Jury Duty, Part 2

As I mentioned in my earlier post, I spent the better part of three weeks on jury duty: three days of jury selection and two weeks hearing testimony and arguments, and deliberating. A father was accused of molesting his young daughters. Guilty or innocent, the situation was simply tragic in so many ways.

But in terms of my own experience, there were a few bright spots. First, I got to meet some truly interesting folks from many walks of life. A software engineer from London, the Cockney district to be precise, and he sounded by his own admission like the Geico gecko. A lady who had worked for many years on child abuse cases (and how she managed to not get kicked off the jury, I will never know). A retired fire chief who had served with friends of mine on the Menlo Park fire department. A young mom from the Phillipines. When we entered the jury room to deliberate, I was fully expecting a heated discussion and a potentially split jury. But such was not the case. I was amazed at how everyone, regardless of their passion for the subject (and there were some very passionate folks, let me tell you!) worked hard to maintain a collegial vibe in the jury room, to thoughtfully work through the issues, to receive others' opinions openly and to offer theirs succinctly.

I did not exchange any business cards and don't expect to see any of my fellow jurors again. But if I do, I will enjoy seeing them.

The other strong takeaway was that it affirmed in me a sense of doing one's civic duty that I'd never experienced before. For me, jury duty was something to get out of. It was a disruption, a distraction that took you away from your job and your family. But my boss was really supportive. He reassured me that it was the right thing to do. He said that at Hewlett-Packard, then-CEO Lew Platt really impressed on him the importance of doing one's civic duty. My boss said that so many people are convinced that their companies would fall apart without them, but that's seldom the case. "It's the right thing to do," he assured me. And he was right. In the end, it was an experience like no other. And I felt good that I hadn't trumped up some excuse or made some outlanding statement during the jury selection process just to get myself excused.

And in the end, I truly believe that justice was served. I was able to walk away from the courtroom knowing that we had rendered a just decision, one that each of us could live with and feel good about.

Jury Duty

This is my first post in a long while. I've just got to get better about putting my thoughts down.

I just ended two weeks of jury duty. No, not reporting to jury duty. Serving on a jury. This was the first time I've done this. It was a challenge, because like most folks, I have commitments at work, and I thought seriously about finding some way to get out of jury duty. Friends offered me "sure fire" ways to get dismissed, should I get called to the jury box and interviewed. I did get called, and I tried my best to be honest.

But in the end I just couldn't make up a story to get myself dismissed. Thankfully, my boss really believes in doing one's civic duty (he was a career HP guy, and HP President Lew Platt himself had told him that giving back to the community is what every HP employee should do). You guessed it. I got chosen.

But why two weeks? Kinda long for the average trial, no? This wasn't your typical armed robbery or drug trafficking case. It wasn't auto theft of illegal possession of a firearm. It was child abuse. Father to daughter. The last kind of case I ever wanted to serve on.

The stakes were high. No matter who was telling the truth, lives would be ruined. The family was already destroyed. The child, if s/he were telling the truth, would never be the same. If s/he were lying, it would haunt him/her for life. If the father were innocent, and he were found guilty, his life would would be over. And if he were guilty and found innocent, then justice would not have been served.

These were among the feelings that I brought to jury duty each day. Listening to the testimony was tough. If true, what father would do that? If false, what would that be like for the father?

There were a few positive take-aways. I'll share those next.

Thanks, Mom!

My folks were never big on Mother's or Father's Day. I don't think they cared for the commercialism. Plus, if you loved your parents, you showed it throughout the year, not so much with gifts, but with kindness, being helpful, showing respect. You didn't wait for a holiday to "honor thy father and mother."

But having lost my mother 25 years ago, I'm coming to really like Mother's Day, and I like celebrating it. It gives me a chance to stop and reflect on all that she meant to me, and that's more than you can possibly imagine. I learned so much from her: all of the basic virtues and values, plus things like the power of positive thinking, the ability of affirmation and encouragement to change lives, and the importance of valuing all human beings. Remember the children's book "The Little Engine That Could"? "I think I can, I think I can" was the little train's mantra, and that was hers as well.

