Plan 9 From Outer Space

When the City of Dallas developed its current Council adopted Bicycle Transportation Plan (working with the Department of Transportation and over 100 bicyclists from local cycling organizations), a “clean-slate” design approach was taken. All possible facility types were considered.

There are basically four bicycle facility designs: street separated Multi-Use Paths, on-street bike lanes, side paths/cycle-tracks (all examples of segregated facilities), and on-street bike routes (shared lane facility). Each has its preferred application scenario.


Multi-Use Paths/side paths/cycle-tracks

Currently, the City is in the process of completing 100 miles of paved, 12’ wide, off-street trails though parks, under power lines, and parallel to rail corridors. Because these facilities are constrained by location and available right-of-way, their use as a viable, city-wide transportation element is limited. But they can be a good enhancement to an on-street system.

Side paths (also called cycle tracks) have been discouraged by traffic engineers and responsible bicycle planners for some time, due to the dramatic increase in collisions between turning automobiles and straight through cyclists. The Netherlands (where such facilities are extremely popular) have documented up to an 180% increase in serious collisions on side paths compared to on-street cycling.


Bike Lanes

Bike Lanes are preferred by cyclists who fear sharing a roadway with automobile traffic and motorists who have a dislike of sharing the roadway with bicyclists.

From a traffic engineering perspective, a bike lane is classified as a “traffic control device”, whose job is to channel existing bicycles out of the way of motor vehicles. The popular notion is the opposite, that bike lanes are designed to attract cyclists, but that is not how they function or why they were designed. To install bike lanes that function, you need two pre-existent conditions: high volume of cyclists in a concentrated area (i.e., a large college campus and surrounding area), and sufficient road width to accommodate a 5’ lane.

Most urban thoroughfares and collectors in Dallas have 11’ wide vehicle travel lanes (a foot narrower than the current recommended minimum and three feet narrower than the Texas Department of Transportation preference). The recommended width for bike lanes is four feet, with a one foot edge stripe (five feet in total width from curb).

On a typical Dallas three-lane divided urban thoroughfare, the cross-section looks like this: 11’-11’-11’----11’-11’-11’. Attempting to install bike lanes on such a street without removing travel lanes would result in vehicle travel lanes that are only 9 feet wide (5’-9’-9’-9’----9’-9’-9’-5’), 25% narrower than current minimum recommendations, and too narrow to accommodate existing truck, bus and even SUV usage. This creates traffic conflicts that can lead not only to property damage, but can even endanger lives (especially the lives of cyclists as cars are “pushed” into the available space).

To install bike lanes of the recommended 5’ width (4’ for the bike lane, with a 1’ offset from the curb), the street cross-section now looks like this, 5’-14’-14’----14’-14’-5’, dropping a full lane of traffic in each direction. When you consider that people tend to ask for bike lanes on streets that are already overcrowded, you can see how the problems are exacerbated by the attempts at alleviation. Removing one lane of traffic from a 3-lane directional configuration does not decrease that street’s capacity by 33%, but by almost 50%, resulting in increased queuing at intersections and left turns, which means increased idling and greatly increased emissions of volatile organic compounds (VOCs).

There is also a problem with banning all on-street parking on streets with bike lanes and the resulting backlash from homeowners and businesses. While many cities stripe 3’ wide bike lanes next to on-street parking (like Austin, Texas), they have proven to be very dangerous, as cyclists are often hit by opening car doors.

Contrary to popular belief, there is an increased danger to cyclists in riding in bike lanes, caused by newly created conflicts with right-turning motor vehicles. This is an unavoidable complication of having a straight-through travel lane for bicyclists located to the right of right-turn allowed motor vehicles, a lane that lulls cyclists into thinking they are protected from right-turning vehicles. The vast majority of serious car-bike collisions occur in this type of conflict, as cyclists outside of motorists’ direct line of sight, slip into the motorists’ left-side blind zone.

The conflict that many cyclists believe a bike lane protects them from (being struck from the rear by an overtaking motor vehicle) is by far the rarest of serious car-bike collisions, but it is among the most dangerous (exceeded by wrong-way cyclists hitting oncoming vehicle). Interestingly, when you remove the rural road incidence of this type of collision (the most common area for fatality occurrence), the collision rate for cyclists in a bike lane, and without a bike lane, is statistically the same.


On-Street Bike Routes

Rather than install a few miles of bike lanes, what Dallas did was create a city-wide 400 mile (800 lane miles) signed bicycle route system on local, mostly low volume, streets that parallel thoroughfares. Where a thoroughfare (or bridge) is required, the City committed to build wide-outside-lanes to create extra room for cyclists and motor vehicles to share the road. On new road construction (and reconstruction when right of way is available), depending upon posted speeds, the roadway cross section will look like this: 14’-11’-11’----11’-11’-14’, or 15’-12’-12’----12’-12’-15’.

Instead of striping less than 20 lane-miles of bike lanes (.05% of the City's streets), the City (upon the recommendation of active cyclists) signed 800 lane-miles of bike routes (10% of the City's streets), resulting in a more comprehensive city-wide bike plan than a simple bike lane system. The vast majority of these cyclist-selected routes were on low-volume local streets that paralleled major thoroughfares, and were the ideal setting for cyclists.

The plan improved real conditions for cyclists without degrading conditions for the dominant motor traffic. This approach works best in a city like Dallas with a complex street grid system dating to the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Suburban cities (and the far edges of Dallas) have a more difficult task. It was understood that an education component was required, for both cyclists and motorists, but the City Council decided to not fund that element as a cost saving measure, as the City continued to downsize staff and eliminate “non-essential” services. Reduced forces also played a part in the City's decision to decline a $1,000,000 bicycle education program for adults and children.

Dallas is preparing to undertake a comprehensive update of its current Bike Plan, and the viability and application of bike lanes and cycle tracks will again be considered, with changes in the City’s approach being preordained.

Observant servant.

In the beginning the church was a fellowship of men and women centering on the living Christ.

Then the church moved to Greece, where it became a philosophy.

Then it moved to Rome, where it became an institution.

Next, it moved to Europe, where it became a culture.

And, finally, it moved to America, where it became an enterprise.


