The Email Hall of Fame

No I am not showing off any new counseling techniques. This is just one of the gems you will find in my Email Hall of Fame.We are barraged with email forwards from well meaning friends daily. For one reason or another I saved some of them. At the same time, I am looking for ways to apply and learn HTML and the idea for the Email Hall of Fame was born. It took me from after my run yesterday until about 1:30 AM to complete it.



Here is how I did it:

• Step 1: Create a folder structure to upload to my web host.



• Step 2: Go through my emails and copy / paste the photos to the appropriate folders. This took some doing and thank the Lord for Photoshop.



• Step 3: Make a template for the text items.



• Step 4: Copy the text from the email, paste it into the template and format as needed. This was time consuming too, because for some reason after pasting the content I had strange characters (invisible in the temp but not in the browser) which I had to go back and remove.



• Step 5: Create the photo pages. This was relatively easy with Photoshop Elements, but I had to add links to the photoshop pages with my editor.



• Step 6: Upload and test. I had a bad link, so there were about 40 files I had to open individually and paste in the correct link.

Looking at this it does not look like much, but it took me a long time. That is how we learn. If there was a better way to do this, drop me a comment, it will come in handy the next time.



As for the content. I want folks to be forewarned that some of the items and photos are tasteless, risqué, and down right nasty, offensive to some, selling points to others. It is all intended in the spirit of good natured humor. I believe we can laugh at anything beginning with ourselves. It puzzles me how someone can laugh at a racial joke or religious joke, but if a fat joke is told, they get serious and say, "hey, that's not funny." With my poor eyesight I better laugh at myself or I would be a bitter SOB. Just the other day, I was on Brenda's site, and I made a comment about a picture of some apples she had on the left column of the page. Trouble was, they were cranberries. I thought it was funny, but that is the kind of mistake I make because my eyes give me BS information a lot of the time. I would chuckle if someone else did it, so I laugh when I do it.



The advent of all of this politically correct nonsense is a sign folks need to relax just a bit. Lighten up. If you go with begin PC all the time you will be an angry, bitter, self-righteous person. Life is funny - can you say "irony" kids. I laugh to keep from crying.



If I had to choose one thing in my life / personality / whatever I think is most valuable to me, I think a sense of humor and laughter would be it. When people laugh together they are connecting and interacting intimately. The kind of intimacy guys are comfortable with. Now I know humor can be used for evil too. That is why we have words like ridicule and condescension. I am referring to the good humor.



I hope your day is filled with laughter and joy.



Until the next time

John Strain

Back In The Groove

I will post twice today. I am going for a 10 mile run this AM. Back on September 20 I posted about how I had let myself go a bit physically. Since then I have lost 11 lbs. and I have been running 6 days per week. Weelky milage is about 30. I am eating healthier food and less of it. Cutting back on the alcohol has also helped. The trick is not depriving the self, but not over indulging either.



Feels a lot better to be back in the groove. My pants sure fit better and the consistent exercise pays off in overall feelings of strength and energy. Let me encourage you. If there is something you have been putting off - start it today. No excuses. Before you know it a month or two will have passed and you will be at or near the goal. You can do it.



Who sleeps in on Saturday AM anyway?



More later today.

John

From John's Desk

It is Friday and time to lighten up and slide into the weekend. Yeeeeeehaaaaaa!!!! As you can see, my desk is far from neat. The sad part is at this moment, my desk is much worse. I have a week's worth of papers to go through, throw away, file, and Lord knows what. Working at a hospital with the HIPPA laws, one has to be careful about throwing things away. Any item with a patient's name or info must be shredded. We have big wooden receptacles for "to be shredded" items. The other day I walked back on the unit and one of the nurses had the box open and paper all over the floor. She accidentally threw something important away. Problem is, the box is locked, so the "key master" must be located to open the shred box. It is almost as bad as putting a letter in the mailbox then deciding you don't want it mailed. Too bad.

