Disability (repost)

I've decided to repost the following from an entry I contributed last year. It's appropriate today.

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I heard this in church a few months ago .....

Kevin was born with a disability that robbed him of oxygen to his brain.

Nevertheless, he had a pretty good life, a pretty normal life.

When grown, he towered at 6'2". But, at 35 years of age, he still had the mental capacity of a 5 year old. Kevin loved life, however.

He loved getting up in the morning. He did a fantastic job everyday at his work which he loved dearly and he never finished work until he was complete with a project. Kevin met each opportunity with the exuberance of a child. Not surprisingly because he was a child mentally.

Kevin loved macaroni and cheese - his favorite meal - which he ate every single evening.

Kevin prayed every night before he went to bed. He prayed with every fiber of his being.

And he also believed that God lived under his bed.

So ... what if God did live under his bed? Kevin was too much of a child to understand this really couldn't be the case.

But it was the fervor, the "gung-ho" attitude Kevin exhibited in his prayer to God that made me wonder.

You see: I worry about the state of affairs in our country. I worry about what I'm going to say during my meeting tomorrow. I worry about what's for dinner tonight. I worry about how I'm ever going to get through the week with so many things filling up my calendar. So many, many trivial things that just don't make a difference. I worry about future events when I don't have any real control over what the future holds.

So ... I wonder: Who really has the disability?

Is it Kevin?

Or is it me?

...................... Ruprecht ( STOP )

It's The Same Old Routine ... But It Never Gets Old

It’s the same old routine … every road trip.

But it never gets old.

“I don’t like any of these,” she says.

“Yes. You do,” I respond.

“Which one? I don’t recognize any. Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m certain. Put on any of the World Party discs and you’ll see. You especially like the songs on 'Egyptology'.”

“I think you’re wrong,” she states emphatically.


In my mind I prepare to start counting as soon as the first tune begins to play. I have a personal goal to meet, you see, as I rarely get to count up to the number 15 before she let’s on she does know what's playing.

The CD is slipped into the player and I begin to count.

At the 11 second mark comes the revelation: “Okay. Maybe you're right. I know this one …” She can't but help break out into a grin.

I look over, smile back at her and tell her I love her.

We'll gladly repeat this routine again in a couple weeks on our next trip .....

................... Ruprecht ( STOP )

The Annual Trek To Jamba Juice

Jamba Juice and I ... we have an understanding.

And it is this: I go and pick something up from that establishment ... and at some point something goes wrong.

This is the way it's gone for as long as I can remember. You want proof? I present my case ...

For the last three years on or about the boss's birthday, "The Tradition" has been to trek over to a local Jamba Juice and pick up the drinks of choice for the entire office staff. Not a frequenter of the place, I've no idea what to get. Truth be told, the place is rather perplexing to me. Energy shots and protein powders and milk-fed wheat weeds and dollops of gordness knows what.

But ... I digress .....

Year One? The orders got all screwed up. Year Two? One hour wait ... and the drinks leaked all over the place on the way back to the office. Year Three .. this year?

Well, things were going rather swimmingly for a bit. The boss was pleased with his refreshment ... his assistant dug the new "5 Fruit Frenzy" she ordered ... and my Tourette's-infused computer operator was enjoying some pomegranate concoction containing "monkey juice" or somesuch.

As I was leaving the office for the day, I spilled my barely-sipped drink all over the building entrance, causing peach flavor to decorate the entry in a drab orange spray pattern that probably would have thrilled a crime scene splatter expert.

Of the few times I've been to a Jamba Juice of my own accord (and when I say this I mean with friends or family) some other mishap has inevitably occurred.

You see: Jamba Juice and I ... we have an understanding:

I go there and the establishment exacts some sort of inexplicable revenge upon me .....

..................... Ruprecht ( STOP )