-- Richard Halverson, former Chaplain of the United States Senate

"Will you come to the bower I have shaded for you?"

The Battle of San Jacinto, fought on April 21, 1836, was the decisive battle of the Texas Revolution. Led by General Sam Houston, the Texas Army engaged and defeated General Antonio López de Santa Anna's Mexican forces in a fight that lasted just eighteen minutes.

As the Texian infantry advanced, a single fife and a single drum played the popular love song "Will You Come to the Bower?"

Will you come to the bower I have shaded for you?
Your bed shall be of roses, be spangled with dew.
Will you, will you, will you come to the bower?
Will you, will you, will you come to the bower?

There under the bower on soft roses you'll lie,
With a blush on your cheek, but a smile in your eye.
Will you, will you, will you smile my beloved?
Will you, will you, will you smile my beloved?

But the roses we press shall not rival your lips,
nor the dew be so sweet as the kisses we'll sip.
Will you, will you, will you kiss me my beloved?
Will you, will you, will you kiss me my beloved?

Hundreds of Mexican soldiers were killed, and hundreds more captured, while only nine Texians died.

Burning down the house.

"The Church exists by mission as fire exists by burning. Without mission there is really no Church."

-- Emil Brunner (1889-1966), The Word and the World, London: SCM Press, 1931, p. 11

Welcome to my church...

...and (probably) to yours.

The conception of the Church which we tend to reproduce as the fruit of our missionary work is so much a replica of our own, so much that of a fundamentally settled body existing for the sake of its own members rather than that of a body of strangers and pilgrims, the sign and instrument of a supernatural and universal salvation to be revealed, that our missionary advance tends to follow the lines of cultural and political expansion, and to falter when that advance stops.

... Lesslie Newbigin (1909-1998), The Household of God, New York: Friendship Press, 1954, p. 166

See the book at http://cqod.com/r/rs036

Dallas guitarist Rocky Hill dies at 62

Dallas/Houston guitarist Rocky Hill dies at 62
By ANDREW DANSBY
Copyright 2009 Houston Chronicle
April 13, 2009, 4:24PM

Rocky Hill was described as “a monster on guitar,” though over four decades he could be a difficult creature to find. His career dated back to the 1960s when he was a hotshot player with blue hair joined on bass by his brother Dusty in a psychedelic rock band. That a Google search on “Rocky Hill” turns out dozens of entries on a town in Connecticut and nearly nothing on the guitarist is testament to how good a musician can be without ever finding his rewards.

Hill died Friday at his Houston-area home; he was 62. A statement claimed he died of “undisclosed complications of a medical condition.”

Documentation of Hill’s career requires a hunt. One of the two albums he made with American Blues, a 13th Floor Elevators-inspired band he formed with Dusty in the late-’60s, can be found online for upwards of $70 while the other is unavailable. His three solo albums can be found online, but are unlikely to be stocked at your local record shop. Still Hill was a flashy slide player with a gritty, soulful voice who always stated he was more interested in playing than making money.

John Rockford Hill was born Dec. 1, 1946. He was 10 or 11 when younger brother Dusty received a guitar for Christmas. But Hill was the child drawn to the instrument. He started out playing Jimmy Reed songs; years later Reed would have a slide piece custom made for Hill.

By 15 Hill was playing clubs in Dallas with his band the Starliners. Dusty learned to play bass guitar and also sang. They phased through a series of band names before settling on American Blues, a trio featuring drummer Frank Beard. They dyed their hair blue and played psychedelic blues rock common to the era: The trippy echoed vocals on songs such as All I Saw Was You and Tim Hardin’s If I Were a Carpenter; the twinge of folky pomposity that wafted through Fugue for Lady Cheriff.

But their 1967 debut album also showed a clear affinity for the blues evident on Mercury Blues.

The band split in 1969 and all three members moved to Houston. Beard was recruited by Houston guitarist Billy Gibbons of the Moving Sidewalks. They needed a bassist and Beard suggested Dusty; the new trio became ZZ Top.

“Dusty wanted to play rock ‘n’ roll,” Hill told the Chronicle in 1979. “(Dusty) wanted to make some money. And he did. … I wanted to play some blues. And I did.”

Hill fell in with Lightnin’ Hopkins, earning $5 a night playing bass and fetching drinks for the blues legend, as well as carrying his guitar. “It was a great idea,” he said, “but bad financially.”

Hill’s path was a bumpy one. There are stories of erratic periods with little or no performing and struggles with drugs and alcohol. Around the time of a 1972 interview with the Chronicle he was coming out of a period of inactivity and referenced trying to curb some of his chemical excesses.

Seven years later he was a fixture at Blues Wednesday at Anderson Fair, but still had no album. Hill wouldn’t cite a cause for the delay in making an album, but told the Chronicle, “I’m real hard-headed. I do things slowly. I have a certain way I go about doing things. I wanted to make sure everything was correct before I committed myself. … I’m just real careful about what I do.”

That care meant he didn’t get around to making an album until 1982 when he released Texas Shuffle, which featured Hill singing in a gruff bluesy voice. His playing was predictably sharp. Still six more years passed before he released another album, Rocky Hill.

Hill should’ve been a sure thing in the 1980s. His brother’s band was selling tens of millions of records of boogie-based mainstream rock, while Stevie Ray Vaughan, a Dallas guitarist eight years his junior, was also finally receiving his due. Hill suggested he still wasn’t interested in chasing success. “My reputation is terrible for flaking out on people ‘cause I always really have been true to my material and true to my art,” he told the Chronicle. “I’m an artist, first and foremost.”

After another lengthy break, Hill put out a lively album, Midnight Creepers, in 1994. We played when blues was not in vogue at all,” he told the Chronicle in 1993. “Now that blues is very hip, I’m gonna do a rock ‘n’ roll band. My career is backwards.”

Hill had played a show in Clear Lake in 2006, but according to an online comment by a family member, he’d been ill for more than the past year. He will be buried today in Como, where his mother was laid to rest. He’s survived by his wife, Joy Hill, his son, Christian L. Smith, brother Dusty, sister Sue Shadix and other family.