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Barbara works at the same building I do, but with a different program. Tonight she was telling me about one of her supervisees who was describing a patient's smoking habits. Employee X said, "he is a train smoker." She kept saying it and Barbara had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. When she told me I imagined a person with steam coming from the top of their head like a locomotive. Come to think of it "train smoker" may be accurate if the person has a "one track" mind.

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One of Barbara's clients when she worked at a battered women's shelter was talking about her husband who had beaten her more than once. On one occasion the man had been jailed. The lady described the events to Barbara. "After he was in jail for a couple of days, he did a "flea bargain" and got out." I guess when the cops collared the guy it was a "flea collar."

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Another colorful character once was committed to our facility in a manic state. Manic is an extremely elevated mood. She was wearing a red dress suitable for any club in the hood. To top off her outfit she was wearing a wig which still had the tag on it. I do not know why she did not cut off the tag. Myself and two other staff had gone to the lobby to meet her and walk her back to the unit. The walk took some time because the patient kept stopping to tell us about the injustices done to her by the police, her boyfriend, her family, and a hundred other people. Her speech was staccato and machine gun like in that it never stopped. Every other word was "mother f***er." She used body language to emphasize various points in her diatribe. Her head went from side to side and it was in synch with her waving index finger. Looking at her was like staring into a box fan, spinning out of sight. This girl made the Tasmanian Devil look slow. As she continued to spin and gyrate her wig flew off in mid gyration. One of the staff later said she thought it was the girl's head flying off. The wigless cyclone did not miss a beat, but continued to detail her catalog of injustices. A few days later in group, after she had calmed considerably, this girl was talking about one of the family squabbles she had been in. "My sister was threatening me with a "bashetti." (instead of machete) When people say something funny, it seems they just keep saying it. It is hard not to bust out laughing sometimes.

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The last one I will tell is another of Barbara's kids when she worked in the school system. Barbara was dealing with a 9 year old boy who had problems with his anger. She told him to write a letter about his anger and bad feelings. Once the letter was written they would tear it up and dispose of it, symbolically disposing of the feelings. As he wrote, he looked up and asked, "can I write anything I want?" Barbara told him, "yes." He asked another question, "can I write cuss words too?" Barbara said, "you can write anything you want, they are your feelings, I won't read it." Billy completed his note and brought it to Barbara. "I want you to read it," he said. "OK," Barbara responded. She unfolded the note and read it. It said: "Fuck every one except Mrs. Strain."



Out of the mouths of babes. . .



Until the next time and have a good weekend

John Strain

Struggle

• We grow because we struggle, we learn and overcome.
  
  
      --R. C. Allen



• Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved.
  
  
      --Helen Keller



• Good timber does not grow with ease. The stronger the wind the stronger the trees.
  
  
      --J. Willard Marriott



• No pressure, no diamonds.
  
  
      --Mary Case



• If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.
  
  
      --Ann Bradstreet



• It's not that I'm so smart, it's just that I stay with problems longer.
  
  
      --Albert Einstein

Struggle is necessary. Without it many of life's lessons are delayed or never learned. In our community children know little about struggle. Parents, motivated by love, try to make the path smooth and as free of obstacles as possible. They see to it their children's experiences are positive and successful. They use their knowledge, money, and influence to help. This easy path does not develop gratitude and appreciation. Instead, many children in the community are spoiled rich kids who cannot tolerate the word "no". They have little or no patience and see work as a punishment.



I have heard that helping a baby bird out of an egg or helping a butterfly out of a cocoon results in their death. Apparently, the struggle to free themselves is necessary for their normal development. It is hard to watch something struggle and not want to help. A parent must allow their child to struggle enough to learn important lessons. Too much help may spoil a child, while not enough help may cause bitterness over arbitrary rules that do not make sense.



My mother tells a story about me when I was still eating in a high chair. There was a family gathering and I was following my mother around bugging her to let me do something. She finally told me to take my high chair out to the backyard where we were to eat soon. I began struggling with the chair and one of my aunts said to my mother, "aren't you going to help him?" In response, mom said, "I am helping him by letting him do it himself."



