Narrative – Page 2 – Mostly From Memory

Out of Tune

Have you ever wondered why guitars have frets and violins do not? I didn’t think so. I guess I better tell you what a fret is now. A fret is a thin strip of metal that runs perpendicular to the strings on a guitar. In theory it makes it easier to play a correct note. On a fretless instrument you have to rely in your ear and not a fret to play the correct note.

I do not own a violin but I spent a little time with one in my first round of college. I kept asking the wrong questions. Where is C? I should have asked, What does C sound like? I have come a long way since then on guitar. And I am beginning to understand why the concert music world did not respect the guitar until players like Andreas Segovia and Julian Bream paved the way for classical guitar in the twentieth century. I suppose I might as well tell you now that the guitar is out of tune. Or you could say it is equally in and out of tune. And this has bothered me for years.

I discovered this issue as a young player when I realized that guitars need regular maintenance. You need to tune a guitar’s open strings every time you play, but occasionally you have to check the guitars intonation. That means you make sure that the guitar is in tune at the 12th fret octave as well as the open string. If it is flat at the octave you can adjust the guitar’s bridge to make the string shorter and therefore sharpen the pitch. You lengthen the string to flatten it if the pitch is sharp at the octave. But there is a mathematical problem with tuning that is highlighted on fretted instruments: you can either have the octaves in tune, or the Fifths in tune, but not both. (Fifths are the fifth degree of the major scale and are the foundation of western music.) I did not have this information all of those years ago, I just noticed that I could never get the tuning perfect. And I thought there was something wrong with my instrument. It turns out it was not my guitar, but the whole tuning system in general. The piano suffers from the same problem.

I am tuning an octave on this old piano by ear. When you play two frequencies that do not match, say 400 hertz and 445 hertz, you can hear the difference of 5 hertz as a thumping sound called beats. You should be able to hear the beats disappear as the octave is brought in tune.

There have been a number of attempts made to deal with this issue over the past thousand or so years. Various temperaments, or tuning systems have been developed to to mitigate the Pythagorean Comma, or tuning gap. Apparently Pythagorus- yes that Pythagorus from your geometry class- wrestled with this issue.

Now that we have the tuning system worked out people only want to write four chord pop songs.

Enter the guitar around 500 years ago. I’d like to think that a prototypical guitar player invented the guitar. He was probably aware of the tuning issues, and thought, What if I just put these frets on the neck, make everything straight, and hope for the best? Guitar players are infamous for not being able to read music. Maybe he put frets on the fingerboard because he was tired of guessing where to put his fingers. Maybe he didn’t want to memorize notes but was happy to play patterns. At any rate guitars have been using equal temperament tuning since the renaissance and pianos waited to adopt it until right after the Boer Wars. And I think that’s why the guitar didn’t start gaining notoriety until the 1930s. Equal temperament tuning compromises the fifths in each key so the instrument can play fairly in tune across all the keys. This is why I have never been able to tune my guitar to my idealists standards. That brings me a small amount of psychological pain. But I have fallen in love with the guitar and I believe we can work our differences out.

Imagine now if this tuning phenomenon did not plague musicians and instrument makers. What if we could have the octaves and the fifths in tune? I don’t think that music would be what it is today. Part of the beauty of music is figuring out what works and what doesn’t. If everything was perfect there would be no dissonance, and how could we write music about pain and suffering without dissonance? J.S. Bach wrote his masterpiece The Well Tempered Clavier on an imperfect instrument. He wrote a piece of music in every key for the Harpsichord or Clavichord. These are stringed keyboard instruments that predated the piano. The genius of these pieces are the notes that he avoids because the well tempered tuning system still had some major dissonance issues. This piece is still studied today by aspiring pianists.

Think about this: more than likely, all of the piano music that you have ever heard in your whole life has not been in tune.

I suppose every good story needs a moral. Life is not always perfect. It can be frustrating to find the perfect balance because there may be no perfect balance. You just have to do the best that you can do with what you have. And often that ends up being the most beautiful thing anyway.

Compliments

Are you better at giving or receiving compliments?

I imagine that most people like to have nice things said about them. Especially the Words of Affirmation people. I never remember exactly what my love language is because I never finished reading that book. There wasn’t enough plot for me. However, I have always enjoyed complimenting people. Although my sister-in-law, sister, and even my wife sometimes tell me that I am not very good at it. They say things like, I never know if you are being nice or making fun of me.

Compliments are like bubble gum, its ok to chew on them for a while, just don’t swallow them.