In lieu of flowers, the family has asked for donations to the Texas Liver Coalition.

RIP, old friend.

XXX Sugar

When visiting our daughters and grandkids in Kyle (between Buda and San Marcos), we literally go out of our way to avoid Austin (for lots of reasons). Usually we take I-35 to Georgetown, and then swing east on Texas 130 (toll road) to avoid Sodom on the Colorado. Sometimes, we take 67 to 220 to 281 and go west of Austin. When we do that (as we did yesterday), we stop at the half-way point in Hico. There is a convenience store/fast food joint/gas station where 6, 220, and 281 all come together. That's where we stop and get some Dublin Dr. Pepper made with Imperial Pure Cane Sugar (Dublin is close by).

I went to the soda fountain to get a 32 oz. "roadie" of DP, when my eyes beheld an angelic vision. There on the dispensing machine was a tab for "Dublin Triple XXX Root Beer" made with Imperial Pure Cane Sugar! Triple XXX was always my root beer of choice growing up, and it's almost extinct now. What product there is contains the dreaded HFCS.

The fountain dispenser was set a little on the "lean" side, but even then, the taste was wonderful.

Now begins the search... does Dublin Dr. Pepper bottle Triple XXX, or is it just for fountain service?

Easter Signing and Dancing

Another in a series of low-quality cellphones videos of high-quality church worship.

It's Easter. The rabbit died.

It's Easter.

If the rabbit dies, that means new life is imminent.

"Kill the wabbit."

A Lesson from Art History

A Lesson from Art History
(a parable)


One week during their Introduction to European Art History Summer Session tour, three college students were assigned to do a report on stained glass windows. Even though they had signed up for the summer semester trip to Europe primarily as a way to visit the pubs of England, they still had to do a certain amount of work (and get a passing grade) so that their parents wouldn't mind paying for it. They were excited about seeing the Modern Art scene in London, but now they were in a small township outside London, wondering what could possibly be more boring and irrelevant than stained glass windows.

For their report, they chose a local village church that was an excellent example of the gothic style. As the three students (I'll call them Peter, Paul, and Mary, in honor of an earlier college generation that I am more familiar with) approached the church, the bravest of the three (Peter) decided to go inside and look at the windows. The main entrance was locked because it was a weekday, and no one seemed to be at the church, but Peter went in search of a side entrance. Paul and Mary didn't want to risk trespass, so they decided to do their report from the outside. The tour guides had reminded them that they were guests in England, and they certainly didn't want to do anything improper.

They noted first the insulating storm windows that had been placed over the stained glass. The plastic panels sealed the windows not only from the wind and weather, but also from stones and debris that might damage the fragile antique constructions behind them. They marveled at the hundreds and thousands of pieces of glass that were used to construct the windows. The diversity of big pieces, little pieces, colored pieces and pieces that had been painted upon was astounding. The bright sun revealed every small detail of the construction. Each piece of glass was secured to the adjoining piece by strips of hand formed lead. Silver solder sealed the joints and the gaps. Because the glass was too heavy to hold itself up, supporting rods were installed in the window frames and hand tied with little copper wires. The rods were positioned at intervals behind horizontal seams so they would be invisible to someone on the inside.

Paul and Mary never understood why it was called stained glass until now. From the outside, everything was a dirty gray, like an old, stained towel. They could see that some pieces had a bluish tinge, others a reddish one. They could make out an occasional dull face, arm, or backwards word, but they couldn't see anything impressive or important beyond the meticulous construction details. Though antiquated and irrelevant by modern standards, it was certainly an impressive engineering feat (considering the primitive technologies available to the craftsmen of the day), and due to the age of the church, they were undoubtedly of great historical importance.

Mary finished her notes as Paul took some digital pictures for the PowerPoint presentation he was going to do for their joint report. Peter hadn't been seen since he went to find a way inside the church over an hour ago, and Mary now decided to go find him. It would be Happy Hour at the pub near their hostel soon, and they agreed to meet there to compare notes. Paul kept taking pictures as he walked away, only now from a distanced, wide-angle perspective out by the lane. Mary walked around the church until she found a small door near the bell tower. She knocked tentatively, and the door gently swung open under the weight of her knuckles.

Inside the centuries old church, she was astonished by the sharp contrast of light and dark. Dark wood and dark stone pierced by radiant beams of bright light filled the interior. Just as her eyes would grow accustomed to the enveloping darkness, the bright light pouring in through one of the stained glass windows would suddenly dazzle her. When she walked through a darkened area, she could feel the damp coldness of the old building soak to her bones. But when she walked into an area illuminated by the sun's light passing through the glass, her whole body was warmed. Up ahead, she could see Peter with his pad standing in front of one the largest window, furiously sketching and taking notes.

All around her she saw panels of blazing light and color, telling stories of joy and gladness, suffering and pain, and of glory. She was stunned to realize that these were the same panels she had spent the last hour detailing as gray and colorless from the outside. Now, with the sun behind them, they told stories of life and death and God's love for His people. She saw Eden, and the Fall. She saw the Flood, and the Exodus. She saw King David, and she saw the Exile. She saw the Return, and she saw a stable with a baby in it. She saw a beautiful man with a hobbled lamb over his shoulders, and she saw the same beautiful man stripped and nailed to a cross. Finally, towering over her and Peter, she saw that same beautiful man robed as a king, with nail wounds in his outstretched palms. "Isn't he the most beautiful man you have ever seen?" asked Peter.

Mary had to agree. There was something about his face in all the windows that seemed to be looking straight into her heart. Even the little baby at his mother's breast seemed to be looking at her in love. She was amazed to discover all this beauty and majesty in something that just a few minutes before she had been describing as mechanical and boring. How could that baby or this king be boring?

She and Peter simply stood in awe before the windows until the sun set below the nearby rooftops. There was nothing said.