Historically, my generation has had it made. I am at the tail end of the baby boomers, born in 1957. We have everything. Goods are affordable. Travel is affordable. Anything is possible. We have more problems too. Drugs, crime, divorce, mental illness, burnout, obesity, and numerous problems born of excess. In contrast, The Greatest Generation knew struggle intimately. They grew up during the Great Depression and fought World War II. The struggles they overcame left them with an ability to endure life in any circumstance while staying positive and productive.



Struggle is important and even necessary for a well balanced life. The problem is, our society is so fortunate struggle is minimal. The solution - create your own struggles. Exercise is a self imposed struggle. Our muscles respond to the challenge or struggle we place on them. Education is a struggle. It is work to learn, but the rewards of the struggle are worth it. I crave struggle at times. I have run four marathons. Training for a marathon and completing the 26.2 miles is a struggle one does for an unparalleled feeling of accomplishment. How do you make yourself struggle?



One day a man entered a shoe store and asked for a pair of shoes in a size 9. The shoe salesman there prided himself on being able to guess a person's shoe size just by looking at the foot and he knew this customer needed a size 11 not a size 9. "Sir, you mean an 11 don't you?" said the salesman. "Nope, I need a size 9," replied the customer. "I am quite certain you are mistaken sir," said the salesman, "you need at least a size 11." The customer a bit miffed said, "look, if you don't want to get me a size 9 I will go somewhere else." The salesman apologized then brought the customer the size 9's he had asked for. At the checkout stand the salesman felt compelled to continue the discussion. "Sir, I know you wear an 11, but why do you insist on wearing a size 9?" "Well, I tell you," said the customer, "my life is tough. The boss is on my back all day long. I work all the time, but still have financial problems. When I go home my wife starts into nagging about one thing and the other. My kids are always making racket. The only relief I get is when I kick off my shoes at the end of the day."



When I look over my life there are things I have had to struggle with and overcome. Physically, my poor vision has been a struggle. Yet, I believe my creativity and problem solving abilities are better developed because of it. I have had to find alternatives to get what I want. Were my vision normal, I would not have benefited from those struggles. I have had other struggles, so have you. Think about what you have learned in the classroom of struggle. There is no one more understanding than someone who has walked the same road. We are fellow strugglers all. Our own struggles increase our understanding and compassion for others and it is natural to want to reach out to them.



So don't just sit there - challenge yourself. Introduce a little struggle in your life. A meal tastes better when one is hungry, drink more quenching when one is thirsty, and accomplishment in any form more rewarding after struggle.



Until the next time

John Strain

Finally Asserting Myself

I am an easy going person. I rarely get angry. When I do get angry, I seldom do anything about it. I know I will cool down quickly and the alternative conflict is not worth the hassle. If I order chicken and they bring me fish - I eat the fish. It's no big deal to me. Some might say this behavior is passive and it is, but I choose it. I can assert myself if I want to, but most of the time I choose to roll with the punches. Except for one Sunday morning when I decided to assert myself.



The boys, Brian, Claude, Marty, and yours truly were headed to New Orleans for a Saints football game. We live about an hour from the Superdome so to get there in time to soak in the NFL pre game atmosphere we have to leave about 9:30 AM.



We cannot, of course, travel on empty stomachs. So we stopped in at the local Burger King. I ordered first and selected my usual sausage, egg, and cheese croissant combo. I got my change and moved out of the way for my compatriots to order their cholesterol laden breakfast. Then I realized I was $10 short. I gave the lady a $20, but she gave me change for a $10. I told Brian, "That chick shorted me ten bucks." Saying it in front of someone almost forced me to do something about it. I could not very well blow off ten dollars - I would look like a wuss.



After the last of our gang ordered, I said to the lady, "Excuse me, but I gave you a twenty and you gave me change for a ten." The woman said politely and firmly, "No sir, you gave me a ten dollar bill." The ball was in my court again. "No, I am certain I gave you a twenty dollar bill," I said equaling her polite firmness. We went back and forth another exchange or two, when she offered me a solution. "What I can do sir is count out the register. If it is over by $20 then we will know you were right." I had some hope, but would just have to take her word for it.