For instance a generic compliment to one of them might sound something like this, “I like that dress.” That is boring, and easily forgotten. To give a good compliment you have to imagine that your 3rd grade teacher is grading you on your effort. “I like that dress” is at best average. It lacks creativity and inspiration. Now try something like, “That dress reminds me of some curtains I saw at a museum exhibit about Japanese textiles.” See how that is more memorable? Some thought went into that. But even my best efforts get responses like Zane, no woman wants to hear that her clothes look like curtains.

Death and life are in the power of the tongue: and they that love it shall eat the fruit thereof.
Proverbs 18:21

Maybe I am not very good at giving compliments but I really do try because I believe in the power of words. I believe that words can be a source of inspiration. I believe that words can set a person’s mind in the right direction. This is why I feel compelled to write. But maintaining a blog in the era of the reel to sometimes feels like a lost cause. I must admit that I occasionally wonder if my energy is being wasted. And it is difficult to find inspiration to write when you are questioning whether what you are doing matters.

And then I’ll meet a real live person who has read my blog and they will compliment me on my writing and it inspires me so much that I stay up until 2:45am writing run on sentences because I am drawing inspiration from the power of their words.

Let me back up a little bit. I know that people read my blog because the website tells me these kinds of things. But it uses numbers and I have always thought that numbers were so impersonal. So meeting a reader in person gives me a clearer context for the numbers.

Whenever someone approaches me to tell me that they read my blog I feel incredibly vulnerable. I usually write in isolation so to me it feels like I am merely putting thoughts into words as a mental exercise. Some of the essays that have reached the most people were really not intended for entertainment but were my way of grieving. Many of the things I have written are simply thoughts that will not leave me alone and I only get peace when I release them to the outside world. There is something cathartic about reaching into the infinite and grabbing hold of something and wrestling it into the finite so that others can view it.

I also feel that since no one saw me write it that no one knows that I wrote it. I take refuge in this assumed anonymity. Furthermore, because I feel like that what I write already exists in a perfect form in the infinite, I can only take a small amount of responsibility for making it finite. These personal psychological constructs give me a false sense that no one really reads anything I write.

Whenever you read someones work you get an insight into their mind. In a sense you become familiar with the deepest part of that person. As the reader you also enjoy a sense of real anonymity in relation to the author. This is why I always feel vulnerable when I meet with someone who is a fan of my work because I feel like they can read my mind, but I cannot read theirs. But I can see it in their eyes if they really have read. Maybe they cried with me. Maybe they have the same questions that I do. Maybe they too used to go swimming in the creek with the town drunk when they were kids.

It happened to me last night as I was walking out of the conference center here in Pigeon Forge, TN. They took me by surprise.

“Brother Wells I read your blog and I love your style of writing.”

Whenever something like this happens I just say “Thank you!” But I try to say it in italics because I really mean it and I am otherwise speechless. I always think of something nice to say or questions that I should have asked hours later.

Then they said, “I feel like I know you.” This may be one of the highest compliments I have received on my writing. Complimenting someone involves a going out of yourself in much the same way that writing does. Saying something has the power of putting your thoughts into words and transferring them into someone else’s mind. And you may never know how much your words may help someone.

Identity

“Well Uncle Perry, there are some girls in my class and there are some boys in my class. And I’m one of the boys.”

My Dad had a special way of talking to children. He didn’t believe in baby talk. He talked to preschoolers the same way he would talk to the postman, or the President of the United States. You had to be a real imbecile- a word I hear in Perry Wells’ voice- for him to not want to talk to you. In a way I have inherited this characteristic. I guess you could say it is part of my identity.

Dad was really good at it. He was able to have conversations with children and children can say some profound things. Dad asked my cousin Kyle what he learned on the first day of Kindergarten.

“Well Uncle Perry, there are some girls in my class and there are some boys in my class. And I’m one of the boys.”

And we laughed. But Dad said, “That’s good! That’s a real important thing to learn.”

Identity is the fact of being who or what a person or thing is. I have been thinking a lot about identity lately. I believe that it is important to have a strong understanding of who you are. If someone does not not have a strong understanding of the fact of who they are, they become extremely vulnerable to someone else imposing a false identity upon them.

This is a very ancient and evil practice. Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah were handpicked because They were Children in whom was no blemish, but well favoured, and skilful in all wisdom, and cunning in knowledge, and understanding science, and such as had ability in them to stand in the king’s palace, and whom they might teach the learning and the tongue of the Chaldeans.
‭‭Daniel‬ ‭1‬:‭4‬ ‭KJV‬‬

It is no coincidence that one of the first things that happened was the boys got a new name. The world empires of antiquity, especially The Babylonian and Persian empires, were able to maintain their vast land holdings by allowing the conquered people to have their own local rulers. These Hebrew boys were brought to Babylon to adopt Babylonian customs and culture and possibly become administrative leaders in the empire. This was exactly what happened to Daniel.

