A Joke You Can Tell in Church

Adlai was proud of his son, who had just graduated from High School and would be going to Harvard in the fall.  It was expected that he would excel in his studies (as he had done in high school), and would continue on to Harvard Business School to receive his MBA.

Adlai had raised his son as best he could, and felt that as a graduation present he would send the boy to Israel for a few weeks.  That way he would be able to come face-to-face with his Jewish heritage, and see his ancestral homeland with his own eyes.

When the boy had returned home from Israel, Adlai met him at the airport and after the usual hugs and greetings asked, “Well, my son… how did you like Israel?”

“It was wonderful, Father.  I saw so many things; my mind is still having trouble processing everything!  It was such a meaningful, personal journey… walking among things both ancient and new.  And, there’s something else I should tell you…” he trailed off, almost hesitantly.

“Well, what is it, my boy?” Adlai inquired.

“Among all of the wonderful things that I saw and did, the most wonderful thing was that I became a Christian!”

Adlai was silent.  He eyes blinked a few times, trying to hold back tears of disbelief.  The rest of the ride home was driven in utter silence on Adlai’s part, while the lad told of his adventures during his trip to the Promised Land.

As soon as they had arrived back at the house, Adlai quietly crept out and walked up the street to see his life-long friend Hyram.  He waited impatiently after ringing the doorbell, fidgeting with nervous energy – not sure exactly how to gently word his question.  Hyram answered the door, and invited Adlai in.  However, Adlai asked Hyram almost sheepishly, “Perhaps it would be best if you stepped outside and we could take a walk?”

“Certainly.  Let me tell my wife I’ll be gone for a little while and then we’ll talk.”

After they walked for a couple of blocks, they came to a park and sat down on a nearby bench.  “Hyram,” Adlai began, “you know that I sent my son to Israel as a graduation present?”

“Well of course I do” Hyram answered.  Why does this seem to upset you?

“Because I sent him there to learn about his Jewish heritage, and when he came back he said that he had become… a Christian!”  Adlai looked pale and shaken, and then added, “I don’t understand it!  What did I do wrong?  WHY did this happen?”

Hyram sat there silently for a long time, very carefully weighing his words to give an insightful answer.  A couple of times he opened his mouth to speak, only to exhale instead.  After a couple of these false starts, he finally managed to say, “It’s a funny thing you should ask me that question.”

He then related to Adlai how he had sent his own son to Israel just the year before – also as a graduation present – to learn of his Jewish heritage and to find a closer meaning to their life and faith.  And then he told Adlai of his utter shock and sorrow when the boy had returned… and he too had become a Christian!

The men sat there silently for a moment and then turned and looked in each other’s eyes.  “Hyram… I had NO idea!”

“I know… I was too ashamed to tell anybody!  Even you… I’m so sorry!”

“Hyram,” Adlai said, “let’s go see Rabbi Meyer.  Surely he can offer a little insight to our shared predicament!”  One meaning of the name Meyer is “giving light”, and light is something both Hyram and Adlai needed!  Hyram nodded in agreement and the two rose from the park bench and started walking to their local synagogue, which was only a few more blocks from where they were.

When they arrived they found Rabbi Meyer busily attending to some paperwork in his office.  It was a weekday and things were quiet, which was probably for the best considering the nature of the question the two men were about to ask.  Except for the small beam of light from the lamp on his desk the Rabbi’s office was dark.  This was not from lack of windows; it was just a dreary, cloudy day… much like the shared mood of Hyram and Adlai. 

When they arrived at the door of the Rabbi’s office, he looked up from his task and smiled.  He had grown up in the neighborhood with both Adlai and Hyram; as kids they were inseparable and were often teased by their parents as being the “Three Musketeers”.  “Come in, come in” the Rabbi said, with a big smile on his face.  “I needed an excuse to take a break from this…” He tastefully didn’t finish the sentence as he looked down at the paperwork and his smile changed to a pantomimed look of horror.  “What brings the two of you here on this otherwise uninviting day?”