She started the girl scout troop in our little home town of Corcoran and led it for years, changing countless girls' lives for the better. I bet that some of them even now remember Mrs. Barnes on Mother's Day.

Her home was the most welcoming place. No matter who you were, when you walked into our house, you were welcomed, you were asked how things were going, and you always left with a word of encouragement. My friends used to tell me how lucky I was to have a mom like mine. They were right. I was lucky, and am still blessed.

So even though you weren't big on celebrating it, Happy Mother's Day, Mom. Thanks for everything.

Places That Touch Your Soul

One of my best friends absolutely loves the ocean. Standing on a cliff overlooking the Pacific ocean, the surf pounding against the rocks, is like going to church for him. No, he isn’t one of those “nature is God” types. It’s just that the ocean is where he really feels the presence of God. With my dad, being among the giant redwoods in Big Basin is like that.

Those places are special to me, too, but for me, the place that really touches my soul is the desert. Yeah, I know. What’s in the desert? Sand, cacti, scrub brush, lizards, ghost towns. Not nearly the grandeur of Niagara Falls or the Grand Canyon. But the desert speaks to me like no other place.

It might be because of where I was raised. I grew up in Corcoran, a small farming town in California’s central valley. No hills, no rivers, just a checkerboard of land planted with cotton, barley, alfalfa and safflower. All of my summer jobs were out in the farmlands — a surveyor’s assistant, a row boss on a cotton-chopping crew, painting cotton trailers, running parts at an equipment repair shop. I came to see beauty in a perfectly leveled, plowed section of land. Out there in the middle of nowhere, miles from anybody but your work crew, there was a serenity that took me to a thoughtful place.

I vividly remember a trip to Death Valley in my mid-teens. Death Valley is like the Yosemite of deserts, so many natural wonders, strange formations of rocks and minerals, ghost towns that held more secrets than they revealed, a place of austere beauty and mystery. God often speaks to us in silence, and I think it is this very quality of the desert that I find especially spiritual.

In the last few years, I’ve had the opportunity to spend several memorable weekends at the Tubac resort south of Tuscon, Arizona (they have really low summer rates, ‘cause it’s, well, summer in Arizona). These weekends reminded me how special the desert is to me. Yeah, the resort is a draw, but it’s the peace I feel when I’m there that is the real attraction. I hope I can go back again soon.

Anyone For Tacos?

You’ve all heard about college pranks. Looking through a pile of old photos, I came across a snapshot that reminded me of the best prank I ever pulled.

It was back in June of 1974. My best bud, Skip Rung, was visiting me in Corcoran. I decided to show him the town, which didn’t take long, Corcoran having less than 5,000 residents at the time. We drove past the newly completed, soon-to-be-dedicated City Hall and Police Station. Tan stucco, terra cotta roof, red-orange tile arches. The more we looked the more we realized: it looked like a Taco Bell. But there was one thing missing: the sign. Civic minded fellows that we were, we were determined to provide it. Oh, but it couldn’t be just any sign. It had to be exactly like the real thing. We noticed two wall lamps positioned about 12 feet apart, which would be perfect to hold the ends of our sign.

OK, but what about the sign itself? Remember, this was back before the internet, so we couldn’t google a photo of a Taco Bell, and the nearest one was a half hour away in Visalia. No matter, we needed to go there anyway to find the construction paper we’d need. So we drove there, took notes on the colors, the alternating angles of the tiles, etc. We came home and crafted our sign, stapling the letters to a 2X2. We affixed long wires to each end, so that we could race up, quickly whip the wires in place and make our getaway.

We rose early the next morning and drove with our sign to the Civic Center. Thankfully the streets were completely empty. Now’s our chance. We stopped, got out, looked both ways, ran up to the Civic Center, wrapped our wires around the wall lamps, stepped back, snapped a quick photo (see right) and turned to go.

