Cameron came bursting through the front door when Cyndy brought he and J.D. home from school. Excitedly, he grabbed the camera.

"I’ll be right back!" he exclaimed.

"Where are you going?!" I asked a little too sternly. He had surprised me and I’m protective with my camera.

"The hawk is sitting on the pole and I want to get a picture!"

I had been planning to go to the store anyway, so I told them to get in the car. I had wanted to get a picture of the hawk myself and I wanted to make sure it was a decent one. It was overcast and cloudy, so it was not the best day to be taking outdoor pictures. We did what we could though. Unfortunately, there has been little sunshine since.

The hawks, assumably male and female, have been nesting atop the light pole at Jaycee Park for some time. There was a short news story about them a while back. But lately, the female has taken to perching on the top rail and looking majestically over the nest and the world below. One would suppose that she is watching over the nest. I imagine that high-rise hawk condos are rare and rather hard to find. At least one without all those pesky neighbors.

When friends drop by - as in the picture - they perch at the other end of the lights. They "visit" as if at either end of a long table. When we left the park for the store, they were still conversing - or in the middle of a staring contest, we could not tell which. We passed back by on the way home from the store. The hawk was in the same place. The "dove," however, had moved on. I imagine having a conversation with a hawk can be quite intimidating. I would like to climb up and see the hawks’ view of the world. But hawks intimidate me, too.

As I was driving the two younger boys to school along Dennis Rd. last Thursday morning, little did we know that we would be the instigators of a miniature - possibly minuscule - Save the Animals Campaign. Coming north from Valwood around the slight curve by Mary Immaculate I spotted a family of ducks stepping off the curb onto the right side of the road. As soon as the mother saw our car, she turned quickly back toward the curb, causing several baby ducks to collide with her. The family was scrambling to the curb when I realized I could not easily get around them.

I stopped quickly, instantly checking the rearview mirror. Fortunately we were in a school zone and no one was going very fast. The mother duck noticed that I had stopped and again turned - this time toward the opposite side of the road. Her eight children followed her in four rows of two. They were spaced exactly like little soldiers and moved with the mother as if they were all part of the same body.

The duck family had come onto the road just in front of the door to the veterinary office. As if she had brought the children to the doctor for check-ups and was now walking them back home. While watching them I was bemoaning the fact that I did not have the camera in the car since I was just running the boys to school. As the family of ducks reached the middle of the oncoming lane, the drivers behind me finally knew why we were all stopped.

When the mother reached the far curb, she easily hopped up on the curb. Her children, not being able to imitate her move, ran into each other and the curb - turning into one big bundle of fur. The mother had to show them that they could walk around the curb three feet away and up the driveway into the Mary Immaculate parking lot. At which time, I could no longer stall and had to get moving.

The picture is of local ducks. I have no idea if there is any relation between them and the family. Everyone has braked or swerved to avoid squirrels. Although ducks are a fairly common sight in Farmers Branch, it is rare to have to hold up traffic to let them cross the street. What is the oddest animal you have had to avoid on the road?

I was taking my oldest teenager to the guitar store after dropping the youngest at baseball practice. Conner needed strings for the guitar his friend had let him borrow because his friend wanted to try the drums and would not be using it for a while. It was the only way for him to have a guitar to play without having to ask to use mine (he has been told he has to earn the money for his own). Fortunately, the one he is borrowing is electric, he doesn’t have an amp, and I don’t have to hear it. I try to teach them things on the guitar, but I don’t do it fast enough. They want to play songs right now. I remember that feeling. They find, though, that it’s not the same as playing Guitar Hero, which gives them the feeling of playing it immediately.

Cyndy offered to take the two boys, but Conner wanted to show "something" to the parent that took him and I’m the one who knows about guitars. And for some apparent reason, I sort of wanted to go. I don’t play too much any more because I quickly have people asking me to show them how to do things. I may get to play two or three songs unencumbered. But it’s always fun to look at guitars for a bit.