Hyram and Adlai first looked at each other, and then at the Rabbi.  Then they glanced at each other once again, until Adlai took the lead.  “Rabbi Meyer… it’s like this.” 

He said, “You know that we’ve both always attended Temple without fail.  We strive to keep the Commandments, and we study and adhere to the words of the Torah.”

He then related the tale of how his son had gone to Israel, and had returned as a Christian.  And then Hyram jumped in and related the almost identical account of how the same thing had happened to his son only the year before.

When they had both shared their stories, the three of them sat silently in the dark.  The Rabbi could only blink his eyes; words were failing to come.  Finally in unison, Hyram and Adlai said, “We have done everything we should have done for our sons, and yet they both returned from Israel as Christians.  How could this happen?”

Finally Rabbi Meyer looked at his two friends, growing a little paler as he said, “It’s a funny thing you should ask me that question.”

The Rabbi got up and walked over to the door of his office, closed and locked it.  Then he returned to his seat and began to tell his two boyhood friends of how he, too, had sent his own son to Israel just a few years before.  His son returned from Israel, full of awe and wonder for the land he had visited… but also having become a Christian while he was there.  He had received a scholarship to UCLA and was living on the west coast, which was a blessing to the Rabbi because he never had to explain to anybody what had happened… until now.

“You know, my friends… I have no answers for you” Rabbi Meyer stated.  “But like you, I have questions!  And I think right now is the time to start seeking the answers!  My friends, pray with me right now… please.”

And pray they did.  If ever there was a time when three people prayed a prayer as one, this was it.  They reminded God that they truly believed in Him, were proud of their heritage, and so grateful for the sons He had blessed them with.  And yet when they sent their sons to Israel to deepen their faith, they instead returned as Christians.  All three cried out to the Lord at once, “Please tell us why our sons went to Israel as good Jewish men and came back as Christians!  God!  How could this happen?”

Then they buried their faces into their hands as they knelt on the floor, weeping and waiting for an answer to the most heartfelt prayer they had ever offered up to the Creator.  The silence in the dark little office became almost heavy, and then very slowly the dim lighting gave way to a brilliant, pure light that was not coming from outside the building but was originating from right there in the room!  So quickly the three men asked once again, “We sent our sons to Israel to learn the ways of our people, and they returned home Christians.  Why, God?  HOW could this happen to us?”

At that moment they all heard a voice, one that sounded like it came from the far corners of the universe… and yet originated from inside each of the men all at the same time.  Indeed, it was the Lord, and he said unto them:  “Oy vey!  Funny thing you should ask me that question!”

⧫⧫⧫

 I need to give credit where credit is due.  That joke was not mine… in fact I have no idea of its origin.  I heard one similar to it told by Larry Miller in the “Joke of the Week” portion on his podcast The Larry Miller Show (available on iTunes and other podcast aggregators).  It’s one of those “shaggy dog” stories – in other words, you can add color and description to your heart’s content as long as you still get to the punch line.  Every now and then they pull a joke out of the hat that I like… and this was one of those.  I hope you enjoyed it too… and unlike just about every other joke I know, this is one that you really can tell in church!

How We Started Riding a Tandem

Our Cannondale gave us many years of faithful
service, including riding in England in 1993.

The short version of this story is:  “We climbed on the bike and started pedaling.”

The End

Somehow I suspect that you’d like a few more details than that!  Rightly so.  Let’s face it – The National Enquirer wouldn’t sell very many copies if they didn’t put a little extra verbiage into each article.  So like them, I’ll throw you a little more substance.  However, unlike the Enquirer, the details in the following story are actually true. 

We were both in the middle of our respective divorces at the time: hers civil, mine anything but.  In spite of that turmoil, we had a feeling we were heading for a long term relationship and found ourselves at a local bike shop one day.   They carried a few different brands of bikes (as most bike shops are apt to do); one of their offerings was from Cannondale bikes, and among Cannodale’s lineup in 1991 was a road tandem.