We then realized that three workers standing outside the farm equipment shop across the street had been watching us the whole time. Uh oh, I thought. We’re busted now. But then they let out a laugh and started clapping and cheering. All right. We’re home free.

But that’s not the end of the story. My dad, who loves a good prank himself, was aware of our plot, and called a friend on the newspaper staff as we were making our getaway. He said he had been driving out to feed his horses (which was in the exact opposite direction from the Civic Center, by the way) and as he passed the Civic Center, he saw that someone had hung a sign. He thought they ought to drive right over and check it out. Oh, and they might want to bring a camera, too.

Their photo made the Corcoran Journal, I’m proud to say. The icing on the cake, however, came several weeks later in a Journal article about the dedication ceremony, in which Mayor Burnham Smith presented the architect with... a taco!

The Blessing of a Name

On January 13, 2010, my grandson, David Isaac Hernandez, was born. What a blessing! Trudi and I are so excited to meet this little guy and to watch him as he grows. Here’s a pic of the family:

I couldn’t help but think: I bet he’ll like his name. No, not because he has my name, though I will endeavor to live in a way that makes him proud of that fact. It’s because I recall so vividly my mother telling me that my name meant “beloved.” I don’t recall where it was or exactly when, but I was just a little guy. It made a huge impression on me. I’m loved. I’m special.

Now, I’m not saying that people should always give their children names that have meaning. If that were the case, we’d all have biblical names or Puritan names like Faith, Hope and Charity (yikes!).

What I am saying is that it can be a real blessing to a child to know why their parents chose the name they did. For example:

“We named you after my great aunt. She was the most loving person, who always had a kind word to say. She was a woman of great faith.”

“We chose your name because it has always been a favorite of ours. To us it says strong, trustworthy and noble.”

For those more obscure names, stories can help. My middle name is Browning, and I didn’t like the name as a kid. Everybody else had "normal" names as middle names. But I’ve since learned more about the family history and I’ve come to love my middle name. The Brownings were rugged individuals. My namesake, David Milton Browning, was. My two great aunts, born around 1900, were as well: one became a lawyer and one became a doctor at time when women almost never did. William Browning, who came to the U.S. in 1619 and was a prominent figure in the Jamestown colony, certainly was.

So... David Isaac Hernandez, Wyatt Browning Smith and Loretta Joy Hernandez... you are blessed indeed!

The Best Traveler Award Goes to... Wyatt Smith!

On April 23rd, Trudi, Megan, Ryan, Wyatt and I flew out to Houston for Lori Hernandez' first birthday party. I'm sure all air travelers have had their own experiences with a hysterical baby. Annoying as it is, my heart goes out to parents trying to comfort a crying baby in confined quarters at 30,000 feet (but not to those parents who don't seem to care what others think).

Wyatt is a great little guy, but when he wants something, he wants it now and lets you know about it. So I was just a bit anxious how he'd handle four hours on a plane.

Well, surprise, surprise! The little guy was a champ. Hardly a fussy moment at all going out to Houston. Just a pleasant little dude. I got to hold him for a while, and it was a great grandpa/grandson time.

OK, Wyatt, you did well on the trip out, but it was a morning flight, and that's your happiest time of the day. But what about the 3:30 p.m. return flight? Wyatt can sometimes get cranky in the early evening, and as I noted above, when he gets fussy, you know it.

Once again, our little man delivered. He slept much of the time, and when he wasn't asleep, he was charming the socks off of everyone. Seriously, I couldn't imagine a better behaved baby.

As we disembarked, Megan and Ryan asked the pilot for a set of wings to commemorate Wyatt's first round trip flight. Congrats, Wyatt. You da man!

Happy Birthday, Lori!

Today is Lori Hernandez' one year birthday. Wow! Time has really flown, and Lori has really grown. She's 17 pounds... still pretty tiny by one-year-old standards. But it's a spunky 17 pounds. And she's walking, saying a few words, blowing kisses, waving hello and good-bye... all those endearing things that grandparents love.

This photo was taken recently in a field of blue bonnets, the state flower of Texas. What you can't see in this photo is the many families taking photos of themselves among the blue bonnets. It's a seasonal tradition!