When we walked into the store, Conner walked straight to the wall of electric guitars. He located the Pirates of the Caribbean guitar he had wanted to show me. He had tried to describe it to me when he returned home from the guitar show a week ago when he went with a friend. His descriptive powers were lacking when he tried to describe it to me. Basically, it was maroon and had the skull w/hat of the dead pirate on it.

Then we went to the other side of the store to get the strings. Sitting on a stool, checking out a guitar with some of the equipment, was a guy I haven’t seen in over ten years. We had worked together at a restaurant as managers and played in bands together. Paul is still single and plays in a band, playing a couple of gigs a month. I asked him where they played and where I could find the band’s schedule or hear of upcoming gigs. We shared a few memories while Conner was buying his strings. When Conner was through, we each said it was good to see the other and Conner and I left.

Of course on the way back to the ballfield to pick up his brother from practice, Conner wanted to know more. So I told him the stories of jam sessions in the back of the house I was living in then, writing for music magazines, playing in clubs. As I was talking to Conner, it occurred to me that I was rather glad that I ended up taking him to the store. It really was good to see Paul and recall some memories. Running into an old friend doesn’t happen all that often.

When was the last time you ran into an old friend from your past?

When I woke up around 4 a.m. to use the restroom, I realized when I looked to see what time it was before going back to bed that the power was off. Going back to bed was no longer an option. With the power off I had to stay awake to get everyone else up on time. I grabbed my clothes and headed downstairs to my office. Not that I could do any work, but my desk is my control center and sitting at it helps me think. Meaning I sit there a lot - in between chores and yard work. This morning, however, it was of little assistance.

Partly because when I looked out the front windows of the boys’ den I wondered when we had moved to the woods. The middle of three branches (2 ½ feet around), stretching upward from the trunk of the tree in the front yard had fallen in front of the windows. It barely missed hitting the windows, only knocking off the corner of the facing of the little roof that begins over the front porch. I walked outside and made sure there was no reason to panic. Then to the desk.

I got the flashlight by the desk to have some light. Then I remembered I had picked up some of those lights that use batteries and stick up anywhere. Two were already in the bathrooms upstairs, but one was by the desk without batteries in it. I remedied that situation and had light at the desk without balancing the flashlight on its end.

When I started upstairs to wake Cyndy up, she rounded the turn in the stairs. She also checked out the front yard when I told her about the tree. As she got ready for work, I drove to get a couple cups of coffee. Then we woke Conner, the oldest, up to get ready to go with us when I took Cyndy to work. Cameron, the middle son, got up before long. He has a radar that lets him know when something is going on that he is missing.

The two boys, of course, viewed the whole thing as a really neat adventure. About which Cameron felt the need to add a running commentary. I do not appreciate anyone being talkative while I am trying to wake up and get my day started on a good day. This was not a good day. And the boys did not see the problems inherent in the tree being on the lawn. They did not drive around from detour to detour and see the effects of the storm.

I was impressed by the sense of community - brought about by everyone being affected one way or another - and the efficiency of the response teams in most all instances. I witnessed the work of response teams in four municipalities and watched the others on television - after the power came back on about noon. As I was dropping Conner off at school and taking Cyndy to work, teams were already out, clearing limbs - in some cases, entire trees - repairing power lines, and directing traffic. I understand that some people in some communities did not hear a siren - on the news they said it took them by surprise.

While I understand their consternation, if anyone was watching a tv at all last night they saw it coming. There were radio reports and internet weather as well. It began moving in during the day yesterday. I went to bed expecting close to what I saw when I woke up. It didn’t just all of a sudden appear out of nowhere. However, the sirens should have sounded, regardless.

After Cyndy, the younger two boys, and I arrived home after work and school, Cyndy and I began the task of cutting and removing the tree from the yard. A couple hours later the tree was in sections at the curb. With the eventual help of the two boys and a helpful neighbor with a chain saw. Since I write for a living, and play guitar, I do not use power tools. The tree limb(s) that fell had dried since the rain and were dry and somewhat brittle. I got a lot of exercise snapping the smaller limbs off and using a wood saw on medium sized limbs. When we got to the foot in diameter and larger sections a chain saw was required. Cyndy had attempted to fix ours to no avail. But the next door neighbor had one and was glad to help. He and his wife also attend our church.