I made it clear that I’d always wanted a tandem; she made it clear that she had more beauty than brains when she immediately agreed to the plan.  We pooled what little resources we had, gambling that we’d actually stay together so the tandem would have a constant pair of riders and together we made our first major purchase.

Not a good plan, by most standards – but surprisingly it worked for us!  In fact, when we look back at it, this was probably the smartest purchase we’ve ever made.  We’ve been riding together for 24 years, and have no desire to stop doing so for the next 24.

There are a variety of riding styles when it comes to cycling on a tandem.  Some people communicate every little detail.  “Left pedal up.”  “Coast, 3, 2, 1…”  “Pedal!”  “Turning right.”  And so the list goes on, with a command or warning for each and every action that’s about to occur.

There wasn’t anyone around to teach us the nuances of tandem riding when we started, so when we took the bike out for the first time there wasn’t any communication to speak of.  We just got on and figured it out as we went.

We learned quickly that when we’re at a standstill, the “stoker” (the person on the back, oft times called the rear admiral) remains seated and the “captain” (the one up front) holds the bike up for both of them.  We found that Valerie is very intuitive at feeling when we’re going to pedal, and when we’re going to coast and that I don’t need to communicate this to her.  She feels what I’m doing and reacts immediately.

We (or should I say I?) found out that calling out a warning for a bump before we hit it saves the captain from the stoker’s wrath.  (Bumps seem to be intensified through the seat on the back of a tandem, and for some odd reason stokers don’t like it when you hit a major rut without a verbal warning so they can rise up off of the saddle just in the knick of time.)

All-in-all, we were very lucky with the outcome of our purchase, considering we went into it with NO knowledge of what the heck we were getting ourselves into!  We didn’t have the opportunity for a test ride as the dealer didn’t have any tandems in stock.  He simply told us that he thought the Cannondale was a good, solid bike and suggested which size would work best for us.  It wasn’t until he had ordered the bike and set it up for us that we took our first tandem ride together.  Not the greatest plan… but it worked for us.

Today we ride a Santana Beyondand the Cannodale has gone on to find a new home elsewhere.  We drove from Idaho to a couple of different shops in California (who had several tandems in stock and available for sale) specifically to test-ride various models before we made a decision as to which model would be our next “baby”.  No more buying “sight unseen” for us!  In fact, had we simply relied on the construction information about each bike, I would have chosen a different model than the one we’re now riding.  But having been able to test ride the different models all in the same afternoon we soon came to understand that our initial impression would have been a bad call!

The moral of this story is two-fold:  don’t rely on The National Enquirer for the truth, and try and seek out a shop that will allow you to test ride tandems before buying!  Internet searches are a great tool for tandem clubs in your area, members of which are usually quite happy to answer questions about tandem riding, and to find  shops that actually have some inventory on the floor.  Don’t be hesitant to travel to a city where there’s a shop who has a tandem inventory; in the end it’s well worth the time and effort to find the perfect tandem that fits and feels right for you.

Or you could rely on ignorant dumb-luck like we did back in 1991 and just buy one sight unseen!  (But that wouldn’t be my first choice today!)

A good article to accompany this one is "My Tandem Inspiration".

A Sale Isn’t Always a Sale…

I know… I tried to sell this blog to the unsuspecting public as a light-hearted attempt at humor.  And then THIS post comes along…  “Bah, humbug!”  I guess that deep down I’m just as untrustworthy and disingenuous as the American institution known as Macy’s. 

Let’s get to the meat of the subject: “The Big Home Sale” catalog came out this past week, with the event slated to run Wednesday, January 27^th through Sunday, January 31^st.   I’m NOT an investigative reporter and should NEVER be confused with one.  I have NOT researched all the prices in this catalog and don’t intend to – but if there’s something that YOU have been wanting and think that this might just be the “sale of a lifetime”, do a little research before you dive into those big savings!

The thing that has totally soured me toward Macy’s is on page 63 of this catalog: the Breville Barista Espresso Maker, model number BES870XL.  Save $260!  Regularly $859.99… SALE $599.99 !!!  Amazing deal – never have I seen this unit have such a price cut.  No, seriously… never.  And that means NOW. 