And here's the Hernadez family. Jorge and Dana have really made Houston their home, have a growing circle of awesome friends, and they're doing great as parents, too. That's really a blessing to see.

What I don't have yet is a photo of Lori eating her first birthday cake. What a hoot! I'll upload those as soon as I get them.

A Rockin' Weekend

This past weekend I was at Asilomar in Pacific Grove. I was blessed to be part of the band providing the worship music for the MPPC Men's Summit. Jeff Finger, the worship leader at our Cafe services, fronted the band, which included Derek Shaeffer on keys, Marc Swanson on electric guitar, Scott Clarke on drums, Steve Kreidler running sound, and me on bass.

We've been playing together for several years now, and for me, playing with these guys just gets better and better. Before each of the four sessions, we got to do some totally fun warm-up tunes, including "Feelin' Alright" and "I Won't Back Down." One of the surprise moments was having pastor Mark Swarner sit in on electric guitar for the warm-up song "The Thrill Is Gone." Mark is an awesome speaker and an equally good guitar player.

In addition to the MPPC guys, a bunch of guys from the School of Urban Mission attended the Summit, and they brought such a fresh and free spirit, particularly to the worship music. Every time we started a song they recognized... bam! They're on their feet, hands lifted up, singing with all their heart. It really helped take the singing to another level. Playing "Mighty to Save" and "Hosanna" with these guys was an experience I'll never forget.

Hanging out with the band has definitely made me a better bass player. And more than that, it's made me a better person. These guys are great musicians, but first and foremost, they're quality guys.

If anybody asks me to play at Asilomar again, consider this a standing "yes!"

Where The Light Is

I just finished watching a terrific DVD: "Where the Light is: John Mayer Live in Los Angeles." Amazing performances, by John and all of the other musicians.

Until a few years ago, Mayer's guitar chops took a back seat to his catchy, potetic, finely crafted pop songs. That changed with "Try!" by the John Mayer Trio, a blues/rock power trio consisting of Mayer on vocals and lead electric guitar, and two of the best session musicians in the business: Pilo Palladino on bass and Steve Jordan on drums and backing vocals. With a trio, there's no place to hide... and Mayer doesn't need to. His playing is simply stellar, and he holds his own with his two legendary side men.

In this concert, Mayer opens for himself, starting off with a solo acoustic set, followed by a Trio set, followed by a set with his full band. All of the sets are great, but my favorite... this should not be a surprise to you... was the Trio. First off, the guys look cool, dressed in matching tuxedos with thin black ties... sort of Men in Black play the blues. But more importantly, they are cool, pumping out some of the best blues rock I've heard in years (and I grew up on the 60s power trios of the Jimi Hendrix Experience and Cream). Through the special features, I was able to view the concert through the Pino Palladino camera alone. He's not the greatest showman, I'll admit. He stands like a scarecrow (he's well over six feet tall and as thin as a rail) bobbing his head in time. But his super-long fingers are positively flying.

I got a chance to relisten to this concert driving down the the MPPC Men's Summit this last weekend with Marc Swanson. Marc had the CD in his car. This is fine stuff. Flick the DVD or buy the CD. And if you've not yet heard "Try!" get that one, too.

The Day My World Changed Forever

Yesterday's post was a silly one; this one's sentimental...

March 12, 1977, was the day my world changed forever. I'm not overstating it. It's the day I met Trudi. It was Saturday, and my roommate, Skip Rung, and I were attending a seminar at Menlo Park Presbyterian Church. Unbeknowst to me, Trudi was there, too. At noon we adjourned to the Fellowship Hall for lunch. Skip looked up and saw someone he recognized from MPPC's college group. "Oh, here's someone you should meet," he said.

I agreed. Now, I don't have the best memory for detail. But I will never forget the moment I saw her. I don't believe in love at first sight, not real love anyway. But the attraction was instantaneous. Long blonde hair, beautiful eyes, great figure, and that signature Trudi sparkle. I even remember what she was wearing: a long-sleeved white sweater, a blue scarf, and bell bottom blue jeans.

