A Life of Gratitude

One Man's Garbage is Another Man's Ruined Walk

I had hoped to take a break from walk stories for awhile, but events often change the firmest of plans. So Elliott and I were walking this morning when we heard a train coming from the north. That was odd. Most days we only cross paths with the Amtrak coming from the south. We could tell it was a big train. You start to know when the big ones are coming because the engines roar louder and the ground shakes further out in front of the big freighter's path.

As always, we stopped our walk and waved at the engineer. It was dark so I don't know if he saw us; I'm certain we didn't see him. As the flat, open cars rolled by with the big box containers stacked high on each one, the smell revealed the freight. It was the infamous trash train.

I had heard tales of the trash train. I had seen it a couple of times before from a distance. But today Elliott and I ventured close enough for parts of the freight to find refuge in our noses for the remainder of our walk. For me it was more like the rest of the day. It was one of those smells so rotten that even after the odor dies, the memory of it lives on for hours haunting like a ghost.

Once my mind was relieved of its duty of restraining my urge to vomit, I had to wonder where on earth that trash was coming from, in train loads nonetheless, and where was its final destination? There is only one place to find such answers - the internet.

The trash Elliott and I were so blessed to smell this morning was likely the table scraps of a fine New York City dinner. Since 1999, an average of 30 boxcar loads of garbage has rolled south from NYC to a landfill in Waverly, Virginia. 55,000 tons of trash roll through Ashland each month. In fact, in the United States only Pennsylvania imports more solid waste than Virginia each year. Virginia welcomes over 5.5 million tons of our neighbors' trash annually, a couple million tons short of Pennsylvania's hospitality. The good news, Virginia has a 20 year agreement with New York, so in time the smell may become less haunting.

Now there is a walk that added a whole new meaning to environmental education.

Randolph-Macon College Cracks The Top Ten

Our country is not as bad off as I thought. Yesterday, the Princeton Review released its annual ranking of the top 20 party schools in the nation and Randolph-Macon College was number 6. R-MC is the tiny little Methodist College that Elliott and I stroll through each morning.

Standing outside our house, we are within shouting distance of any party on the campus that might rock on the wild side. We’ve never heard a peep. I know of one bar in town that was actually in business until late last year. The windows are now covered on the inside with dark brown paper. A for-sale sign begs for a new owner just outside the front door, a door I am sure was once mobbed with wild college students. I think there is another smaller establishment in a strip mall next to dominoes pizza, but it hardly seems fitting to serve as hub for the 6th biggest party school in the country.

Bare in mind, the college has an enrollment of 1100 students. The college expects to be inundated this fall with 300 freshmen, each arriving with $30,000 tuition checks and Yellow Jacket can coolers, fully prepared to help the school party its way to the top spot. Only Ohio University, Penn State, Mississippi, West Virginia and Florida stand in their way.

Many of the schools ahead of R-MC are celebrating their lofty status among the partying elite today. The officials at Randolph Macon released a statement today saying the “list is flawed and irresponsible.” They claim the data is based on surveys taken in 2005, surveys they had unsuccessfully requested be re-administered. They spent the day wondering how a school can make such a rapid climb to national partying prominence on 3 year old data and begging forgiveness for such an embarrassing recognition (The college is the only school in the top 10 with a religious affiliation).

I know this for sure. If Randolph-Macon is the party barometer of universities across the country, studying is a much bigger part of college life than I ever remember.

The Workout

Elliott challenges dad to a little friendly pushup competition.

Busy Weekend

The writing was a bit scarce this weekend. It fell victim to a jam packed couple of days that left me exhausted and borderline immobile.