Later, during Happy Hour at the Hare and Hound, Peter and Mary were happier than normal as they shared their discovery, certainly happier than a warm pint of Bishops Finger Ale could produce alone. Paul, however, was eager to share with them his concerns about the possible toxic effects of all that ancient lead used to construct the windows. He was glad for the sake of the local children that the outside had the storm window coverings, and he was certainly glad that he hadn't gone inside the musty old church and perhaps been exposed to the potential lead contamination in the air. How could the government allow such an obvious hazard to be accessible to people? He was a little worried about Peter and Mary's seemingly irrational behavior. Were they merely intoxicated by the strong ale, or had the air they breathed inside that old church somehow adversely effected their ability to think clearly?

Paul's part of the report was quite specific, focusing upon every detail of the stained glass' construction, age, and preservation attempts. He also pointed out how modern techniques rendered such quaint constructions obsolete. Peter's notes, on the other hand, were filled with subjective descriptions of feelings and beauty. At times, his report just didn't seem to make any analytical sense at all. Paul asked Peter if he had perhaps wandered off to a different church, but secretly wondered if Peter just wasn't as smart as he himself was. Paul worried about their grade being reduced because of Peter's poor scholarship.

Mary's report, while sharing much of Peter's excitement, spent a great deal of time describing the contrast within the church between the cold, dark areas and the warm, light areas. She concluded that the construction of the building itself prevented the windows from illuminating a greater area of the church, thereby discouraging people from coming inside to experience the strangely warming beauty of the stained glass.

In the end, Peter's nonobjective portion of their report did indeed bring their grade down to a C+, earning them a passing but "can do better" grade. Paul hoped they could improve their score on their next topic: marble reliquaries. He certainly intended to keep his eye on Peter this time, and not let him go wandering off unsupervised.

He would sure hate to have all his good work found meaningless again.





© 2002 pmsummer

Music for Good Friday

A LOVE SUPREME
John Coltrane

Impulse




PASSIO
Passio Domini Nostri Jesu Christi Secundum Joannem
Arvo Pärt
The Hilliard Ensemble
Paul Hillier, cond.

ECM New Series




JESUS' BLOOD NEVER FAILED ME YET
Gavin Bryars

Point Music




ST. MATTHEW PASSION
Matthäuspassion, BWV 244
Johann Sebastian Bach
Gabrieli Players, Peter Harvey, Susan Bickley, Magdalena Kozena, Stephan Loges, Deborah York, Mark Padmore, Julia Gooding, James Gilchrist
Paul McCreesh, cond.

Deutsche Grammophon




TENEBRAE RESPONSORIA
Carlo Gesualdo
The Hilliard Ensemble

ECM New Series




PASSIONMUSIK
Dietrich Buxtehude: Membra Jesu Nostri
Heinrich Schütz: O Bone Jesu
The Monteverdi Choir
The English Baroque Soloists
Fretwork
John Eliot Gardiner

Archiv

An idea for retirement efforts.

As I begin pondering what post-bureaucracy early-retirement employment will mean, I had the idea to open a gourmet confectionery shop called...

DIE KUNST DER FUDGE.



Of course, you'd have to enter the shop through the bach door.

Are you up for a challenge as Lent draws to a close?

I am not sure I am.

The Appliance of the Law.

I can't quite understand how it's possible for one person to think God is both smart enough to know which people among all the people on Earth keep the Sabbath and stupid enough not to realize this is cheating.

-- Andrew Smith, technology reporter, The Dallas Morning News

Too cool to ignore.

Slagsmålsklubben - Sponsored by destiny from Tomas Nilsson on Vimeo.

A seven-fold revelation.

Here are seven 10-minute (+/-) videos of a 12 mile loop through in-town Dallas on a Friday afternoon at the start of rush hour. Some of the streets used are part of the Dallas Bike Route system (including the bridges across the Trinity), and some are not, illustrating how important education for confident cycling is over the reliance upon fear-based special facilities, when it comes to bicycles being a truly useful part of the transportation mix.

The average rolling speed for this ride was about 15 mph, and the average trip speed was just under 10 mph.









Please pay attention to the lane position of the cyclist(s). By legally controlling the lane, motor vehicles do not attempt to pass them without first pulling out. The vehicles complete the pass at a safe distance, and then pull in when it's clear, making the so-called "safe-passing" law unnecessary.

You may wonder where the cars are on a Friday afternoon at the start of rush hour. Well, for the most part, the cars are ahead of them. When an intersection signal turns green, the cyclist(s) are at the back of the queue, and the motorized traffic simply pulls away, leaving the cyclist(s) in relatively empty road space. Overtaking motorists pass the cyclist(s) without incidence. The cyclist(s) catches up to the raer of the motorized traffic at the next intersection, and the cycle starts again.

Thanks to Brian DeSousa of Dual Chase Productions in Long Beach, California, Richard Wharton of the Cycling Center of Dallas, and to local vehicular cyclist Herman May (the guy with the panniers).

It really is this easy.

Note: No horns were honked, tempers lost, or fingers waved, in the making of this video.

I haven't always been penitent.

Not me, duh, but someone far braver and far, far better than I, in a Porsche 917 at Le Mans, 1971. 234 mph on the straight.

That's 90 mph faster than I've ever driven.

Now Hear This.

THE SERMON ON EXPOSITION AVENUE
Rickie Lee Jones

New West

Houston Street Viaduct

The cyclists are traveling about 15 mph (not fast). Notice how the overtaking vehicles pull out to pass them well in advance of overtaking them. That’s because the cyclists are “controlling” their lane. Works that way all the time.

If the cyclists had been riding to the far right of the lane (as many people mistakenly believe they should), the motorists would have attempted to pass them without changing lanes, creating a dangerous situation.

This was videoed by Brian DeSousa of Dual-Chase Productions. The cyclists are Herman May and Richard Wharton.

Water and oxygen.

Water and oxygen are the two primary requirements for life. I can survive a long time without food (relatively), but only a few days without water. I can't last even a few minutes without oxygen.

If the oxygen trapped in my body was to spontaneously combust, and consume the water in my body, I'd be reduced to nothing more than a pile of ashes.

You too.

The late, self-proclaimed atheist, Carl Sagan, used to like to say that "We are made of star dust", referring to the organic elements of carbon-based nature being the results of stellar explosions (Dr. Sagan wasn't really an atheist... he worshiped the god "Chance", and its servant, "Science"). Dust to dust. Made from dust, and returned to dust. Ashes to ashes.