The second definition for identity is the characteristics determining who or what a person or thing is. Babylon tried to strategically change the characteristics of these captive boys. I’m not sure if it happened at once or was a process, but Babylon changed their location, diet, name, education, and possibly their sexual identity. We kind of skipped over the eunuch definition in Sunday School, but there is a strong likelihood that these Hebrew boys were made eunuchs. If they were eunuchs it only strengthens the point that Babylon was unsuccessful in shaking off the true identity of Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah. They refused the king’s food, and most significantly they refused the king’s god. If you have never read their story you can find it in the book of Daniel.

An identity crises is a period of uncertainty or confusion in a person’s life. It seems that exploring your identity is a growing trend these days. I have recognized that there is a powerful force that expects people-especially young people-to question their identity, as well as everything else. And sadly it led to a sea of confusion. And God is not the author of confusion.

But what if you have a strong understanding of who you are, and you do not like you who are? Furthermore you do not like what, we’ll just say Babylon has to offer. I firmly believe that identity can be changed for the better.

Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.
‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭5‬:‭17‬ ‭KJV‬‬

Identity is a central theme in the greatest story ever told. Everyone who got a name change in the Bible had a spiritual encounter. Abraham, the Father of the Faithful, received a name change from the Lord. Abram to Abraham. Jacob to Israel. Simon to Peter. Saul to Paul. Zane to Jesus. When you are baptized in Jesus’ Name you take on his name. It is part of becoming a new creature.

For as many of you as have been baptized into Christ have put on Christ.
‭‭Galatians‬ ‭3‬:‭27‬ ‭KJV‬‬

3,909.2

Have you ever failed to reach a goal? Sometimes the feeling of failure is so strong that you struggle to find the courage to begin again. Sometimes almost reaching a goal gives you the motivation to try even harder the next time. I had planned to cycle 4,000 miles in 2022, but I fell short by 90.8 miles. That is one really good day of riding. Or one week of consistent riding. Or somewhere between 2,500-3,500 calories, I’ve never really trusted my burn rate calculations. I did not achieve my goal. No one really wants to hear excuses why I didn’t. But I almost did it.

There are some goals where almost doesn’t cut it. Like finding a good wife. That’s an honorable goal. You don’t want to almost find a good wife. This is a discrete goal, where you either achieve it or you don’t. You don’t almost shoot a deer and expect to feel good about your effort. However, if you have a goal that is on a continuum, a number like 4,000 miles may have been picked arbitrarily because it is a nice round number.

I feel good about almost riding 4,000 miles this year. I think the main reason I can feel good about almost reaching that goal is because it still took a lot of hard work.

By nature I am a list maker. I am constantly making Birthday lists, Christmas lists, to-do lists, wish lists, grocery lists, and inventories of guitar gear. One of the most important and closely followed lists I make is a list of goals for each coming year. A lot of my yearly goals involve doing something every day: reading the Bible, studying Spanish, playing guitar, and cycling. I am a believer in daily habits. It is the daily things that make the big things happen. Although it is interesting when someone does something remarkable in one day, it is the people who are able to be consistent on a daily basis that really impress me.

You would be hard pressed to find an athlete on the planet that could cycle 4,000 miles in a single day. Maybe there is someone who could learn a language in a day, but I have not met them. Most of the people I know who have accomplished remarkable things also tend to be extremely self-disciplined. And I suppose that is one of my biggest goals: to be self-disciplined.

Self-discipline sounds like a a miserable thing to a lot of us. It comes out in our language when we comment on things that take a lot of self-discipline. “Why would you want to do _________? That sounds horrible!”

The Bible is clear that temperance (self-control) is a fruit of the Spirit. And whether you call it self-control, self-discipline, self-restraint, or temperance, it is against our human nature. It just isn’t natural. We need divine help in this area.

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, Meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.
‭‭Galatians‬ ‭5‬:‭22‬-‭23‬

I want to wish everyone a very happy and temperate New Year.

Funeral Processions

This came as a surprise to me when I moved away as an adult: not everywhere allows funeral processions. Even some places in Alabama have given up on this tradition.

Uncle Barry and Gram made the trip up to Cullman a few Saturdays ago. We ate at my sister’s house and just visited. It was good to see both of them. Uncle Barry was having open heart surgery the next week. He had had a heart attack earlier this year. After they amputated his big toe, they told him that he needed to have open heart surgery, but he wasn’t strong enough to handle it just yet.