I played golf Saturday morning with a group from church. I don't play golf often enough to protect my unprepared muscles and other major body masses from the shock of 100+ swings of a golf club (those are the ones I counted). When I listened last week to countless analysts talking about the miracle of Tiger Woods playing the U.S. Open on essentially one leg, they were most amazed that his injured knee could absorb the repeated energy inflicted by his "violent" swing. Their amazement with Tiger would be tempered a bit if they only knew the kind of violence endured by so many more body parts during my round. Tiger swings with a consistency that keeps the focus of his swing limited to the same regions of his body – regions that over time adapt I’m sure. When you have a swing like mine, that if it ever occurs the same way twice it is accidental, you expose broader areas to the violence of far more erratic movements. Every one of my body parts trembles before each swing, wondering if it may be their turn to be fired upon.

When I was done with the round of golf, I helped our local police department host a midnight basketball event for the local youth. As it turned out, the best thing about the event is it was midnight basketball only in title. Most of these events take place late at night to keep kids in inner cities off the streets during times they are most likely to get in trouble. Our event started at 3 and was over several hours before midnight. I spent a great deal of that time running up and down the length of a basketball court with kids 1/3 my age. I still find it very difficult to put my ego on a shelf when I get in situations like this. And even though I realize there is little I can still do as well as I did when I was 14, I hang on to hope of one day reliving some of the magic of those years, if only for a moment. I believe it is Toby Keith whose song says "I'm not as good as I once was, but I'm as good once as I ever was." Well I spent the better part of Saturday looking for that once, and although I didn't really find it, it was rewarding in its own way to survive the effort of trying.

On Sunday after church, my body screaming in pain with each movement, I had to mow our yard turned small hay field. Grass is the only thing I know that loves heat and humidity. I thank God for the strength to get it finished, because that was the last ounce of energy I had left for physical activity for this weekend - my fuel gauge hit E.

I recharged enough overnight to take my new traditional morning walk with Elliott. We have extra time this summer since we don't take him to grandma and grandpas, so we take a little 5:30 stroll each morning through the center of the universe. For me it is such a relaxing time. Everything is quiet except for the many things that Elliott identifies. He actually points out things I would probably otherwise miss on my walks. The many squirrels, birds, dogs, trees, trains and planes, all of them one way or another, much like us, tending to their morning routines. I have always loved the mornings. I believe they are God's greatest gift - a favorable answer to the unspoken question that drifts off to sleep with us each night. I am grateful to share that celebration each morning with Elliott.

The First Boat Ride

We took Elliott on his first boat ride today. At first, the rocking boat provided better sleep therapy than entertainment, but after a 45 minute nap, Elliott was ready to drive. We figured he would take well to the water. He treats bath time like the Olympic swim trials and he demands more time at the other end of a running hose than our marigolds. But the lake was just too big a pool of water. As you can see in the photo, he braved it for a minute with me, but it was a very hesitant minute and he was definitely more thrilled to exit than water than enter it.

I was thankful to have the time to spend with Elliott and Katie on their first official day of summer vacation. It was the first time we've been on our boat in well over a year. I think the trip will prove inspiring and we'll use the boat more on the lake than we did down on the coast.

We made it home in time to watch the last nine holes of Tiger Woods winning his 14th major. It was probably as entertaining a golf tournament as I've watched in some time. It wasn't the best golf, but the most viewable. You get the feeling when you watch Tiger that you are witnessing someone who is the best in the world at what they do. That's better than a lot of people. In fact, he may be the best in history, which covers a lot more people.

But it wasn't Tiger I enjoyed watching. I've seen plenty of his vicious assaults on perfection. It was his opponent Rocco Mediate who demonstrated the class in competition that I hope will be the kind of example my kids choose to follow. Athletics are too saturated today with individuals bloated on entitlement and void of appreciation for their God-given talents. Appreciation spilled from Mediate today. He was quick to recognize his opponent as the best player in the world. He was quick to recognize that he gave all he had in an attempt to beat him. He used his time in the spotlight to offer gratitude, not empty excuses. Don't get me wrong. I'm a big Tiger fan. It was just nice to witness him bringing out the best in an opponent, both in their game and their character.

Forget my kids, there are many seasoned veterans in sports today that needed to be tuned in to this playoff.