Man, I love the sound of a lopey cam in the morning! We are opening the gates at the MVA at 8:00 the morning of the Alzheimer’s Show. They’re already backed-up damn near to the Interstate. Our annual third-Sunday-in-September Show is a great way to kick-off Fall so you gotta understand their eagerness.
Five ’til 9 o’clock and EZ just made his first announcement over the PA system. An hour and five minutes until the show starts and the main lot is already more than three-quarters full. They’ve already registered nearly 200 cars!
It’s a perfect early Fall morning, brisk and clear as a bell, a slight breeze to push the sounds of the cacklefest toward downtown Frederick—a little free advertising. Maybe we’ll get the attention of some of the early Fair-goers. By 9:30 the main lot is full and they’re parking cars in the overflow lot, well over 200 cars registered by now!
I appreciate the variety—the mix of vehicles this show attracts—plenty of antiques, classics, hot rods and muscle cars to be sure. A lot of interesting late model cars and trucks, too. One of the categories I like (although there’s no actual category) is the truly unique vehicles: EZ’s 100% hand-built Heinz 57 roadster, Bob Clubb’s Model T Paddy Wagon, a Jeep CJ disguised as an Urban Assault Vehicle, the three-wheeled, motorcycle-powered Lomax. The essence of hot rodding is expressing your individuality and showing to the world!
After so many years of ho-hum cars it is good to see late models that spark some interest. One in particular, a Cadillac CTS-V, is probably a future icon the way the high performance muscle cars are today. Another late model I picked for my own OCD Award was the White with Orange stripes Camaro that carried the color scheme under the hood and to the monster 24 inch wheels—lots and lots of white and orange.
One of the highlights of the Alzheimer’s Show each year is the Auction; I’m sure a bunch of the folks that come out don’t care much at all for the cars, they want to BID! This year we added a big tent just for the Auction and, by 10 0’clock the hard-core bidders were setting-up their chairs. Listening to John Roop’s spiel wears me out, though.
Another highlight, at least for me, was the Rick De Bow show over by the Moon Bounce. The rapport he seems to have with the kids warms the cockles of my Loman and Barkley heart, we’re lucky to have him over there! Thank you for sparing those kids having to be tended by a curmudgeon like me.
I thought this might be the year I finally get a trophy but darned if Paul didn’t outbid me. He got to take home the trophy and neither one of us had a car in the show. This year’s Alzheimer’s Show is going to be hard to beat but we’ve got the 20th coming up!
Showing posts with label C.G. Anderson Writes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label C.G. Anderson Writes. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Jimmy's Revelation
Jimmy was in prison, in solitary, and in despair. He had lost everything and had been abandoned by everyone who’d ever meant anything to him. Here in solitary they’d even taken his TV.
Alone in his cell, with nothing but a bunk fastened to one wall and a stainless steel combination wash basin/toilet attached to the other, he felt as if he’d reached the end of his rope. As low as he felt right now he’d hang himself if he had a rope. If he had something to which he could tie the rope. Cells like Jimmy’s were designed to make most things, especially self-destructive things, as hard as possible.
Jimmy fell to his knees on the floor of his cell. Which put him, because there is so little floor, right in front of the combo commode. He prayed for deliverance. Jimmy had done a lot of praying in his time but usually in front of a crowd. He knew the power of prayer; the kind prayed before an audience. The effectiveness of those prayers can be measured in terms of dollars. In his previous life Jimmy had prayed, or preyed, for dollars. So deep was Jimmy’s despair that he prayed without an audience and without really believing he’d receive any help from God.
You can imagine Jimmy’s surprise when the john spoke to him. Hearing a voice calling his name he looked around, thinking one of the guards was at his cell door. But there was no one there. The voice seemed to be coming from within the commode. Jimmy, on his knees, leaned over the toilet. He heard the voice calling his name more clearly and looked into the bowl.
There, in the water, appeared the face of a kindly-looking older gentleman. The guy looks like Billy Graham, thought Jimmy, and he’s calling my name. It didn’t occur to Jimmy that this might be a joke, that somebody might be playing a trick on him. He didn’t have to ask who was talking; he knew. So Jimmy asked what He wanted and why He was speaking from inside a toilet.