I have been looking at this particular model for the past six months or so, wishing upon a star that one day it might suddenly appear in my kitchen.  Of course I don’t have any real need for this unit as the old “Starbucks Barista” espresso maker I’ve got works just fine, after at least 13 years of service (and maybe more).  But you never know, as one day a sale so huge might come along that I just can’t resist the allure of savings galore.  But folks, this “sale” ain’t it!

This unit has been selling at every store I’ve been in (including Macy’s) in the price range of $599.95 to $599.99 – yes, that’s a four-cent fluctuation in the retail prices.  Williams Sonoma, Sur la Table, Best Buy, Whole Latte Love.com and Bed, Bath & Beyond all come in with this four-penny price range. 

The only difference I’ve seen is on Amazon.com, where one of these units is listed at $479.99 with free shipping.  (This is the stainless steel model; the black and red units still sell for $599.95)  Amazon also plays the “suggested retail” price fibbing game as well, suggesting the unit was originally listed at $999.99, as does Sur la Table.  Macy’s made-up suggested list price was $149.00 lower to start with (such a bargain) but the bottom line is that none of these prices seem to actually matter – the espresso machine sells in the $599 range. 

To add insult to injury, Macy’s had a sale a couple of months ago where some of their kitchen items were being given a discount upon purchase (it could have been something like 20%... I don’t remember the exact amount).  Funny thing – the Breville had a tag on the shelf that said something to the effect of “Because of the already low price of this unit, it is not eligible for this discount”.  Already low price?  Really?

Now I wouldn’t want to hurt Macy’s feelings by calling them liars.  But I can’t really call them honest and trustworthy either.  I don’t suppose there’s a law on the books anywhere that says you can’t make up a ridiculously high “suggested retail” price and then lower it and call it a “sale”.  Then again, just because you cando something doesn’t always mean you should do it.  And Macy’s… your credibility has slipped several points with this one; I really expected better tactics from you.

So just how do I knowthat this price isn’t a great deal?  Other than this is the price that everyone seems to always be selling this unit at (and it never seems to actually go on a real sale anywhere), there’s the Breville website.  And guess what they’re selling this same unit for?  $599.99!  At least Breville has the good taste not to post a ludicrous “suggested retail” price and then dropping the price right back down to the $599 range.

Final thoughts:  Macy’s may very well have some items that truly are on “sale”.  This particular item is NOT one of them, no matter how high the pretend original price is listed at.  You are reading this blog via the internet, therefore you have the ability to go search out any item that is allegedly on sale and research the prices to determine whether or not said sale is valid or constructed of low-grade manure.  This applies to any retailer, not just Macy’s. 

If and when I want to be amazed with slight of hand and impressive trickery, I turn to Penn & Teller.  When I want honesty and integrity in marketing, I turn to… well, gosh!  I’m not exactly sure… but Macy’s no longer is on my list!

How to Punish Your Children

One of the many technological marvels that
will confuse your child in the year 1960.

I grew up in a time when it was okay to spank your kids.  Sometimes a good smack was warranted, and there truly IS a difference between a well-administered spanking and a beating.  One is disciplinary; the other is criminal.  There were times when I probably should have received more than just a head-slap, but I’m actually glad I received those forms of discipline over today’s style of talking and reasoning.

Frankly, the punishment should come as close to the time of the crime as is possible.  That’s when it will make the biggest impression, and the lesson will hopefully last a lifetime.

Case in point:  I remember a well-placed head slap my mother gave me from when I was about 12 years old.  She was in the kitchen, with one hand firmly inserted down the garbage disposal trying to clear out something that shouldn’t have been in there.  I came by and reached for the disposal switch, pausing a couple of inches away from it and acted like I flipped it on.  Within a second after I faked the flip and said, “click”, her hand was out of the disposal and up against the side of my head, with enough force and surprise that I was knocked off my feet.