I had to struggle to reconcile those words “not strong enough” relating to Uncle Barry. When I was a kid I didn’t think there was anyone stronger in the world. He once picked up a headache ball with one hand. I wasn’t exactly sure what a headache ball was, or how much one weighed. So I imagined it as a wrecking ball used to tear down old buildings, and I gave it the satisfyingly immense weight of 300lbs. A real headache ball weighs at most around 100lbs, and is used to keep the cable on a crane from flying around in the wind.

I watched Uncle Barry lift up Jacob Wray onto the roof the church so Jacob could fetch the keys that he had thrown on the roof. I can still see the panicking women and the grinning men watching the spectacle through the clear church windows.

Before I was born, Uncle Barry and Uncle Tony came over to Dad’s house to help level an ancient building in the back yard. An old neighbor came over to watch the men work because that is what old men do. Uncle Tony, ever the prankster, told the old man that Uncle Barry’s name was Charles Ray. Uncle Barry single handedly lifted up the building so Uncle Tony and Dad could sure up the foundation with cinder blocks.

“Y’all killing Charles Ray!” The old man protested not knowing Uncle Barry’s herculean strength. This saying has survived in our family and is used whenever one person seems to be doing all the work.

Every Christmas Uncle Barry gave me a pocket knife. Even after I was grown he wanted to know what I was carrying. Or maybe he just asked that because he really wanted to show me what he was carrying.

The last thing I did with Uncle Barry was pray with him.

He came through his surgery fine the following Wednesday. I was glad to hear that. I am always amazed at how quickly heart surgery patients bounce back.

But then Friday came. My sister told me early Friday Morning that Uncle Barry didn’t make it. That was July 1st. It is one thing to know that death is imminent and another when death comes suddenly. I am still trying to sort out having seen him laughing and carrying on less than a week before his death.

My Nonna died on July 4th. It took me by surprise, but it shouldn’t have. The last time I went to see her I felt like the little boy that Dad was taking to visit a bedridden relative that I really didn’t know. I was always amazed at how he could carry on a conversation and laugh with someone who was barely awake and incoherent. Now I realize that he was probably saying goodbye to a shell of a person who used to be so full of life. That was Nonna, full of life. And laughter.

She was always laughing. Or rather cackling. I love laughter. I wish I had a laugh track from her house circa 1995. Starring Aunt Shelby, Uncle Ferman, Cindy, Dad, and Nonna. I would listen to often. Who am I kidding? I can hear it right now.

We used to go to Pop & Nonna’s every Monday night and party. They’d be enough food to feed half of Sterrett. We ate everything from chicken and dressing-a dish normal people may only get at Thanksgiving but we might get in August-to humble kraut and weenies. I don’t remember ever really running out of food. My brother said the Lord must’ve helped her. She made some of the best cakes. Twinkie Cake was my favorite.

Nonna had two refrigerators and two freezers. I believe that her and Pop might’ve been hungry as kids and they didn’t want that to ever happen again. Not to them, nor their children or grandchildren.

Nonna was also a card shark. For the first part of my life they, the adults that is, played Hand & Foot, a variation of Canasta. I never played that. But I did play Rook. We played a lot of cards, but there was no gambling. There was never any alcohol either. Nonna sure new how to party.

Nonna died of congestive heart failure. Similar to Uncle Barry, her heart just quit.

“I’m just so tired. I don’t want to take any more medicine.”

So we had two funerals in one week. I have to confess, that I much prefer weddings to funerals. There is never any punch at funerals. And there is a lot of crying at funerals. But there is also a lot of comfort at funerals.

After Uncle Barry’s funeral we rode in funeral procession from Sylacauga to the Vincent City Cemetery, just a kudzu patch and a magnolia tree away from the house I where I was raised. Funeral processions passing right in front of the house was a regular occurrence when I was kid. Just like the passing trailers packed with cotton on their way to the Cotton Gin were normal. Mom and Dad had taught me that it was rude to keep playing when the funeral procession passed.

“You need to stop what you are doing out of respect for the dead.”

This came as a surprise to me when I moved away as an adult: not everywhere allows funeral processions. Even some places in Alabama have given up on this tradition.

I got off my bike and stood at attention in my dirty jeans and sweaty glasses and watched countless funeral processions to that cemetery. Even then I could feel the heaviness of this custom. Uncle Barry’s was the first one to that cemetery I remember riding in. It was really moving to see old men pulled over on the side of the road, standing out in the heat with their hats over their hearts, and shirtless young men who stopped in the middle of weed-eating a fence to show respect for the dead. It made me proud to be from Alabama.

Two deaths in the family in such a short time has caused me to do quite a bit of thinking in last few days. Both of these relatives died of heart disease. Heart disease runs in my family on both sides. I am not a cardiologist, but it also seems like heart disease and good cooking run in the same families.

“Uncle Barry, what did the doctor say you need to do about your heart?” I asked him the last time I saw him.