“In the first place,” the Voice answered, “there aren’t too many other places in here in which to appear. You don’t have a bush and I don’t see your TV. Besides, I’ve used pools of water, springs and the like, many times in the past. This works fine as long as you don’t flush. That gets me all choked up.”
Then a laugh, “Get it? Gets me all choked up?”
Now Jimmy began to get suspicious. Would God, speaking to him from the toilet bowl, be making jokes? This had to some kind of a prank.
“No joke,” the Voice said, “I need your help.”
Oh-oh, thought Jimmy, He knows what I’m thinking, it really is Him. “What do You mean, You need my help?” asked Jimmy, “I was just asking for Your help.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t think you were going to get it. You were just covering your bases. And don’t bother arguing with Me; you know I know what you’re thinking.”
Jimmy, in prison, still on his knees peering into, talking to, the toilet bowl, asked what he, Jimmy, could do to help.
“I’m looking for a media consultant,” the Voice said. “I need an expert at getting the word out.”
“You’ve been getting the Word out for centuries,” replied Jimmy. “You should be The Expert at that by now. What could I possibly teach you?”
“In the first place, I’m talking about word, little ‘w.’ I don’t get involved in spreading the Word, big ‘w.’ You know how many folks are out there doing that.”
“Yeah, but most of them seem to be getting it wrong; or just doing a damn poor job of it.”
“That’s not my problem. This is a totally different project. Besides, you’re hardly the guy I’d ask for help with anything to do with the Word, big ‘w.’ I need help in reaching as many people as possible as quickly as I can. I need a state-of-the-art media blitz.”
“Why, do You need money?”
“That’s all you think about!”
“What else is there? You’re not running for office are You?”
“I’m trying to save the world, or at least trying to keep it from self-destructing.”
“You’re not talking about another flood are You?”
“That stuff doesn’t work very well anymore. The only ones who get hurt by floods, earthquakes and such are the poor and down-trodden. They aren’t the ones I need to reach.”
“I’ve always found them to be the most receptive to my message,” Jimmy countered.
“You mean the ones most willing to send you money, don’t you?”
“That too.”
“Well, I’m not interested in money; I don’t need it. Besides, seeing the fix you’re in I’d say you’ve probably figured out there may be some truth to that old ‘root of all evil’ thing.”
“Why pick me?” Jimmy asked, “what can I do for You from here?”
“In spite of the fact that you’d tell anybody anything if you thought it would help you, I think you’re just about to the point where you might be dependable. I’ve dealt with guys with nowhere to go but up and found that, eventually, certain qualities begin to emerge.”
“What qualities are those?”
“The ones that allow you to care more for others than you do for yourself.”
“You’re saying that I possess those qualities?”
“Absolutely, and if your going to be of any use to Me you’re going to need them.”
Remembering that God seemed to know what he was thinking, Jimmy tried to think of something he thought He wanted to hear. But all he could think about was ‘how is this going to get me out of here?’
“You’re not ready yet,” said the Voice, “but it won’t be long.” And the toilet flushed.
The next few weeks were hell for Jimmy. He didn’t know if God was going to be getting back to him and he had no one to tell what had happen, nobody who’d believe him.
By Carroll G. Anderson
4/7/92
Alone in his cell, with nothing but a bunk fastened to one wall and a stainless steel combination wash basin/toilet attached to the other, he felt as if he’d reached the end of his rope. As low as he felt right now he’d hang himself if he had a rope. If he had something to which he could tie the rope. Cells like Jimmy’s were designed to make most things, especially self-destructive things, as hard as possible.
Jimmy fell to his knees on the floor of his cell. Which put him, because there is so little floor, right in front of the combo commode. He prayed for deliverance. Jimmy had done a lot of praying in his time but usually in front of a crowd. He knew the power of prayer; the kind prayed before an audience. The effectiveness of those prayers can be measured in terms of dollars. In his previous life Jimmy had prayed, or preyed, for dollars. So deep was Jimmy’s despair that he prayed without an audience and without really believing he’d receive any help from God.