We are made of star ash.

"Plutoed"

The verb "to pluto" (preterite and past participle: "plutoed") is a neologism coined in the aftermath of the decision (to downgrade Pluto from planet designation to that of "large space rock").

In January 2007, the American Dialect Society chose "plutoed" as its 2006 Word of the Year, defining "to pluto" as "to demote or devalue someone or something", "as happened to the former planet Pluto when the General Assembly of the International Astronomical Union decided Pluto no longer met its definition of a planet."

--Wikipedia

The Bee Mine

There once was a man who set off in pursuit of gold. He wanted to be the richest man in the world. He was gone a long time.

On his search for wealth, he dug into the ground. He dug deep. Deeper. He dug deep, dark holes in search of the cold metal that would give him his fortune.

One day he returned. “Eureka!” he exclaimed to his friends and family. “I’ve found all the riches of the world! I’m the richest man alive!”

But his friends looked at him, and puzzled. He didn’t have any gold, but he was covered in sticky, golden honey, from his head to his feet.

“That’s not gold” his friends said to him, “that’s just sticky honey.” “Yes,” he exclaimed, “it’s honey from the rock!” For in his search, he came upon the greatest source of true wealth... sweet, sticky love that clings to and flavors everything. He found the honey mine.

Advancing to the rear.

“When the spirits are low, when the day appears dark, when work becomes monotonous, when hope hardly seems worth having, just mount a bicycle and go out for a spin down the road, without thought on anything but the ride you are taking.”

-- Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Bennette Smith

Bennette Barbara Smith of Dallas, went to be with the Lord on February 1, 2009 at the age of 65. Bennette boldly fought illness and disease for the past several years and her courage continues to be an inspiration to her family. Bennette was a long time member and supporter of the arts and lived a life full of culture and travel. Her strong faith, gentle spirit and amazing wit will be remembered most by those who loved her. Services were held Friday, February 6, 2009 at 11:00 a.m. at Church of the Holy Cross in Dallas.

"A Mighty Fortress Is Our God" and "Saint Patrick's Breastplate" were sung with both conviction and moist eyes.

A David Prayer

Psalm 70

God! Please hurry to my rescue! God, come quickly to my side!
Those who are out to get me—
let them fall all over themselves.
Those who relish my downfall—
send them down a blind alley.
Give them a taste of their own medicine,
those gossips off clucking their tongues.

Let those on the hunt for you
sing and celebrate.
Let all who love your saving way
say over and over, "God is mighty!"

But I've lost it. I'm wasted.
God—quickly, quickly!
Quick to my side, quick to my rescue!
God, don't lose a minute.

- The Message

To the choirmaster. A Psalm of David, for the memorial offering.

Psalm 70

Be pleased, O God, to deliver me! O LORD, make haste to help me!
Let them be put to shame and confusion who seek my life!
Let them be turned back and brought to dishonor who desire my hurt!
Let them be appalled because of their shame who say, "Aha, Aha!"
May all who seek thee rejoice and be glad in thee!
May those who love thy salvation say evermore, "God is great!"
But I am poor and needy; hasten to me, O God!
Thou art my help and my deliverer; O LORD, do not tarry!

- The Revised Standard Version

The Blame Game

G.K. Chesterton once responded to a call for essays from the London Times on the topic, "What Is The Problem With The World."

Mr. Chesterton's complete essay read, "The Problem With the World is me."

Bye-bye Molly, the All-American Cat.

Almost seventeen years of the the best cat I have ever known came to an end today. Her body started shutting down a few days ago, and she finally breathed her last this afternoon.

Molly and her sister Sybil came to live with us from the SPCA after my daughters' fluffy orange tabby Freddie was struck by a car. Anna took to Sybil, and Catherine took to Molly, each naming their kitten for reasons of their own. Molly almost didn't make it, as she had an inability to digest food properly at first (weaned too early?), and went into "kitten decline", which the vet said is almost always fatal. But we pulled her through it.

After the girls had both gone off from home, Sybil contracted a fatal blood disease from hunting wild critters. That left us with Molly, and a strict "indoor only" policy. But a few years later, Molly developed a malignancy in her sinus passage. A biopsy showed it to be an especially aggressive cancer. The vet said she would only live six months at the most, and recommended putting her to sleep. We declined, but we prayed. Really hard. Really.

Molly lived another five good, playful, affectionate years. She often had breathing problems (cats are nose breathers only), but that came and went... just like her.

She was a great gift, and she made it through Christmas so everyone she loved could say good-bye, including our grand daughter June Anne (Catherine's little girl), who really loved Molly.

"Bye-bye, Molly."

Something to sink your teeth into.

From Think Christian...

Vampire-queen-turned-Christian-writer Anne Rice is answering reader questions about her faith and writing at Beliefnet this week, and many of her answers (and the questions) are quite interesting. One of the obvious questions to ask is how, from her current vantage point in the church, she looks back at the often lurid and grisly vampire novels that made her famous. Here’s her reply to a question along those lines:

I don’t write about the vampires and the witches anymore, not because I regret such work or feel guilty about it, far from it. I don’t write about them because I can’t be them anymore in fiction. I am some one else now. I live in a world where Salvation is a reality and the Light of Christ is a reality. So I can’t enter that old dark world in which my fallen heroes were metaphors for my own lost soul, and my soul grieving for a lost faith in God. I changed. So my work had to change.

A quick Google search turned up this essay at Anne Rice’s website in which she explains in more detail her attitude toward her vampire novels.

Today's Page Leaper.

The Psalm appointed for this morning.

Psalm 119:49-96 (New International Version)

z Zayin
49 Remember your word to your servant,
for you have given me hope.

50 My comfort in my suffering is this:
Your promise preserves my life.

51 The arrogant mock me without restraint,
but I do not turn from your law.

52 I remember your ancient laws, O LORD,
and I find comfort in them.

53 Indignation grips me because of the wicked,
who have forsaken your law.

54 Your decrees are the theme of my song
wherever I lodge.

55 In the night I remember your name, O LORD,
and I will keep your law.

56 This has been my practice:
I obey your precepts.

x Heth
57 You are my portion, O LORD;
I have promised to obey your words.