In today’s world I would have been taught to pick up the phone and dial Health and Welfare and turn dear old mom in for child abuse.  In the world that I lived in then, I’m lucky that I didn’t get a lot worse!  That little episode taught me that while I came from a family that enjoyed humor and practical jokes, there are times when you don’t engage in either.  And apparently when you’re engaged in something that can be hazardous or dangerous was one of those times!

So we can’t discipline our kids anymore without being locked up… or can we?  I think I’ve come up with a way to give the little darlings something far worse than a “time out” or taking a seat in the “happy chair”, and the memory will stick with them forever.  The technology isn’t available yet… but soon, I hope.  The behavior modification tool?  A time machine!

When you’ve finally had enough of your little monster riding roughshod over you threatening to turn you in to the modern day Gestapo if you so much as dare to raise your voice toward him (or her), simply pin a note to their chest, put them in the time machine and send them back to visit great-grandma and great-grandpa circa 1960. 

The note would read:  I am your great-grandkid from the year 2016.  I live in an unruly age and I’ve been sent here for the next month to be taught a few manners.  Please treat me no differently than you treated your own children when they were growing up!  Signed, your future granddaughter.  (Don’t tell them your name, as you won’t be born for a few more years!)

The next month will be difficult for great-grandma, but a living hell for junior!  Not only will they get the back of a hand for mouthing off, or the threat of “wait until great-grandpa gets home”, but there’s a few other little items that will totally mess with their minds.

School.  Oh, yes… school.  Never use the time machine in the summer; wait until school is in session.  In the year 1960 there was this strictly enforced item known as a “dress code”.  Little boys wore trousers and buttoned shirts, while little girls wore dresses (knee length, preferably).  There were no blue jeans worn at school, girls didn’t wear slacks.

Mouth off to your teacher and you might just get swatted with a ruler in front of the class.  Be a real jackass and you might just get marched down to the principal’s office where, in a nice calm voice he’d try to reason with you… oh, no… wait.  This is 1960!  There’s a wooden paddle with many holes drilled into it hanging from the wall, with the sadistic phrase “Board of Correction” painted on its surface.  You’d get a few smacks on the butt with this thing, and then returned to class.

Funny how you’d get home and the people there would know about your infraction at school and you’d catch hell once again!

School is only the beginning of your tortures!  This is 1960.  When you get back home, you’ll realize that there’s not a TV in every room.  There is ONE TV for the whole house, located in the den or living room.  There are three channels, maybe four if you’re living close to a big city with an independent station in operation.  The dial (yes, a mechanicaltuner) is labeled from channels 2 to 13; there are no UHF stations.  And unless great-grandpa is bringing in the big bucks, the TV is a black and white model.  Color was a luxury, and most shows were not filmed in color anyway. 

Usually there was just one telephone in the house, with a wire coming out of the wall (or else the phone was mounted ON the wall in the kitchen).  There are NO cell phones in 1960, no video games, no iPods, iPads, or personal computers… in fact, there’s nothing electronic in 1960 to pass the time with except maybe a radio alarm clock that only has the AM band.  While FM had been around in some form since the 1930’s, the first FM stereo broadcast won’t occur until June 1, 1961.

You might have your own little record player in your room (yes, kiddies – vinyl was the norm back then) and as long as you don’t try to play the music too loud you may be able to listen to some songs.  But considering that you came from the year 2016, you’re going to find the music in 1960 very hard to get used to… or enthused about.

Remember that you can’t take your music with you; whatever you’d like to have in a playlist is moot.  You might be able to go to a friend’s house and take some of your favorite records with you, but the number of records you can physically carry is finite.  Compare that to the electronic media of today!

I’ve got about 6900 songs loaded into my iPhone.  If that were averaged out to the old standard of 12 inch “long playing” records (LP’s), assuming there were 12 songs on each “album”, I’d have to be packing around 575 records.  That stack would be just a little over seven feet tall and weigh around 316 pounds.  Yet in 2016 I can carry all that (and so much more) around in my shirt pocket!

Consider my photo album, for example.  I’ve probably got a thousand photos in my iPhone (not a huge amount by today’s standards) and a little over 7000 on my computer.  In 1960 there’s no such thing as a digital camera.  You have to buy film (black and white is cheaper to purchase and to have developed over color) and depending on the film type, you will be limited to a finite amount of shots per roll. 