Our paths didn't cross again until a month or so later, but once they crossed, they never separated. We were married on December 17th of that year. This photo of Trudi on our wedding day is still one of my favorites.

It boggles my mind when I think about how much I owe to that day. Everything in my life... my daughters, my sons-in-law, my grandchildren, where we live, where we work, my hobbies, my friends... all of it flows from that "chance" meeting 32 years ago today.

God is good!

Do You Ear What I Hair?

I really like the stage of life I'm in. The girls are all grown up. Two fine sons in law. Two awesome grandkids. Good job with a good company. And I'm married to Trudi.

Is there any downside? Well, not so much a downside, just an annoyance. Aches and pains? Nah, I can deal with those. Wanna know? I'm going to tell you anyway.

It's ear hair. We have really good lighting in the bathrooms at work, and you can see every little thing. Today I found a really long one growing out of the top of my ear. Honest. Like half an inch! Why didn't somebody take me aside? I must have been walking around with this one for weeks. Sheesh.

Why is this happening? I'm told it's because of an immutable law of aging: the conservation of body hair. Lose it in one place, gain it in another. When a guy turns 40 or so, he starts sprouting hair in places where hair just plain doesn't belong.

You can't wish it away; you've got to be vigilant. Pull it. Tweeze it. Trim it. Nair it. Wax it. Whatever it takes.

Of course there are those who not only don't remove it, they cultivate it. Here's a pic of the Guinness record holder for the longest ear hair. Radhakant Baijpai is an Indian grocer who "boasts" ear hair measuring 10 inches long.

Not only is he the world record holder, he's... get this... married.

I stand in awe.

From a Newborn to a Baby Boy

It's been a while since I told you what's up with my grandson, Wyatt Smith. He's almost six weeks old, and he came over on Sunday for a quick visit (along with Ryan and Megan, of course).

You know that cliché that every newborn looks like Winston Churchill. Hardly a compliment, but often true. Well, the little guy is definitely changing from Winston to Wyatt. He no longer has that newborn look; he looks like a baby boy... like, well, himself!

What's even more cool is to see him connecting with people, smiling, making baby noises (other than crying!). That's especially gratifying for parents, who give and give for weeks... feeding, changing, always at baby's beck and call. Now, Wyatt's starting to give back, starting to recognize Mom and Dad. Those first few weeks can be especially draining. A knowing look from baby, or the curl of a smile, are sweet moments that really go a long way to recharging a new parent's batteries.

Check out the latest photos of Wyatt on Megan and Ryan's blog, the Smitty Gritty.

I'm so happy for Megan and Ryan. And if you can't tell, I'm really enjoying being a grandpa!

Wanna Hear Some Great Live Music?

Sorry I've been silent for a couple of weeks. Work has been pretty all-consuming of late. I'll try to do a better job of posting more consistently. Those who know me know I love to spread the word about good music. Today's post was triggered by an email from Jared Milos.

If you want to hear some truly outstanding live reggae and soul, you have to check out the Vintage Music Collective at the BBC in Menlo Park this Thursday, March 12, from 10:00 p.m. to 1:00 a.m. In Jared's words, the Vintage Music Collective is "a 12-piece multi-ethnic multi-gendered party-focused band." They pump out some of the "funnest" music you'll ever hear. Trudi and I heard them the last time they were at the BBC, and the place was jumpin'!

While I recognize a number of the band members, I know two: Justin Phipps and Jared Milos. Justin plays pretty much everything, and plays everything well, though he's mostly on guitar here. Jared is the bass player I want to be when I grow up. I'm serious. I've admired Jared's playing ever since I took up the bass. The man can groove, and for me, that's what the bass is all about.

Here are a couple of YouTube links that'll give you a feel for their music:

• Could You Be Loved as performed at the Bistro in Hayward: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=usEHZNHU2Ao
• Feel Like Makin' Love as performed at the Little Fox in Redwood City: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AHR9DfvQYos

Hope to see you at the BBC!