58 I have sought your face with all my heart;
be gracious to me according to your promise.

59 I have considered my ways
and have turned my steps to your statutes.

60 I will hasten and not delay
to obey your commands.

61 Though the wicked bind me with ropes,
I will not forget your law.

62 At midnight I rise to give you thanks
for your righteous laws.

63 I am a friend to all who fear you,
to all who follow your precepts.

64 The earth is filled with your love, O LORD;
teach me your decrees.

X Teth
65 Do good to your servant
according to your word, O LORD.

66 Teach me knowledge and good judgment,
for I believe in your commands.

67 Before I was afflicted I went astray,
but now I obey your word.

68 You are good, and what you do is good;
teach me your decrees.

69 Though the arrogant have smeared me with lies,
I keep your precepts with all my heart.

70 Their hearts are callous and unfeeling,
but I delight in your law.

71 It was good for me to be afflicted
so that I might learn your decrees.

72 The law from your mouth is more precious to me
than thousands of pieces of silver and gold.

y Yodh
73 Your hands made me and formed me;
give me understanding to learn your commands.

74 May those who fear you rejoice when they see me,
for I have put my hope in your word.

75 I know, O LORD, that your laws are righteous,
and in faithfulness you have afflicted me.

76 May your unfailing love be my comfort,
according to your promise to your servant.

77 Let your compassion come to me that I may live,
for your law is my delight.

78 May the arrogant be put to shame for wronging me without cause;
but I will meditate on your precepts.

79 May those who fear you turn to me,
those who understand your statutes.

80 May my heart be blameless toward your decrees,
that I may not be put to shame.

k Kaph
81 My soul faints with longing for your salvation,
but I have put my hope in your word.

82 My eyes fail, looking for your promise;
I say, "When will you comfort me?"

83 Though I am like a wineskin in the smoke,
I do not forget your decrees.

84 How long must your servant wait?
When will you punish my persecutors?

85 The arrogant dig pitfalls for me,
contrary to your law.

86 All your commands are trustworthy;
help me, for men persecute me without cause.

87 They almost wiped me from the earth,
but I have not forsaken your precepts.

88 Preserve my life according to your love,
and I will obey the statutes of your mouth.

l Lamedh
89 Your word, O LORD, is eternal;
it stands firm in the heavens.

90 Your faithfulness continues through all generations;
you established the earth, and it endures.

91 Your laws endure to this day,
for all things serve you.

92 If your law had not been my delight,
I would have perished in my affliction.

93 I will never forget your precepts,
for by them you have preserved my life.

94 Save me, for I am yours;
I have sought out your precepts.

95 The wicked are waiting to destroy me,
but I will ponder your statutes.

96 To all perfection I see a limit;
but your commands are boundless.

Oxymoron of the Day

From today's Wikipedia mainpage...

December 13: Republic Day in Malta (1974); Saint Lucy's Day

1545 – The Council of Trent, an ecumenical council convoked by Pope Paul III in response to the growth of Protestantism, opened in Trento, Italy.

We give thanks.

"Thanksgiving Day comes, by statute, once a year; to the honest person, it comes as frequently as the heart of gratitude will allow."

--Edward Sandford Martin

Younger stiff-necked Germans.

Sunday morning worship at the Lutheran Center at the University of Texas. Complete with wife, grandsons, daughter and son-in-law.

Out of the Memory Hole.

Every war when it comes, or before it comes, is represented not as a war but as an act of self-defense against a homicidal maniac.

If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.

In our age there is no such thing as ‘keeping out of politics.’ All issues are political issues, and politics itself is a mass of lies, evasions, folly, hatred and schizophrenia.

In times of universal deceit, telling the truth will be a revolutionary act.

One does not establish a dictatorship in order to safeguard a revolution; one makes a revolution in order to establish a dictatorship.

The nationalist not only does not disapprove of atrocities committed by his own side, he has a remarkable capacity for not even hearing about them.

The very concept of objective truth is fading out of the world. Lies will pass into history.

There are some ideas so wrong that only a very intelligent person could believe in them.

We of the sinking middle class may sink without further struggles into the working class where we belong, and probably when we get there it will not be so dreadful as we feared, for, after all, we have nothing to lose.

To survive it is often necessary to fight and to fight you have to dirty yourself.

--George Orwell

It's about damn time...

The leaves finally started to turn and have begun to fall.

The more I pray...

"When I pray, coincidences happen, and when I don't, they don't."

--William Temple

AlphaDFW held a mini Alpha Conference last Saturday in Bedford. For a change, I got to attend and not work. I got to be ministered to, as opposed to ministering. I got to be the wounded one, the thirsty one, the naked one.

During ministry, I went up for prayer about the burden I place on myself, the burden of shouldering orthodoxy instead of the Cross. The fight for His Way to be exactly my way, as opposed to my way being exactly His Way. I'm not happy with the lack of purpose of my home church. I prayed for the frustrations to be lifted so that I might serve and follow Jesus better. Some tears, some sighs too deep for knowing. Nothing obvious to a mule.

The following morning in Sunday School (we're reading The Shack), I sat in my folding chair with my Bible open on my lap. Sinfully, pridefully, I was trying to look pious and studious, so I flipped my Bible open randomly to the New Testament.

Darn. There it was. Again.

The Gospel according to Luke, chapter 9, verses 57 through 62. Underlined and highlighted, climaxing at verse 60. "Jesus said, 'Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom God.' " Beside this was written in the margins (in my hand) "Leaving ECUSA".

This was the defining passage to me when I decided to walk away from the Episcopal Church, the only manifestation of the Church I had known. The church into which I had been Christened, confirmed, married, Baptized from above, marriage annulled, re-married, called and rejected. There it was. I paused, chuckled, and moved on to my normal pontifications.

Monday morning brought Morning Prayer in the usual darkness (prayer in darkness is a good thing and highly recommended). The Daily Office (duty), prayed with millions the world over, an overlapping, continuous circle of prayer. Confession, Creed, three Scripture readings and the Psaltery, Intercessions. It's all there, the Christian life in orthodoxy distilled. Praised, confessed, read. First the day's Psalm, then the Old Testament lesson. Then the Epistle reading. And the then the Gospel lesson.