“Don’t get up over 300lbs. Eat regular.”

“I’ve been eating pretty regular all my life! I should be fine.”

“Naw!” He laughed, “You got to eat right.”

I am earnestly trying to reverse the trend of heart disease and diabetes in my family. It is a noble endeavor, but ultimately it doesn’t matter how healthy you are physically if you are not healthy spiritually when you ride in your final funeral procession.

For bodily exercise profiteth little: but godliness is profitable unto all things, having promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to come.
I Timothy 4:8

Ice Cream

I love ice cream. I once received an emergency haircut after I snuck out of bed to finish off the ice cream. I stuck the empty plastic ice cream bucket over my head and licked the sides. There was no hiding the evidence in my hair the next morning on the way to take Zach to school.

My parents had an old Amana ice cream maker that was louder than three holiness preachers. Like so many other appliances from the 80s, it was brown and tan. I am not sure it came from the factory that loud. When you’re a kid you think broken things are normal, like the refrigerator that won’t stay closed. The noise didn’t ever stop us from partying though. And my parents hardly ever made ice cream without it being a party. After all, what you need to have a party is special food and special people. So by that definition, every night was a party at our house.

I suppose the rackety Amana was better than the hand crank ice cream makers that some of my older friends have told me about. I guess you’ll gladly do whatever it takes to have some ice cream. I imagine you could rig up an exercise bike to an ice cream maker if times were tough and you were smart enough. I bet Creed could do it. Anyway, I’m not thinking about engineering, I’m thinking about ice cream.

Like I was saying, the ice cream machine noise was part of the atmosphere of a party. All the adults would be sitting around the table playing Rook. They yelled anyway, but they had to put in extra effort to raise their voices above the electric motor whining away in the kitchen. The kids probably got away with more mischief since the noise was running interference for them. No one ever said anything about the noise until someone turned the machine off.

“Man that was loud.” Somebody would say as if Jesus had just rebuked the sea and the disciples were marveling at the calm.

They always made vanilla and strawberry. Those were the only flavors I thought homemade ice cream came in. Man was it ever good. Strawberry is probably still my favorite, but ice cream has to be real bad for me to not like it. In Virginia they made Grape-Nuts Ice Cream and acted like it was the best thing ever. If you’re not familiar with Grape-Nuts then you probably don’t know about fried bologna neither. It’s a cereal that poor people used to eat instead of food. Just put a little bit of fine gravel in the vanilla next time you make a batch of homemade ice cream and you’ll get the same texture and maybe a little better taste. It tastes bad because you had to grow up eating it for it to taste good.

To someone out there, homemade ice cream with Grape-Nuts in it will bring back a flood of fond memories. It just didn’t do it for me.

Sis. Beane made some lemon ice cream one time at youth camp. She put it three or four times the amount of lemon flavoring that the recipe called for. Bro. J.L. Parker took a big bite and made a sour face. “Sister, that’s the best I ever tried to eat.”

Dad used to tell us about how Pop would ask him and Uncle Melvin what kind of ice cream they wanted from the store.

“Rocky Road!”

“Chocolate!”

No matter what they asked, Pop always brought back Cherry Vanilla.

Dad would laugh about that story.

It was around the time that he knew he was about to die that Dad asked for some Cherry Vanilla Ice Cream. As many times as he told that story, it was the first time that I ever remember seeing it. One of the last things I saw dad eat was Blue Bell Dutch Chocolate. I fed it it to him. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat that flavor again and not think of him.

So I’m thinking about getting an ice cream maker, or seeing if Creed can do the bicycle powered deal. I want to experiment with some different flavors. I think peach ice cream would be good. And apparently they used to make that at Nonna’s, but I just don’t remember it. Or maybe we can use some of these blackberries that grow on the back fence. I mean just about any fruit will be good in ice cream.

“Anything with five cups of sugar in it is bound to be good.”
-Bo

I think I’ll start with strawberry though.

How to Ride 100 Miles on Your Bike

No one is going to be impressed if you tell them, “Today I rode my bicycle.”

Unless you are a child who has never ridden a bike, or just got off of training wheels, there is nothing remarkable about that. Any average adult could’ve done the same thing with little effort and no planning.

But it if you tell someone, “Today I rode my bike 100 miles.” Then you are more likely to get a different response. Some people will be impressed, some will think you are crazy as an outhouse rat. But most everyone is curious about things that require something more than marginal effort. It is that extra effort-work, planning, dedication, etc.-that stands out to people.