A "Real Deal" Italian Meal

On Saturday night, Trudi, Kent Reed and I spent a great evening in San Francisco. First we spent an hour or so at a gathering hosted by our Cafe worship leader, Jeff Finger, at a friend's house. I got to meet a number of folks from Jeff's wide musical circle. Great people all.

We then went to dinner at "Cha Cha Cha," a restaurant in the Haight-Ashbury district... or tried to. Unfortunately, there was an hour wait for a table. Were we bummed? On the contrary, we new our dining adventure was just beginning.

As a professional musician, Kent has spent countless evenings in San Francisco. He's performed pretty much everywhere and knows all of the classic hangout spots. So we knew that Kent would lead us to a great place. Tonight it was "Capp's Corner," a North Beach Italian restaurant that you really need to check out.

Capp's Corner is the kind of place the locals have been going for decades and decades. Photos of local and national celebrities (Joe Dimaggio, Herb Caen, etc.) cover the walls. The food is not fancy, just absolutely authentic Italian. For under $20 you get your choice of a dozen or more dishes, along with pasta, minestrone and salad. I had the chicken parmigiano, their most popular dish. I cut out most fried foods long ago, but allowed myself this treat. We had a nice bottle of Coppola wine and spumoni for dessert, and the whole thing came to $40 a person, including tax and a generous tip.

We'll probably get to Cha Cha Cha eventually, but it was so much fun experiencing this San Francisco landmark that the next time we go to eat in the City, we'll probably just say what we said this time, "Kent, lead the way!"

Sharing the Gift of Music

Ryan and Megan asked me if, when Wyatt gets older and expresses an interest in guitar, I would share guitar with him. Easy answer: You bet!

As I'd mentioned in an earlier blog entry, one of the sweetest memories I have of my grandfather was of him playing guitar, leading us in singing folk songs and silly songs. One of my favorites in the latter category is "One Fish Ball" ("A little man, walked up and down, to see what he could find in town"). But I digress.

There is something very special about passing things down from generation to generation, both for those who give and those who receive. I was given a blessed gift by my grandfather, who gave me my first guitar lesson shortly before he passed away. I now play his guitar, and think about him every time I pick it up. It was those early memories that helped shape my love of music, including silly/novelty songs.

No way I'm going to miss the chance to share the gift I myself received. Time to start collecting songs.

It's... Uh... Like... Y'know... Hard to Say

I was reading an interview with Bristol Palin, teenage daughter of Alaska Governor Sarah Palin, and a new mom. I admire her for deciding to raise her child. It's hard enough being a parent under the best of circumstances. How much harder to be a young, as-yet-unwed, mother whose life is being scrutinized and discussed so publicly.

And to make matters worse, there are people like me who blog about her enthusiastic use of the word "like." She like uses the word in like every sentence.

But in her defense, every generation has its favorite meaningless filler word, and to be honest, Bristol, so do I. Filler words are words that we insert into our speech to give our mouths something to do while our brains are trying to figure out what we want to say... a linguistic "Hamburger Helper," if you will.

• When I was in elementary and high school, we said "uh" and "um" a lot. We had a really tough teacher who would say the word "um" every time we did in a verbal report. Talk about embarassing!


• Then "y'know" became fashionable. I'm still guilty of using this one a lot.


• Bristol's generation seems to love "like."


• "Valley Girl" speak was pretty much all filler. It's like... y'know... Ohmygosh!

Just so you don't think I'm just pointing the finger at others, I've been told that I've been stammering a lot lately. This is true. Things have been moving at a pretty hectic pace at work, and no doubt I've picked up this affectation as a way to give my brain a few more nanoseconds to process something meaningful.

I googled filler words and found a good little article by Joseph Dewey at Amazon.com. In addition to the above filler words, he lists some "advanced filler words," such as "just," "very," and "really," which aren't as annoying to the ear as filler words, but which can often be removed from speech without changing the meaning one bit. Dewey also offers some tips on eliminating filler words from your speech.

