wife have gotten to be good friends. She and I are still good friends too.  It was good to see where we spent so much time together with her family.

Driving back up College to drive across town to the former location of my high school, I noticed a plaque  in front of the College Street Elementary School where I was a student grades one through six. I pulled over to read it.  The plaque stated some of the school's history and that the school had been “decommissioned” in 2015.  Maybe it’s called that because of the proximity of Enterprise to Ft. Rucker, an army base, but apparently “decommissioned” is a fancy word for “closed.” I learned that a  local woman, Peggy Collins, also an alumnus, was upset about the closing. She started the process to add the school to  the Alabama Register of Landmarks and Heritage.  That process was completed in 2016. There is now an effort to turn my old school into a museum.

The drive across town takes only about ten minutes. We drove by the hospital where I was born. Across town we stopped, where I often stop, at the memorial where my high school, the Enterprise High School, stood until  March 1, 2007.  On that fateful day, a F4 tornado tore through town causing incredible devastation.  My school took a direct hit. Eight students and a resident were killed.  In 2010 the city erected a permanent memorial to those students and the woman who was killed.  As I looked at the photographs etched in bronze and read each memorial, I cried as I always do. They were each so young and so beautiful. I can’t image the loss to their families, friends, school and community. So much life and energy just vanished in a matter of seconds. Although on this site of my high school is an elementary school and although Enterprise has a $90 million dollar high school across town, I also shed a tear for my old school building. From grades nine to twelve, there I grew from an adolescent to a young adult. It’s just so odd that not a brick of that school still stands.

Something else that’s odd, is that when we visit Enterprise, Alabama, we stay in the Hampton Inn. I’m always tempted to tell the desk clerk the story of my life. “Do you want to know who I am?” “Do you want to know what this town means to me?”  “Does this town mean anything to you?” Instead, I hand her my credit card, smile and say “Thank you”, and walk to my room.

College Street Elementary School was decommissioned by an official act. The Enterprise High School was decommissioned by an “act of God.”  I put it in quotes because that’s what the insurance company called it.  I seriously doubt God had anything to do with the violent destruction of a high school and the tragic loss of life.  Why would a loving God do that?

Yesterday, as we put Enterprise in our rear-view mirror and drove north on Highway 167 toward Troy,  I felt very melancholy. But that girl I met because I left Enterprise in 1973 in my grandfather's Oldsmobile, was sitting beside me in the car. We were commissioned in 1976.  Nothing that has been  decommissioned can begin to match that.  Chicago says, “You don’t know what ya got until it’s gone.”  I know what I’ve got. “Let’s go home”.

20/20

Have you ever wondered what 20/20 vision means? My tech savvy son says “Dad, you’ve got a smart phone. You don’t have to wonder anything”.  So what I learned is that the chart our eye technicians use to test our vision is a Snellen chart. This commonly used chart is  named for its creator Herman Snellen, a Dutch ophthalmologist who drew it in 1862. This chart, as you well know, has rows of random letters that from top to bottom get progressively smaller. 20/20 vision means  that you can read the smallest letters from twenty feet that someone with normal sight can read at twenty feet.  Vision such as 20/10 is even better. This means that you read from  twenty feet what someone with normal vision can read at ten.  And who decides what “normal vision” is?  My smartphone didn’t tell me that. We have to accept that as a given.

I tend to catastrophize.  When I’m stressed, it’s my knee-jerk reaction to take the situation to its darkest conclusion. “Darkest conclusion" is figurative, but this story involved, I feared,  a literal dark conclusion. I sometimes let my imagination work against me. I’m actually getting much better about this phenomenon, but it’s still a problem from time to time.  This situation was not one of those when I imagined a good outcome.

There was an invasion of Asian Lady Bird Beetles on the south side of the house.  There were hundreds of them. There were so many, they were starting to get in the house.  I normally wear safety glasses to do this work since I’m treating above my head. But that afternoon, nearly two years ago, I didn’t bother to put them on.  I worked for about thirty minutes treating the outside wall and all the cracks and crevices.  And then I treated inside the house. That night at dinner my wife asked, “What’s wrong with your eyes?”  I replied, “I don’t know. What is wrong with them?”  She said, “They’re bloodshot and slightly bulging.”  I went immediately and washed them out with water, but the damage was done.  I washed my eyes out several more times before I went to bed. The next day they looked better, but I was having some problems with my vision.  That night driving was difficult. Oncoming lights and street lights cast halos that were several feet in diameter.  I could see to drive, but it wasn’t easy.  All the lights from automobiles and street signs were way too bright and big.  The next day and that night things got worse.  I could drive okay during the day, but driving at night was impossible. And that’s when I started to panic.  I decided that I had damaged my cornea and that I was going blind.  Why my cornea?  Because I had heard of a cornea and figured I had damaged something important. The next day I called my eye doctor and he was able to see me that day.