Riding 100 miles on a bicycle sounds like a nearly impossible task for some people. But it is really quite simple. It’s just takes hard work and some planning. To a cyclist (I guess I am an official gel eating, ride in the rain cyclist) riding 100 miles, or a Century, is a right of passage. As ridiculous as it may sound, it is something that cyclists work their way toward achieving.

I am not saying that it is not possible to get on a bike without any training and ride 100 miles without a plan. But I am saying that it will be difficult to ride the day after you do that. In fact it will be difficult to do anything the day after. I also can’t promise that you won’t injure yourself.

I’m sure there is someone more qualified to tell you how to go about riding 100 miles, but if you are a regular reader we both know that cycling is not really what we’re actually talking about here. At any rate, this is what I would recommend if this is something you really want to do.

Commit to Cycling.

Unless you commit to cycling and go out and purchase a bicycle, riding a century is going to be like anything else that you would just like to do. There is a commitment beyond simply purchasing the bike: riding the bike. Every day. Something will hurt every day that you ride. You will be out of breath and have to do the walk of shame on some of the hills, pushing your bike up as you wonder if you’ll ever get to a point where this won’t hurt. It won’t quit being hard, you’ll just go faster.

Eventually, there will come a point when that one hill doesn’t whip you any more. This only happens to the people that don’t quit.

Set Small Goals First.

There will come a time when you will have to set a distance goal that is beyond what you are capable of doing in your early morning ride. You won’t be quite sure how hard it will be to ride x miles, but you have a rough idea of how much time it will take because you ride n miles every morning and n•5=x. You’ll be confident you can ride that far because you have done it every week for a few weeks, but you’re not certain that you can do a week’s worth of riding in one day.

This is when you have to saddle up one morning and not get off until you have completed your goal.

Fortunately for you, you have me to tell you to pack plenty of food because you stand to burn about 2,000 calories for a 50 mile ride. If you don’t eat and drink enough you will run out of energy and it will take a while for you to feel better.

If you think you don’t need those padded underwear you will change your mind after that first Half Century.

Plan a Route.

The first time I rode 50 miles I had to psych myself up for it. If I am honest I didn’t have a lot of confidence in myself to finish. So I purposefully mapped a route. It is hard to give up when you are 25 miles from the house.

Mapping out a route is even more important when doing a Century. Nothing kills motivation like not having a plan.

Where there is no vision, the people perish…
Proverbs 29:18

You don’t want to have to spend the last 15 miles of a Century mapping out a route. You won’t be in the right frame of mind.

Follow the Plan.

I believe in following the plan. You made the plan when you were thinking straight. At mile 80 you won’t be thinking straight. If you planned to do 100 miles, then all you have to do is follow the plan.

For your first Century I would avoid any roads with “mountain” in the name.

Once you ride 100 miles in a single day, any distance below 100 miles doesn’t seem that far. It is a psychological barrier that must be broken. Once it is broken there is also the danger of not riding shorter rides any more because they aren’t 100 miles. I feel pretty strongly that these simple daily rides are just as important if not more important than any Century ride.

Light gains, heavy purses.
-Poor Richard’s Almanac

Anything in life worth doing is probably going to be hard. Easy things hardly ever stand out as great things. The paradox is that great things are generally simple, but simple doesn’t mean easy.

You may have great things that you would like to do but haven’t done yet. I believe that you can do them. It is amazing what you can do with a little commitment and planning.

Sunday Afternoons

Sometimes I wonder if people who don’t go to church on Sundays still take a Sunday afternoon nap. My parents always took a Sunday afternoon nap between church services. When I was little kid, I didn’t fully appreciate this practice. Instead of napping, I would read the Sunday comic page. Or that was always the first thing I did instead of napping. The Sunday comics were special because they were in color, and many of the strips followed a different story line on Sunday. Some comics only appeared on Sunday, like Prince Valiant. Which I read religiously even though I always felt like I started in medias res and that the only way to get the back story and fully understand what was going on was to have started following the comic back in 1937. But the artwork was good so I toughed it out while Mom and Dad settled in for their nap.

We had to be quiet during the nap, or at least until they fell asleep. Being quiet meant not stomping around or yelling. You can only read the comics for so long and then they are done and you have to look at all of the photographs and read the captions in the various articles until you find something that might be interesting. Then you could read the whole article, or until you got lost in all of the Balkan names. The 90s offered us a lot of good news content. Kosovo, Princess Diana, Monica Lewinski, Elian Gonzalez. Even world events get boring after awhile and I’d go find something else to do, but the newspaper ritual continued as long as I lived at home.

When I started playing guitar I would go back to the church on Sunday afternoons and hang out with Jacob, a friend who was also learning to play guitar. Perhaps that’s misleading, he was learning, he already new how. He was a gifted musician. If it hadn’t have been for him, I probably wouldn’t have started playing guitar. Initially I wanted to play the bass. But Jacob got a bass before I did, so I got a guitar.