Some very good... y'know... food for thought!

You Are What You Watch

I've got a theory that you can tell whether someone's a conservative or a liberal based on their views about two issues, sex and violence. Specifically, which they see as the bigger threat to society:

• Liberals see violence (war, guns, etc.) as the great threat to society. They have a more laissez faire view of sex. What's the big deal with sex anyway? It's a natural part of life.
  


• Conservatives on the other hand see sex (and possibly also the associated drugs and rock 'n' roll) as the great threat. They have far fewer issues with violence and have a much easier time justifying war. After all, we live in a violent world.

How this manifests itself is interesting. Liberals are ready, willing and able to legislate guns and such, but keep government out of the bedroom. Conservatives support so-called morality laws, but don't take my guns.

Check out the movies they watch, or the ones they let their kids watch. Liberals are OK with bedroom scenes or nudity, but if there's shooting, forget it. Conservatives allow movies with all kinds of violence, but if there's a sexual situation, click.

Am I generalizing? Sure, but I think this generally plays out.

How about those who are OK with violence and sex? Libertarians.

And those who are staunchly against both? I dunno. Amish? :-)

An Amazing Evening of Music

On Sunday evening, Marc Swanson, John Freshwaters and I went to see Laurence Juber at the Little Fox Theater in Redwood City. Most people have never heard of this guy. I certainly hadn't until a few years ago, when he was a guest on Greg Kihn's morning show on KFOX radio. In the late 70s, Laurence was the lead guitarist with Paul McCarney's Wings. Since then, he's distinguished himself as one of the premier acoustic finger style guitarists around. Seriously, this guy is jaw-droppingly good.

Marc and I saw him last year at the Little Fox, so we knew we were in for a special treat. He played two Martin guitars (both Laurence Juber signature models), one in standard tuning (EADGBE), and one in "DADGAG" tuning, the latter being the one he played the most. He played an eclectic mix of songs, from the Beatles and other popular artists to show tunes and original compositions. Check him out on iTunes, or better still, on YouTube, which does a better job of capturing the vitality of his live performance. Particularly lovely is While My Guitar Gently Weeps.

As the first notes leaped from his guitar, we gave up trying to figure out how he was doing what he was doing. Even if you filmed it and played it back a frame at a time, you'd never get it. So just sit back and enjoy the ride.

And enjoy it we did. For nearly two hours, Laurence shared his gifts with us. You come away from these types of performances either inspired to practice guitar... or just give it up. Well, I'm going to practice, not to be like Laurence, 'cause that's not gonna happen. But I will be a better me, and that's a plenty good goal.

Uniquely Made

We got the chance to hang out again with our grandson, Wyatt, and his parent, Ryan and Megan. Tons of fun, as always. 10 days old and he's really looking like a baby vs. a newborn. And he's already showing his unique personality. For example, most of the time he's a pretty chill kid. But in the evening, around 8:00 or so, he has a squirmy period. Squirmy, lifting his head up, looking around. Oh, there might be environmental explanations, like he's had a lot of stimulation throughout the day and gets squirmy at night to work it all out. But it's also likely that it's just how he is.

Our daughter, Megan, was fussy in the late afternoon and early evening. Why? That's just how she was (she has since grown out of this phase, thank goodness!).

Now, to be sure, you can't tell much about how someone will be by how they are as a 10-day-old, and that's not my point. I'm just saying that, contrary to the educational training I received in graduate school in the mid-1970s, we're not blank slates. The book of Genesis says that God created us in His image, and the Psalms speak of God knowing us even as we're being formed in the womb. We're all uniquely made by our Creator, and those uniquenesses are visible very early on.

This can make parenting a challenge, because what you learn with one child may not help you with another child. But that's not a bad thing. It's good to be reminded that we can't control everything, that we need to rely on the one who created our children. And knowing that our children are uniquely created makes parenting an adventure, to discover and encourage our children to develop their talents and pursue the things that interest them.

How fun it will be to see this little guy grow!