I think it’s left over from my principal’s office in elementary school, but I felt like I was in trouble and was about to get a scolding. Or worse.  Since I was there for a possible eye damage issue and not for corrective lens, he skipped all the Snellen chart stuff and immediately did the examination. He pulled  the large machine around to my face and I placed my chin in the chassis. My pulse was slightly up as I was preparing for the worst. He pulled that vertical fluorescent light from one side of my right eye to the other. Then he repeated the procedure with the left.  I was predicting cornea damage, for sure.  He turned off the light and swung the machine back out of the way.  I held my breath as he said, “Your eyes are fine.  You didn't damage your eyes. You have cataracts and I can fix that.”  “Do you mean my eye issues are just a coincidence?”  And he said, “Yes, that’s correct.” 

A few months later the cataract surgery on both eyes went without a hitch.  Since I opted for the standard lens, I still need reading glasses, but I see 20/20 for distance. Since I had trouble keeping up with reading glasses, I had glasses made with reading power in the bottom and no power in the top.  And I wear them all the time. When I drive, I take them off and wear sunglasses just like someone with “normal vision". At night, headlights are their normal size.  I'm very grateful that there is nothing wrong with my cornea or any other part of my eyeball. 

Since then I have never failed to wear protective eye wear when handling pesticides or dangerous equipment. I am also learning to imagine the best in every situation instead of imagining the worst.  It’s just as easy  to imagine a good outcome as a bad and my quality of life is so much better.

Yesterday when I had to show my driver’s license for identification, I noticed on the back, “Restrictions: B—Corrective lenses required”. So much for those sunglasses.  I guess this means a trip to the DMV. And I fear the worst. 

Forced to Wonder

I knew as soon as I pulled the front door closed that I had locked myself out. And I knew in the same instant that I  had locked my phone in.

Everybody loves their dog.  Everybody thinks that their dog is the most special dog in the world. Everybody considers their dog to be, not just a beloved pet, but a member of the family.  But everybody would be wrong.  Since my dog, Maggie, was all of those things, your dog is, at best,  the second best dog in the world. When Maggie was twelve years old, her eye began to bulge. The veterinarian told me that it wasn't an eye problem but that she had a brain tumor pushing against it. After hearing the options of prolonging  the inevitable, I decided to let her live out her days with no invasive treatments.

  

My son and I rescued Maggie from the Chattanooga Humane Society when she was just a few days old.  In retrospect, I wish that we had taken her brother too, but we don't live in "retrospect", do we. The ball of black fur that we took home grew into the most beautiful seventy pound mixed shepherd that you can imagine.  Her black fur was balanced with brown and white markings on her face, neck and paws. Looking at her straight on,these markings  were perfectly symmetrical like an artist had put them there. Her most outstanding features were her eyes.  Maggie had one eye that was sky blue and the other was half blue and brown.  More than a few people over the years asked me if the blue eye was glass. After considering all the wise cracks I could have made regarding spending thousands of dollars for a glass eye for a dog, I just answered, "No."  Without a doubt though, Maggie's most marvelous attributes were her endearing temperament and gentle disposition.  She was quiet, reserved and deeply introspective. She seldom told me what she was thinking, but she was always thinking something.   From a puppy, Maggie seldom barked, but when she did it was a couple of low, non-feminine yelps.

That afternoon, just a few weeks before I took her to the vet, when I laid down in the grass to wait for my wife to come home, Maggie took up residence beside me.  I scratched her head, stroked her fur and utterly gave myself to the situation.  Instead of feeling inconvenienced, I felt that I had been given a gift. I laid there on my back for nearly two hours looking, listening and enjoying the wonder of it all. Most of all I was enjoying the love that I felt from my shepherd, Maggie.  That I was in that particular yard at all was part of the wonder.  This house, when we bought it, and moved in, was the fourth house we had lived in in three months. After we got settled (again),  I told my wife that I hoped this was the last house I ever lived in. That was thirty two years ago. We talk about moving from time to time, but we never do.

The question I have asked myself over the eleven years since Maggie died, is why did it take being forced to spend that time with her for me to spend that time with her. And why did I never do it again?  I  certainly spent quality time on our front porch loving on my dog, but never before or since anything like that day.  Instead of beating myself up for my mistakes, I try to learn from them and apply the lesson to something else.  I have tried over the years to spend my time according to my priorities instead of always feeling compelled to meet someone else's marching orders. It’s like what the narrator said  on an emotional support tape years ago, “I’ve never heard anyone on their death bed say ‘I wish I had spent more time at the office’.”