He was always saying, “Go get your guitar.”

We’d meet back at the church after lunch and hang out until the next service. I suppose the statute of limitations has expired so I don’t mind telling you that we raided the Sunday School refrigerator and snack cabinet quite a few times. I don’t think they missed that forgotten vanilla ice cream though.

We would spend the afternoon all of the guitar riffs that we new and some of the ones that we didn’t and we couldn’t tell the two apart. It was great fun. I still kind of do the same thing now at band rehearsal. We just don’t raid the Sunday School snack cupboard. And we are practicing church songs that we are going to sing for the evening service, and not trying to perfect Lynyrd Skynyrd licks.

Jacob was notorious about waiting until I had just finally got handle on a rock’n’roll guitar lick enough to make it remotely recognizable when he would suddenly say, “Sir?” while looking toward the front door of the church. It never failed to scare the daylights out of me.

On rare occasions, probably due to impending weather, we would help Pop haul hay on a Sunday afternoon. There was always a tangible unspoken urgency to hurry through the chore in order to make it to church in time for the six o’clock service.

Appreciation for a Sunday afternoon nap comes with maturity. Just like having a steady job comes with maturity. Perhaps the shiftless can enjoy a Sunday afternoon nap, but they didn’t earn it.

There are a lot of differing opinions on the art of a Sunday afternoon nap. Clothes or pajamas? Recliner or bed? Post nap shower or no? I’m a pajama-bed-shower man myself. But sometimes the nap is so good you just have to get up and get to band practice and hope for the best.

“That was a good nap huh?” Adam will say if I ever skip the post-nap shower.

“Yes. How’d you know?”

“You got that nap hair going on. Hehehe.”

I don’t always get a Sunday afternoon nap these days because we have a one year old who can’t entertain herself by reading the Sunday comics yet. But as soon as she can read, I’m taking a Sunday afternoon nap.

Lifestyle Change

There are certain things that, if you really want to do them right require a lifestyle change.

“I’d like to take up the guitar.”

I hear this from time to time and I always get a little tickled. Playing guitar is not something that you simply take up. It takes the kind of lifestyle change that will make a kid who throws fits about having their fingernails clipped start cutting them every five days. In living for God we call this kind of lifestyle change a conversion. You can’t have Christianity without conversion and you’ll never be really good at guitar without a major lifestyle change.

Sometimes people aren’t really ready for a change, they just like the idea of the results the change brings. That’s how I have always looked at being healthy.

“Man, I’d sure like to be fit.” I’d catch myself thinking as I loaded up a second portion of barbecue at one of the feasts that most of my memories are centered around. The fact is, I enjoy eating good food. It has been a part of my lifestyle since I can remember. We ate to celebrate, we ate to mourn.

I have been slowly chipping away at college work over the last couple of years. I have always been impressed at how disciplined I can be when someone imposes upon me a syllabus and deadlines. So I decided to do an experiment. I wrote out a set of health/fitness goals and a ten week plan to see what I could achieve. I picked this number partly because it matched my summer semester and partly because I had a Doctor’s appointment at the end of that ten weeks. I want to share with you the plan and the results.

Me and Hollynn, who hardly ever lays her head down on my shoulder. I’m about 235lbs in this picture.

May 22, 2021

I weighed 232.4lbs. My waist measurement was 35″. I had a bike but I wasn’t a consistent cyclist.

Health Goals 5/22-8/02/2021

Take in my belt two notches
Fit into my suits comfortably
Weigh 200lbs
Cycle 500 miles
Waist 30″

Health Plan 5/22-8/02/2021

I suppose this may be the most important part, otherwise those goals are just nice thoughts. This is where the lifestyle change comes in.

Ride or run daily
No snacks, only meals
No sugar
One helping at supper
Avoid fried food
Pushups daily
Weigh in at the end of every week

Results

		Weight	Waist	Miles Ridden
Week 0	5/22/2021	232.4	35″	50
Week 1	5/29/2021	227.4	32″	65.66
Week 2	6/5/2021	229	32″	51.02
Week 3	6/12/2021	229	32″	53.76
Week 4	6/19/2021	225	31 7/8″	101.7
Week 5	6/26/2021	223	31 3/4″	72.27
Week 6	7/3/2021	223	31 3/4″	3.99
Week 7	7/10/2021	223	31 3/4″	86.39
Week 8	7/17/2021	220		63.07
Week 9	7/24/2021	219.4		72.92
Week 10	7/31/2021	217.6		85.2
Dr. Appt	8/2/2021	215.6	Total	705.98

Take in my belt two notches-I took it in three
Fit into my suits comfortably-Achieved
Weigh 200lbs – This may have been a tall order. Losing 32.4lbs in ten weeks may not be healthy. I am satisfied with having lost 16.8lbs.
Cycle 500 miles-I rode 705.98 miles.
Waist 30″- I quit measuring after week 7, because after looking closer I think the tape had a manufacturing flaw.