The tree is in pieces out by the curb and the yard and flower bed is cleared of debris. We’ll still need to check with the insurance company to have someone out to check the roof. But many people had worse damage than we did. We can wait until the onslaught of claims calls subsides.

I am thankful things were not any worse for us than they were. We’ve had a rough two weeks as it is. Yet I feel and pray for those who were more seriously affected with pain, inconvenience, and damage. Our sons may not remember this day, but I will not soon forget it. It was a pretty strange day on all fronts. Thank God there were very few deaths.

Peace be with you.

Like anyone else buying for a family of five, I buy certain things at Sam’s. Which includes ranch dressing. There is a large plastic wrap around the two bottles reaching from the neck to the base and is shrunk to hold the bottles together and contain more advertising for the product. I twist the bottles to stretch it until the bottles come loose, then throw it away stretched, but intact.

It was about 3:15 a.m. this morning. I was awakened by what sounded like someone getting cereal or something out of packaging in the kitchen. I figured one of the boys woke up and decided to get something to eat - which didn’t please me. I came downstairs in few clothes without my glasses. As I was heading down the stairs I realized what was more likely happening than one of the boys getting food.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs and turned toward the kitchen, our dog, Misty, had her head and front paws inside the trash sack which was on its side. I called her name and she shot out backwards from the sack. She tried to dart past me as if she thought that if she moved fast enough I would not notice. But there was no chance - not only was there a dirty paper plate trail into the boys' den - but shining like a beacon in the night was the wide plastic ring from the ranch bottles around her neck like a huge collar. It wasn't tight, but I had to cut it off with the scissors.

I would have taken a picture if I hadn’t been so concerned about getting the trash picked up and me back to bed before I woke up completely. However, if Misty were in a dog show which advertised like car racing, she would be the Hidden Valley Ranch dog. I was more amused this morning than I was at 3:15. As Opie would say "She was a sight!"

Luke Bradley, a fellow member and dear friend to the congregation at Christ United Methodist Church, Farmers Branch, died recently at the age of 91. Luke was always around when someone needed something fixed, found, or rearranged. Following is a piece I wrote for the church newspaper and the poem I wrote in Luke’s memory. He will be missed.

Good-bye to a Dear Friend

Luke Bradley was a man that people would observe and wish that they could be like him. He was a man of infinite faith. The reason he did so much for CUMC was a result of what his son David called an innate fear of "death by inactivity." While members appreciated Luke and viewed him as an integral part of the congregation, he simply appreciated the chance to help and enjoyed the sense of being needed.

Everyone who knew Luke knew he was prone to tell stories. Oftentimes, the stories would continue as long as there was someone around to listen. It was not uncommon to hear a story more than once in different situations. But whether it was the first time or the twenty-fifth, the listener had to appreciate the passion with which he told the story each time. The passion was filled with pride. Not pride that he had actually done something, but pride in the fact that he had been privileged to be allowed those moments. And continual thankfulness to God for giving him those moments in his life.

Luke Bradley embodied the pure, loyal, and faithful spirit of the Methodist Men. A man other men strived to emulate. The Methodist Men would like to say their tearful good-byes to a true and loyal friend and fellow church member. Luke will not be forgotten by anyone whose path he crossed. We know that he is now at the right hand of God. The heavenly church has another faithful member. We rest calmly in the fact that when our time comes to transfer to the heavenly church, Luke will know where the tools are.

Rest Gently, Ye Suffering Servant

Rest gently, ye suffering servant,

You suffer no more.

The walls of the church

mourn your passing with moans,

groans amid quiet smiles.

Rest gently, ye suffering servant,

You suffer no more.

You are gone, ye good Samaritan,

Gone from our midst.