Thankfully, it was a beautiful spring day that day I locked myself out of my house.  And thankfully I had absolutely nothing better to do than to listen to the birds,  watch the clouds move over Lookout Mountain and to love my dog. But the lesson for me is to take inventory of my priorities when I do have something better to do and to sometimes change my mind and do something else more in line with my values. 

So why have I never got another dog?  When you had the best dog in the world, it's hard to settle for anyone else.

Birds of a Feather

“The reason birds can fly and we can’t is simply because they have perfect faith. For to have faith is to have wings.”  J.M. Barrie 

I have been feeding  songbirds for over 25 years.  Over these many years, I have maintained a love-hate relationship with birds and squirrels.  I love birds and I hate squirrels.  I know some people enjoy watching squirrels in their yard and even feed them.  Others actually keep them as pets.  I despise them. Folks say, “David, squirrels are God’s creatures too.  How can you say you hate them?” Ok, as the song says “Hate is a strong word, but I really, really don’t like them.”    My issue is that if they would simply share the feeder and share the food I might not feel that way about them.  But they greedily consume copious amounts of the food and are incredibly destructive.  Besides quite often knocking the feeder down, in many instances squirrels have totally destroyed my feeders.  Keep in mind too that squirrels are in the rodent family.  As far as I’m concerned, they are large rats with bushy tails.

Now let’s talk about songbirds.  I find songbirds to be both beautiful and delightful.  Over these years I have spent many blissful hours just watching them flit to and from the feeder. And I’ve also enjoyed observing their behavior at the feeder. Besides their exquisite physical beauty, there is the wonder of their song.  Each bird has its own distinctive call, its own mating cry that is a joy and a delight for me to hear. This list is far from  exhaustive, but here are a few of the birds who have visited my feeders over the years—chickadees, sparrows, cardinals, grosbeaks, blue jays, eastern bluebirds, wood thrushes, mockingbirds, house wrens, and orioles.

Besides these birds I have mentioned, there have been several varieties of woodpeckers in my trees and on my feeder.  In particular there have been red-headed woodpeckers and an abundance of downy-headed woodpeckers. But the bird that most surprised and delighted me was the pileated woodpecker that visited my feeder one afternoon several years ago.  Having this bird land at my feeder was like  a 747 landing at a municipal airport.  The bird was massive. From head to toe it measured over two feet.  The beauty of its feathers was stunning. I saw this majestic bird in time to not startle it, so he stayed at my feeder for several minutes before spreading its wings and flying away. I felt that I had witnessed a holy visitation of sorts. It would be like a fisherman tossing his line in the water to catch a speckled trout and he hooks a shark. 

Another bird watching experience that left me stunned was the day the chickadee kept one foot on the feeder and moved the other foot to my finger.  For several days this bird had let me get progressively closer and closer until I was standing next to the feeder.  On this particular day, I was standing right  next to the bird. I slowly lifted my open hand toward the bird when to my surprise, she stepped out onto my finger. Her left foot was on the feeder and her right foot was on my finger.  I just stood there in amazement while she continued to eat from the feeder.  But then I got greedy and encouraged her to step out into my hand. I learned then and there that “fly in your face” is not just a figure of speech.

No doubt my most incredible bird watching experience was not at my feeder, but out in God’s green earth. I’ll spare you the long story, but on a hike I sat down to relax and view the valley before me when a golden eagle floated into view above me. If enjoying its lazy circles was not enough  to my surprise she landed in a nest about twenty feet below me.  She had brought food to her eager and excited young  who poked their heads out of the nest to retrieve the food. To this day I don’t know how I got so lucky.

There is no such thing as a “squirrel-proof feeder.”  No matter what I have bought and used over the years, the squirrels eventually win.  Such was the case last fall when I took down everything, threw it away and spread my feed over the back yard. I was done.  But last week at Lowe’s, I was drawn to the wild bird section.  One feeder caught my eye. Since it didn’t promise to be a “squirrel-proof feeder”, I bought it and brought it home. After filling the double barrels with finch food and wild bird food, the first  guests that I attracted was a family of cardinals.  Cardinals mate for life and usually travel together, so both of them were at the feeder.  Several years ago, as I was purchasing some bird seed at Lowe’s, the cashier said, “I’ve read that men who feed wild birds are nice people.”  I told her that I hoped to live up to the reputation.  I can’t tell you for certain that I’m always a nice person, but I can tell you that in spite of its challenges, feeding wild birds has been one of the most enjoyable activities of my life.  One thing I’ve learned watching birds, like someone with a  hang glider, they jump before they fly.