Darn. There it was. Again.

Luke 9: 57-62

The Cost of Following Jesus

57 As they were walking along the road, a man said to him, I will follow you wherever you go.

58 Jesus replied, Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.

59 He said to another man, Follow me. But the man replied, Lord, first let me go and bury my father.

60 Jesus said to him, Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God.

61 Still another said, I will follow you, Lord; but first let me go back and say good-bye to my family.

62 Jesus replied, No-one who puts his hand to the plough and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.

Don't look back. Let the dead bury their own dead. Germans, too.

Piety, Study, and... Action?

A confession (before I head out to the used-vinyl store).

The Melancholy Music Man... but filled with Joy.

Let there be light!

A generic response

Dear friend,

I received your email with the attachment about Sarah Palin. While this report might be scary and threatening to some, to me it sounds like the same the kind of trash written about Hillary Clinton, Bill Clinton and even Barack Obama. However, since the Clintons are no longer in the race we can leave them out. But what I wonder is why it’s okay to say that Palin is a fundamentalist Christian but not okay to ask why Obama spent twenty years in the pews of Jeremiah Wright’s intolerant church? And why is it okay to allege that Palin wants to destroy Alaska’s wildlife but not okay to ask if Obama plans to support Hamas instead of Israel? And people can accuse Palin of racism based on rumor and hearsay but not hold Obama accountable for playing the race card, quoting Malcolm X and accusing good people, particularly the Clintons, of racism.

While I may not agree with Palin’s politics, I am unmoved by the smear campaign launched against her. Please do not send me any more political emails. While this e-mail goes to great lengths to appear to be politically correct and to be doing me a favor, it’s actually savaging someone’s reputation based on shoddy evidence or outright lies. After forty years of voting for the Democratic candidate for president, I want you to know that these sexist and hateful lies against Sarah Palin you forwarded go against the reason I am a Democrat. Therefore, under no circumstance will I be voting for Obama.

Best Regards,

Proud Pop.

Twenty years ago, I told my oldest daughter, Anna, she couldn't ride her bike unless she wore a helmet. I had given her a girl's Raleigh Capri drop-bar bike, and had set her loose on the neighborhood (she already knew how to ride). But the helmet edict came from me sometime later. I believed what I was reading without investigating the claims, that death lurked, waiting to pounce on America's children (why would researchers lie about safety? not for "grants", surely?).

Faced with my edict, she chose to quit riding. I won. My will triumphed.

Twenty years later, now living in a small town south of Austin, with a house and a husband, and two small boys, she is in school again at Texas State University in San Marcos (the university formerly known as Southwest Texas State University). She lives 13 miles from campus, and wants to start riding her bike to school, and to town for grocery items. She asked me to keep an eye open for a good used drop-bar bike for under $150 (Austin's not a good place to look for such).

I found, and bought for her ("Happy Birthday!"), a nice aluminum Trek 1220 from about 1998... with Bar-Cons! I ride an old Trek 1500 (1996? time flies), using the same geometry and cast lugs (carbon fibre main tubes), back from when Trek was an American-made Bicycle Company. We'll get a good rack, a lock, some other small items (maybe a crash hat), and away she goes.

I hope she'll take LAB's Road 1 course, but I'm not pushing it, or her. And not a word about you know what.


(This has been cross-posted from CycleDallas.org. The power of pride... in your kids.)

iFamily 3G

Three generations of girls I love.

Catherine (daughter), June Anne (granddaughter), Linden (wife).

Stiff-necked Germans at it again.

Where's Waldo?

You say it's your birthday!

June Anne LaGrone (with a little prompting from her mother).

August 19, 2008

Heavenly Father,

Thank you for giving me your Gift of Life.

Thank you for my mother and father, June and Harry Summer, who not only shared their physical being with me, but also their spiritual being, as well as their love for each other (even in hard times), and their love for you. Thank you for having them show me that love isn’t easy, and it isn’t cheap, but that it is worth the cost.

Thank you for the pain you have carried me through, which softened my heart to feel the pain of others.

Thank you for my wife, Linden, a true child of yours who has helped me to be faithful to you.

Thank you, Lord, for my daughters Anna and Catherine. Lord, you have blessed me beyond my imagination by allowing me to participate in some small way in their lives. Again and again I see your hand in their lives, and I marvel at your works. In them, I can see you, and I can see how you planned and prepared my life to be in theirs. Thank you, Lord, for showing me what being a father is all about.

Lord, thank you for Hosea, for June Anne, and for Jesse, for the opportunity to see life continue and thrive, as you have planned it to.

Thank you for their fathers, David and Riley. Thank you, dear Father, for allowing me to be a part of their lives, too. To be a friend when possible, and a model when needed.

Thank you, Father, for giving me your Gift of Life here, and thanks to your sacrifice on the Cross, your Gift of Life Eternal.

Amen and Hallelujah!

The Final Moments of a Penitent Thief

Within minutes, officials would give a lethal injection to Michael Rodriguez, the first of the Texas Seven to be executed for their infamous killing of an Irving police officer on Christmas Eve 2000.

Final moments

At 6:02, Mr. Rodriguez was led to the execution chamber.

"May I speak now?" he asked.

"No, not yet," a prison official answered.

He was strapped to the gurney, and then his executioners pierced his arms with the needles, first the left, then the right.

At 6:10, he began his final words.

"I know this in no way makes up for all the pain and suffering I gave you," he began. "I am so, so sorry."

He looked directly at Ms. Dalmolin and Ms. Hawkins-Acosta.

"My punishment is nothing compared to the pain and sorrow I have caused. ... I am not strong enough to ask for forgiveness because I don't know if I am worthy," he continued.

"I ask the Lord to please forgive me. I have gained nothing, but just brought sorrow and pain to these wonderful people."

He kept apologizing, calling the families by name. He thanked a couple, Irene and Jack, for "helping me find Christ's love." His words turned to song.

"My Jesus, my Savior, there is none like you," he sang softly. "All of my days I want to praise, let every breath. Shout to the Lord, let us sing ...."

