Wednesday, November 18, 2009
The Gold Rush
Tonight on WAFF 48 News, anchor Mark Thornhill and photographer Daniel Hopkin produced a special report on gold-buying websites, "The Gold Rush." When Mark was getting started, he put out an email looking for volunteers with jewelery to sell, and we'd follow what happens for the story. Since I'm not using my wedding band anymore, I thought I'd step up and help. Here's the story on WAFF.com, the station's website.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Test Drive
Got a song stuck in my head this morning, so I thought I'd torture you with it.
Go ahead, press the big "Play" arrow. You know you want to...
Go ahead, press the big "Play" arrow. You know you want to...
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Your Friendly Neighborhood SpiderFrog
This little guy was hanging out on the window by the front door when I got home last night. I usually see him on the front porch, most often under one of the plants there.
He let me get a little closer now. Still keeping an eye on me, though.
Making a run for it. He's waiting to see what my next move is, in the middle of the glass of the window.
One last shot before we go. I thought he'd be fatter, considering the sheer number of mosquitoes we have around here...
Monday, July 20, 2009
We Choose To Go To The Moon...
Thanks to NASA and Life Magazine for the photo
NASA, as well as the rest of America, celebrates the 40th anniversary of the Moon landing today. Starting with President Kennedy's challenge in 1961, forward through the Mercury, Gemini and Apollo missions, and on to July 20th, 1969, with Apollo 11 and the lunar landing.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Historic Pictures Restored
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Old Pictures
My Mom found a collection of old photographs while cleaning out her house in Anniston. The one above is of Harry Prince (my Grandaddy and Mom's father) in front of his store in Beulah, Alabama, from sometime in the mid-1940s. That's my Grandaddy in the fedora, standing next to the boat motor and talking to a customer. My great-aunt (his sister) is the lady by the well on the right. No one knows for sure who the lady is on the balcony, or the person behind the column downstairs.
More pictures to come, just as soon as I can get them on the scanner!
Friday, June 26, 2009
The Sign Said "Lost and Found"
The "Lost and Found" cabinet at First Baptist Church Huntsville is a chest-high grey metal office-type cabinet, standing in a darkish corner just outside the fellowship hall, near the door to the kitchen. Just the right height and location to set something down, maybe while looking at the pamphlets hanging in a rack right above it, or to talk to someone while in line at Wednesday night supper, then walk off, leaving whatever it was behind.
I had a few spare minutes while I was there this afternoon. Curiousity got the better of me, wondering what was in that cabinet - I already knew somewhat, since curiousity had gotten the better of me a few weeks ago, too, but back then I only had time for a quick glance.
A couple of jackets. Several random crayon-colored masterpieces from a Sunday school class. A child's purse. Bluetooth headset with dead battery (yeah, I checked). One lone rollerskate. A hymnal from First Baptist, but not the same as the ones upstairs in the sanctuary. A "Pew Bible" (provided as a courtesy for people to borrow during services) from Jackson Way Baptist Church in Huntsville. And more Bibles - stacks and stacks of Bibles.
There were new ones, well-worn ones, some in very good shape, some more traveled and used. Some children's versions, mostly a collection of the stories from the Bible, given as gifts to young ones, I guess. Some were downright dilapidated from use. I mean, I know First Baptist is a big church, but it puzzled me how two whole shelves could be filled with discarded and forgotten copies of God's Word, and this was just the ones that had made their way to the lost and found cabinet.
Growing up Southern Baptist, it was always taught that the one thing that was the most valuable thing in the world was your Bible. Lose your keys, your wallet, your shoes - not your Bible. You were expected to have it with you at Sunday School and church services, to have it close by, to develop a relationship with God and His Word and to value it above all else. I still have an old King James version given to me by my parents as a young child - Christ's words in red, blue leather cover, my name embossed in gold on the front. Baptists, years ago, were called "The People Of The Book" - hard to be one of those without having The Book handy.
My curiousity was in full swing now. I had to know the stories behind the people that once owned these Scriptures. That started me flipping through the pages - I could always tell someone I was just looking for the owner's names to help their return, right?
I started with the newer-looking ones. Many copies never even had their owner's names in them. A few had name, maybe a quick note that said "a gift from Mommy and Daddy." Alot of them still crackled like new books do when I opened them and fanned the pages. I may have very well been the first one to ever see those pages.
Then, many more had names, dates, inscriptions, and notes on loose pieces of paper tucked between the pages - these were the Bibles that were time machines. These were once carried and used by more senior members of the Faith, maybe even elders of the church. One given as a 10th wedding anniversary present, from a bride to her husband, complete with a touching note written inside the front cover. Several from the 1960s and 1970s, given as gifts, or from notes written inside the covers or on blank pages in the back recording events in their lives. One was presented in the early 1960s to a gentleman by his Sunday School class at Saint Mark Lutheran Church. Several had lots of notes tucked in between the pages, or written into the margins by the Scriptures - sermon notes from Sunday mornings or Sunday School. Then, there it was...
On a green flyer for a long-over church function, tucked into a worn Bible with lots of writing in the margins, a love letter. Written beautifully by a lady to a gentleman - her paramour. She filled the back of the sheet with her love and devotion to this man, her longhand prose speaking of the depths of oceans, the heights of mountains, flying with the clouds - and of wanting their love to be like the love God has for His church; never failing, given generously and eternally. I stared at it for awile - this wasn't written by some love-struck teenager, or if it was, there was wisdom beyond years. There were no "i"s dotted with hearts or sappy, shallow sentiments and doodling. The handwriting was neat and measured, more mature. This was a relationship that had gone on for some time, I thought, and will probably go on for much longer.