The lady started counting the money in the drawer. I was certain I had given her a twenty. My friends were making little comments. Marty said, "we can't take you anywhere without you causing a scene." Claude, looking ahead, said, "what are you going to do if they say the drawer counts out correctly?" We are a polite bunch and derive no pleasure out of making someone's job difficult. But I was short changed $10 and I was not going to let it go. My friends realized that my protest was delaying their breakfast. They brought that up too, "so we have to starve to death because you got shorted $10?" They were joking. I was too busy planning my moves based on the lady's next play.



She completed the drawer count then announced from 20' away her drawer counted out correctly - so there was nothing she could do. I was about to ask her for the phone number of her manager when she started getting our food orders ready. With all of the distractions she had forgotten who ordered what. "What did you order?" she said to me. I fired back, "I had the $15 croissant combo." At those words, my friends burst into laughter, but the lady was not amused. It really let the pressure off for me, but certainly not her. "Sir, all I can do is give you my manager's name and you can call her tomorrow," she said less polite and more firmly. "I would like that," I said with a bit of bite in my own words. After all, what is she doing copping an attitude? I was right. The lady disappeared around the corner for a moment, then returned with a little piece of paper with her manager's contact information.



We got our food and left. Driving across the lake toward New Orleans we all continued laughing and reliving the event. I stood up for myself and the laugh was worth $10 any day.



Sometime during the game, I had a recollection. I recalled spending some money Saturday night. I did not have four twenties in my wallet after all, I had three twenties and a ten. I was wrong. Then I was reminded of why I usually choose to be passive, because every time I stand up for myself, I am wrong. I felt like the cartoon when a persons head morphs into a jackass head braying away. That poor woman was professional for the most part and handled herself well. She was right. I thought about going down there on Monday to apologize, but I never did. My friends punished me for her.

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Another Story of Injustice: My parents had set bedtimes for us kids. It always seemed way too early. Therefore, I have a lot of memories lying in bed staring at the ceiling and waiting for the sun to set, (slight exaggeration). My brother is six years older than me and we shared a room. I was probably 5 years old this particular evening. My bed was closest to the door. My dad shaved and bathed at night. He was often shaving in the bathroom when we were in bed. If he needed to come in the room to yell at us or threaten us he was proceeded by the hall light being flipped on and footsteps coming our way.



Dad had been in our room a couple of times. This particular time he was explaining that if it were necessary for him to return this evening, someone would get a spanking. That was it for me, I decided to settle down, but my brother had other ideas. For some reason, George clapped his hands together three times, then said, "quit clapping your hands Johnny."



Boom, my dad's hand hit the light switch and the hall light brightened our room. Then the footsteps getting louder as they neared. My dad was not wearing a shirt and he had shaving cream all over his face. He was mad. He pulled down my covers, rolled me over, then gave me a few well placed swats.



I was crying and whimpering. Along with my backside, my pride was hurt. I had suffered injustice at the hands of my own brother. I knew how Able must have before Cain killed him. I had a brief window of time to make noise. My parents believed in letting their children cry if they just received a spanking. As I cried, I blubbered, "I didn't do anything, waaaaaa, George clapped his hands and said it was me, waaaa, sniff, sniff." The only sound coming from the bathroom was a razor being dipped in the water and swirled around. I guess dad was thinking. Finally, my dad said, "George." George replied sheepishly, "What." "Did you clap your hands and blame it on Johnny?" Dad inquired. "Yes," he said as if confessing murder to Perry Mason. I sat there waiting for George to get his punishment. Finally, justice would take place. Then the words came from the bathroom where my dad continued to shave, "well, that is for something you did that I don't know about." Even at 5 years old, I knew I had just been screwed.



I am certain I have gotten away with more than my share in life. When people talk about God's justice I say, "Hold on, I do not want what I deserve, I want God's mercy." I will take mercy and forgiveness over getting justice any day.



Until the next time

John Strain