His song trailed off and turned to a sound like snoring. It was 6:13, and his lethal dose had begun. He was pronounced dead at 6:20.

They pulled a white sheet over his face.

By STEVE THOMPSON / The Dallas Morning News

The Associated Press contributed to this report.

If you want to live...

On a typical sunday morning at church in America.

Then the disciples went back to their homes, but Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus' body had been, one at the head and the other at the foot.

They asked her, "Woman, why are you crying?" "They have taken my Lord away," she said, "and I don't know where they have put him." At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus.

"Woman," he said, "why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?" Thinking he was the gardener, she said, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him."

Jesus said to her, "Mary." She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, "Rabboni!" (which means Teacher).

From the Gospel According to John

And so it is in most churches in America. They have taken my Lord, and I don't know what they have done with him.

Revisionist theologian John Spong says that after Jesus died, they took his body and threw it in the garbage pit, where the wild dogs ate him. Clearly, Spong was speaking for himself and his cohorts in the Episcopal Church.

But what about the "good" churches? What have they done with Jesus? Locked him up between the heavy covers of a book as "The Word", only to be freed for brief moments at the pastors command? Placed under lock and key in a tabernacle built to imitate Hebrew Temple worship? Memorialized him? Forgotten him altogether? Banned him?

Mary didn't find Jesus where she expected to (tomb = church). Not only did she find him outside of the church building, she didn't even recognize him, mistaking him for "Hey-suess" the gardener. But he called her name. He calls yours and mine.

Shall we exit the tomb and enter The Church?

Why it isn't working.

"In the beginning the church was a fellowship of men and women centering on the living Christ. Then the church moved to Greece, where it became a philosophy. Then it moved to Rome, where it became an institution. Next, it moved to Europe, where it became a culture. And, finally, it moved to America, where it became an enterprise."

-- Richard Halverson, former Chaplain of the United States Senate

Comfortably numb.

Now we sit through Shakespeare in order to recognize the quotations.

-- Orson Welles

Is this how we sit through church and listen to Scripture? To recognize the quotations?

Probably more than we'd like to admit.

Some things are too important to go uncommented upon.

Editor
The Dallas Morning News
Dallas, Texas 75201

July 27, 2008


Dear Sirs and Madams,

As a native Dallasite, I have had to put up with my fellow Texan's taunts that Dallas was really a carpet-bagging Yankee city all my life. While I would often agree that Dallas' northern suburbs certainly had an Eastern tinge to them, I nonetheless defended the honor of my native city as a truly Texian enterprise.

Alas, I fear that I can no longer make that defense for the Dallas Morning News. Looking in the restaurant section of the Week-End Guide, I couldn't help but notice you have dropped the entries for barbecue restaurants. I saw listings for any number of cuisines that would be comfortable in, and native to, Boston, Philadelphia, and Chicago, but nothing for Texas' best and most popular native dish.

Even poor bbq is better than no bbq.


Sincerely yours,

P.M. Summer

Hoodlum fishers.

June Ann Summer, Harry Craig Summer, Paul Michael Summer (with the open mouth), and a string of sand bass and stripers from Lake Texoma, shown in "The Cabin" in 1956.

"The revelation of God denies that any religion is true. No religion can stand before the grace of God as true religion."

-- Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics, Vol. I

Straightened Priorities

Humor I approve of.

Preview of coming attractions (a placeholder for thoughts).

1. Empty medicine bottles.
2. Flashlights.

The Truth and the Good News.

"The truth isn't the truth until people believe you, and they can't believe you if they don't know what you're saying, and they can't know what you're saying if they don't listen to you, and they won't listen to you if you're not interesting, and you won't be interesting unless you say things imaginatively, originally, freshly."

-- Bill Bernbach

Noted former atheist George Carlin on religion.

How to be an effective Evangelist (Teller of the Good News):

1. Watch the video (Rated R for Language).
2. Agree with it (even where he's wrong, he's right).
3. Explain to the people you meet how and why it differs from the Good News of Jesus Christ.

Cellphone camera fun

Sunrise over White Rock Lake. It always brings out the Doxology from me.

This is where Brushy Creek drains into the lake. The old concrete Art Deco boat houses can be seen along the inlet's shore.

Introducing the newest member of the expanding Summer-ish household.

Jesse Downing

Born: June 16th, 2008, Seton Hospital, Austin Texas
Mother: Anna Downing (my daughter)
Father: David Downing
Holder: Linden Summer (my wife)

Praise God, from whom ALL blessings flow... especially the little big ones.

Be afraid.

Be VERY afraid.

I thought the Obama Campaign's official "Kids for Obama" website that asked children to draw pictures of Obama as a group activity, and encouraged them to talk to their parents about voting for Obama, was about as over the top as it could be. But no.

This is seriously bad stuff.

Two little things...

From the HillBuzz weblog, comes this post, echoing what I have been telling friends and relatives (whether they wanted to hear it or not).

Two Issues - Because of Obama - Democrats Can Never Use Again

We just realized there are now two issues Democrats can never use effectively against Republicans ever again, because of Barack Obama:

(1) Voting Rights --- On May 31st, 2008, the Democrats lost any moral ground in voting rights, and also forfeited all grievances for Florida's handling of the 2000 Gore Recount. When the Democratic Party ruled against voters in favor of Obama on May 31st, 2008, the Democrats lost all moral authority on the issue of voting rights.

(2) Campaign Finance Reform --- On June 19th, 2008, the Democrats lost any moral ground on the issue of campaign finance reform, when presumptive nominee Barack Obama backed out of his firm pledge to hold to current campaign finance reform law. If the Democrats don't hold themselves to this in 2008, why should the Republicans, in this or any other year?

How many more items are the Democrats going to add to this list of issues they can never use against the Republicans again, by following Obama's lead?

If the Democrats keep adding to this list, they beg the question: "What does the Democratic Party stand for now, under Obama, when everything it stood for before was tossed aside in favor of Obama?"

Got my PUMA gear on!

Pro-life and anti-death.

Remember.

Remember, remember, this fourth of November
The DNC treason and plot.
I see no reason, why the DNC treason
Should ever be forgot.

P U M A

Party Unity My Ass.