Stunned, I put the note back in it's place in The Song of Solomon, and placed that Bible and all it's cabinet-mates back where I'd found them. I mean, this had to be a mistake, right? No one keeps something like that, placing it inside what should be the most valuable thing they own, and then just leaves it lying around. Maybe they don't know about the lost and found. Maybe they moved. Or maybe, something worse. Also, maybe something better - maybe this was supposed to be found. By me. Today.
I've had a lot of time to reflect back over the last few years, highlighting mistakes made, and trying to learn from them, and even recognizing events in my life as road signs - Keep Straight, Yield, Dead End. Thinking back on that little green piece of paper, I was reminded of what a relationship should be between people - God first, but your loved one a very close second, and having only One with a higher priority.
I want to meet these people that left these Bibles here for me to find. I've tought about little else since I closed that cabinet outside the fellowship hall. If what's been left for me to find discarded in a steel box in a church basement is a lesson to learn, what waits for me with the people whose hands once carried these Books?
[Photos courtesy First Baptist Church in Huntsville, Alabama]
I had a few spare minutes while I was there this afternoon. Curiousity got the better of me, wondering what was in that cabinet - I already knew somewhat, since curiousity had gotten the better of me a few weeks ago, too, but back then I only had time for a quick glance.A couple of jackets. Several random crayon-colored masterpieces from a Sunday school class. A child's purse. Bluetooth headset with dead battery (yeah, I checked). One lone rollerskate. A hymnal from First Baptist, but not the same as the ones upstairs in the sanctuary. A "Pew Bible" (provided as a courtesy for people to borrow during services) from Jackson Way Baptist Church in Huntsville. And more Bibles - stacks and stacks of Bibles.
There were new ones, well-worn ones, some in very good shape, some more traveled and used. Some children's versions, mostly a collection of the stories from the Bible, given as gifts to young ones, I guess. Some were downright dilapidated from use. I mean, I know First Baptist is a big church, but it puzzled me how two whole shelves could be filled with discarded and forgotten copies of God's Word, and this was just the ones that had made their way to the lost and found cabinet.
Growing up Southern Baptist, it was always taught that the one thing that was the most valuable thing in the world was your Bible. Lose your keys, your wallet, your shoes - not your Bible. You were expected to have it with you at Sunday School and church services, to have it close by, to develop a relationship with God and His Word and to value it above all else. I still have an old King James version given to me by my parents as a young child - Christ's words in red, blue leather cover, my name embossed in gold on the front. Baptists, years ago, were called "The People Of The Book" - hard to be one of those without having The Book handy.
My curiousity was in full swing now. I had to know the stories behind the people that once owned these Scriptures. That started me flipping through the pages - I could always tell someone I was just looking for the owner's names to help their return, right?
I started with the newer-looking ones. Many copies never even had their owner's names in them. A few had name, maybe a quick note that said "a gift from Mommy and Daddy." Alot of them still crackled like new books do when I opened them and fanned the pages. I may have very well been the first one to ever see those pages.
Then, many more had names, dates, inscriptions, and notes on loose pieces of paper tucked between the pages - these were the Bibles that were time machines. These were once carried and used by more senior members of the Faith, maybe even elders of the church. One given as a 10th wedding anniversary present, from a bride to her husband, complete with a touching note written inside the front cover. Several from the 1960s and 1970s, given as gifts, or from notes written inside the covers or on blank pages in the back recording events in their lives. One was presented in the early 1960s to a gentleman by his Sunday School class at Saint Mark Lutheran Church. Several had lots of notes tucked in between the pages, or written into the margins by the Scriptures - sermon notes from Sunday mornings or Sunday School. Then, there it was...
On a green flyer for a long-over church function, tucked into a worn Bible with lots of writing in the margins, a love letter. Written beautifully by a lady to a gentleman - her paramour. She filled the back of the sheet with her love and devotion to this man, her longhand prose speaking of the depths of oceans, the heights of mountains, flying with the clouds - and of wanting their love to be like the love God has for His church; never failing, given generously and eternally. I stared at it for awile - this wasn't written by some love-struck teenager, or if it was, there was wisdom beyond years. There were no "i"s dotted with hearts or sappy, shallow sentiments and doodling. The handwriting was neat and measured, more mature. This was a relationship that had gone on for some time, I thought, and will probably go on for much longer.Stunned, I put the note back in it's place in The Song of Solomon, and placed that Bible and all it's cabinet-mates back where I'd found them. I mean, this had to be a mistake, right? No one keeps something like that, placing it inside what should be the most valuable thing they own, and then just leaves it lying around. Maybe they don't know about the lost and found. Maybe they moved. Or maybe, something worse. Also, maybe something better - maybe this was supposed to be found. By me. Today.
I've had a lot of time to reflect back over the last few years, highlighting mistakes made, and trying to learn from them, and even recognizing events in my life as road signs - Keep Straight, Yield, Dead End. Thinking back on that little green piece of paper, I was reminded of what a relationship should be between people - God first, but your loved one a very close second, and having only One with a higher priority.
I want to meet these people that left these Bibles here for me to find. I've tought about little else since I closed that cabinet outside the fellowship hall. If what's been left for me to find discarded in a steel box in a church basement is a lesson to learn, what waits for me with the people whose hands once carried these Books?
[Photos courtesy First Baptist Church in Huntsville, Alabama]
Monday, January 12, 2009
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