In this example you’ll be using a Kodak Duaflex IV box camera; it uses a film size known as 620, and gets 12 shots per roll of film.  You need to be thoughtful about each shot, as you can’t just review the results and keep shooting until you get a picture you like.  And kiddies, here’s another tip!  You shouldn’t bother wasting film by taking selfies either; most of these cameras have a minimum focal length that is longer than your arm could reach, so you’ll always be an unfocused mess!  (Kind of like you are now in 2016!)

But back to the music, where there is one exception to the “keep your music at home” rule:  the transistor radio.  Developed by Bell Laboratories in 1947, the transistor took the place of the old standard vacuum tube, and greatly reduced the size and weight of the unit they were integrated into.  Enter onto the scene in the mid to late 1950’s the Japanese produced transistor radio… and as long as you had a station nearby that played a music format you liked, you (in theory) could take your music with you.  But you’ll find out this isn’t such a blessing once you hear the audio quality (or actually, the lack of it)!

Yes, after about a month of living in this technologically barren wasteland known as 1960 your kids will promise you anything to not be banished there ever again.  Imagine a place where if you’re not in school that day you might be told to “go outside and play” – and actually be expected to stay outside until it’s time to eat!  Or a place where getting (and using) a library card was a liberating and maturing experience! 

Yes, 1960 might just be what these little #@@%$&^* need.  And yet the more I think about sending them back there for some much needed retraining, the more I’m starting to think, “the heck with them!  Send ME back to 1960 instead!”

Laissez les Souvenirs Viennent

(Let The Memories Come)
(And,  gee!  I hope Google translates English to French correctly!)

Rich and Valerie riding in deepest, darkest
northwest France in 2010.

It was back in 2010 that we crated up our tandem and went to France for a couple of weeks of some laid-back bicycling.  We stayed with some British friends of ours who are, in their own right, very well travelled folks.  In comparison, we ain’t seen nuthin’ yet!

I won’t bore you with the details of the trip – but if your curiosity gets the best of you, follow this blog back to May of 2010 and you can read some of the “France Updates” and see a few photos here.  (I kept the blog up mainly so my mother could follow along with our exploits.)

What I’m remembering about this trip was the anticipation leading up to it, and then my own nervousness of being in a country where English was not the predominant language.  I like to talk with people, almost to the point of being an unwelcomed conversational pest.  For me, not being able to understand or speak a lick of French was like a guard dog wearing a muzzle when their were prowlers about; I wanted to “take care of business” but couldn’t!

I keep thinking about our travels then, and what we’re hoping to do after our retirement.  The big difference is that we’ll be doing our touring within the continental United States and, barring a trip through Cajun country, there shouldn’t be any language barriers we can’t overcome. 

I’ve also made a personal discovery:  I’m anxious to see my own country, rather than yearn to tour abroad.  That’s not to say that if an opportunity presents itself to go overseas we won’t take it – but there’s so much to see right here in America that we could spend the rest of our lives pedaling around and not come close to seeing it all.

If you look at the photo attached to this article, you’ll see two people riding in rural France.  There’s the butterball on the front of the bike, and the good-looking woman on the back.  She still looks the same, however the butterball has shed a few pounds and isn’t putting the bike under quite as much stress as he used to.  This is from eating healthier and smaller portions, along with really getting out for a lot of cycling last year.  But the memories are flooding back today, and my mouth is watering.

Lord, lead me not into temptation, but deliver
me from delicious French pastries!

When in France, one of our biggest treats on any ride was to seek out the local boulangerie and indulge in some sweet pastries.  And of all the tasty temptations we tried, the ones we’d kill for were the strawberry tarts.  We have tried to find something similar here in America, yet whenever we sample a tart that looks like the ones we consumed in France it just doesn’t compare.  So… let the memories come!  As long as there’s an ocean separating me from those French bakeries I might stand a chance of keeping the weight off!