Observations

During week 6 I went to Youth Camp, I ate fried food every day, and staid up until 2:00am every night. The only reason I cycled any is because I rode my brother’s bike. Even so, I didn’t gain any weight that week, which was surprising.

Me at youth camp playing a Bsus4 chord at 223lbs

In week 7 I bought some lights for my bicycle and I started riding before work and before I ate anything. You can see that weight loss is more consistent from that time on out. It was around this time that I also noticed that I was waking up before my alarm clock.

I tried to do some running, but I only managed to get three miles. Running is a lot harder than cycling. I’ll have to tackle that in a different plan.

I have noticed that if I eat much later than 7:00pm I will fill sluggish in the mornings.

I have avoided sticking to a hard diet like Keto, because I feel like I would crash and burn. I did however try to eat more whole foods instead of processed foods.

I asked my doctor about nutrition at my appointment. He said that I was already doing a good job.

“If you are doing it right, it is going to take a long time.”

Sarah and Me on a date. I’m weighing about 216lbs here.

Conclusion

So why am I writing about this?

Anytime someone decides to make a lifestyle change for the better, there are people who will wait for them to fail.

“Oh she’s going to church now? She won’t make it three months.”

“He’s learning the guitar? Hahahah! What a waste of time.”

“He’ll be off that diet come fourth of July.”

People don’t mind telling you what they really think. Some-not all- will comment in hopes that you fail no matter what you’re trying to do.

This is part of a real conversation I had about my health plan.

“You ride that bike on the road? Man that’s dangerous!”

“You’re right, but you know what else is dangerous? Congestive heart failure and diabetes.”

So I am here to encourage someone today. If you are trying to make a healthy lifestyle change, you can do it. That is, if you really want to. Anything worth doing is probably going to be hard.

There are some lifestyle changes that carry a greater pay off than others.

For bodily exercise profiteth little: but godliness is profitable unto all things, having promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to come. I Timothy 4:8

Children That Talk to Adults

I love all children. Round up a choir of them to sing before the offering at church and you are guaranteed all of the cash in my wallet. I love to hear children play. Even when I have to step in and act like I don’t like it when they get rambunctious- because that’s what parents are supposed to do, and so they won’t tear the house or the church down- I love that too. Children have unbridled energy.

“He just needs a tiller.”
Perry Wells in reference to a hyperactive child.

I especially love when children carry on a conversation with an adult. I think this is something I picked up from Dad. He loved talking to kids. Not in the baby talk way, but in the same way he talked to everybody.

Dad asked my cousin Kyle about his first week of kindergarten.

“Well Uncle Perry, there’s some boys in my class and there’s some girls in my class. And I’m one of the boys.” I am not sure they are still teaching this these days. But it is still a good lesson to learn.

Children have an interesting way of putting their thoughts into words. Or using language. Or “Playing with language” as linguist David Crystal puts it. When you have a limited vocabulary you have to improvise sometimes. I love it when children make up useful words. For a while Miriam called the flyswatter a fly-smacker. If the made up word is good enough then adults will likely adopt it. I have adopted fishing-wand.

Children are also practical. I once asked a child where he liked to eat pizza. “At the table.” He replied. The made up words and innocent logic are just two of the things that make a child’s conversation rich. There is an honesty and directness that children possess in communication that many adults have lost long ago. Speaking with children reminds us of that.

If I may be vulnerable, children who do not “speak when spoken to” get on my nerves. At the same time, I will not reprimand my child if some creepy adult is trying to talk to them. But, I was raised that it was rude to not speak when spoken to, and I will not remove that landmark.

I have noticed that you have to earn the trust of some children. It may take a while before a child isn’t afraid of you. After all, I’m a big loud man and that may be intimidating to a child.

I feel like my brother was born grown. Dad said that Zach always wanted to be with the adults as a child. As an adult he is equally good at talking to people and to children. He is as good as Dad was at talking to the little fellows.

If you want to be a good communicator it really helps if you genuinely love people.

I think that learning how to speak to adults is an important life skill. A lot of business gets handled through conversations. Perhaps young children that can hold a conversation with an adult are more prepared to handle that business when they become adults. I don’t know. But I wonder about these things when I talk to little children. What will this child do when they grow up? What natural propensity is this child already displaying? Does this child know how to have a conversation?

I hope you get to talk with a child soon.