You can imagine Jimmy’s surprise when the john spoke to him. Hearing a voice calling his name he looked around, thinking one of the guards was at his cell door. But there was no one there. The voice seemed to be coming from within the commode. Jimmy, on his knees, leaned over the toilet. He heard the voice calling his name more clearly and looked into the bowl.
There, in the water, appeared the face of a kindly-looking older gentleman. The guy looks like Billy Graham, thought Jimmy, and he’s calling my name. It didn’t occur to Jimmy that this might be a joke, that somebody might be playing a trick on him. He didn’t have to ask who was talking; he knew. So Jimmy asked what He wanted and why He was speaking from inside a toilet.
“In the first place,” the Voice answered, “there aren’t too many other places in here in which to appear. You don’t have a bush and I don’t see your TV. Besides, I’ve used pools of water, springs and the like, many times in the past. This works fine as long as you don’t flush. That gets me all choked up.”
Then a laugh, “Get it? Gets me all choked up?”
Now Jimmy began to get suspicious. Would God, speaking to him from the toilet bowl, be making jokes? This had to some kind of a prank.
“No joke,” the Voice said, “I need your help.”
Oh-oh, thought Jimmy, He knows what I’m thinking, it really is Him. “What do You mean, You need my help?” asked Jimmy, “I was just asking for Your help.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t think you were going to get it. You were just covering your bases. And don’t bother arguing with Me; you know I know what you’re thinking.”
Jimmy, in prison, still on his knees peering into, talking to, the toilet bowl, asked what he, Jimmy, could do to help.
“I’m looking for a media consultant,” the Voice said. “I need an expert at getting the word out.”
“You’ve been getting the Word out for centuries,” replied Jimmy. “You should be The Expert at that by now. What could I possibly teach you?”
“In the first place, I’m talking about word, little ‘w.’ I don’t get involved in spreading the Word, big ‘w.’ You know how many folks are out there doing that.”
“Yeah, but most of them seem to be getting it wrong; or just doing a damn poor job of it.”
“That’s not my problem. This is a totally different project. Besides, you’re hardly the guy I’d ask for help with anything to do with the Word, big ‘w.’ I need help in reaching as many people as possible as quickly as I can. I need a state-of-the-art media blitz.”
“Why, do You need money?”
“That’s all you think about!”
“What else is there? You’re not running for office are You?”
“I’m trying to save the world, or at least trying to keep it from self-destructing.”
“You’re not talking about another flood are You?”
“That stuff doesn’t work very well anymore. The only ones who get hurt by floods, earthquakes and such are the poor and down-trodden. They aren’t the ones I need to reach.”
“I’ve always found them to be the most receptive to my message,” Jimmy countered.
“You mean the ones most willing to send you money, don’t you?”
“That too.”
“Well, I’m not interested in money; I don’t need it. Besides, seeing the fix you’re in I’d say you’ve probably figured out there may be some truth to that old ‘root of all evil’ thing.”
“Why pick me?” Jimmy asked, “what can I do for You from here?”
“In spite of the fact that you’d tell anybody anything if you thought it would help you, I think you’re just about to the point where you might be dependable. I’ve dealt with guys with nowhere to go but up and found that, eventually, certain qualities begin to emerge.”
“What qualities are those?”
“The ones that allow you to care more for others than you do for yourself.”
“You’re saying that I possess those qualities?”
“Absolutely, and if your going to be of any use to Me you’re going to need them.”
Remembering that God seemed to know what he was thinking, Jimmy tried to think of something he thought He wanted to hear. But all he could think about was ‘how is this going to get me out of here?’
“You’re not ready yet,” said the Voice, “but it won’t be long.” And the toilet flushed.
The next few weeks were hell for Jimmy. He didn’t know if God was going to be getting back to him and he had no one to tell what had happen, nobody who’d believe him.
By Carroll G. Anderson
4/7/92
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