Sniffles amid sadness,

cries amid sweet memories,

your face is clear in our anguish.

You are gone, ye good Samaritan,

Gone from our midst.

You are remembered, ye good Samaritan,

By all who knew you.

Fond smiles amid memory’s snapshots,

Your spirit fills the halls

of the church and our lives,

You are remembered, ye good Samaritan,

By all who knew you.

Rest gently, ye suffering servant,

You suffer no more.

You were our caretaker,

Now the Lord is yours,

And you are his.

Rest gently, ye suffering servant

You suffer no more.

An expression heard so often that it has become cliche - and hence become a business mantra - is "get outside of your comfort zone." Saving a discussion concerning my disdain of overused words and phrases for another time, I will say however, that I now have a clue as to what that particular phrase means. I came closest this afternoon to what I might call being outside my comfort zone.

For several years now, my church has hosted a performance by Pro Musica each year. One of the pianists, and beloved members, of our church, Elizabeth Walsh, is a member of the esteemed musical organization. Pro Musica (not to be confused with Dallas Pro Musica at UT Dallas), is an organization comprised of talented musicians and vocal virtuosos who have played professionally at one time or another.

I attended in order to write an article and to support Mrs. Walsh. I did not know what to expect. Although I appreciate, respect, and enjoy classical music, I possess very few classical recordings. I rarely listen to classical music. I discovered after the fact that the group looks for obscure or lesser known musical pieces to perform. They provide the background for the pieces in the program/handouts. The obscurity of the pieces - combined with my lack of classical training - meant I was lost as to their origin. The handout was very helpful in that regard.

I was enthralled by the musicianship and performances this afternoon. I felt relaxed, comforted, and entertained. It was an effort to remember to take pictures. I felt and understood music that I would otherwise have never heard. The heart poured into the performances took hold of the hearts of the audience.

Did I step out of my comfort zone? I think those that spout that phrase as mantra would think so. They would say that the reason I enjoyed it so much was because I had stepped out of my comfort zone. But that is precisely my problem with overused words and phrases. If I had truly gone outside my comfort zone, theoretically I would be disoriented and confused - at the very least temporarily.

I would not say that we need to get outside of our comfort zone. I think we simply need to open closed doors of our "comfort zone" and discover new, inviting rooms. It is not about looking outside, but opening hidden places within. As a society, we keep wanting to go "outside" when we do not know what is fully within.

One last thought: "Try something new" needs no translation, even if the translation may seem more like an advertising slogan.

Anyone else remember blowing your car horn when driving through a tunnel or overpass? When we listened to AM radio (okay I’m dating myself) the signal cut out in tunnels anyway so it was a way of neutralizing the static. In the early days of FM it could still be a crapshoot depending on the length of the tunnel. And, well - darn it, it was fun.

There used to be a tunnel on 183 before 360 that we would drive through on the way to Six Flags or a concert at UTA’s Texas Hall. It was not uncommon for every car traversing the tunnel to blow their horn. It became a contest of who honked the loudest. Even though the drivers had no control over the volume of the horns.

These days, if you blew your horn through a tunnel, you would more than likely cause a multiple car pile up. Since a large percentage of the drivers are paying more attention to the conversation on their cell phone than the road, a sudden honk could send them careening into the car next to them and the results would not be pretty. And children these days have problems hearing exterior events while their minds are glued to games, music, or cell phones. A sudden noise is not such a thrill in a world in which sound and noise are constant and commonplace.

I will admit that at times I have cause to take the Addison tunnel under the airport. If there is no one else in the tunnel I will blow my horn. Of course it’s not the same. But it brings back the memory of the thrill. Yet the sense of recklessness and abandonment of consequences are gone.

Honking a horn today could yield all manner of consequences. Hence the reason I only do it if I’m alone on the road. To pull a scenario out of the air, another driver enters the tunnel while I’m blowing my horn. He (or She) is talking on his cell phone and his reaction to the sudden intrusion of his consciousness is a jerk of the wheel and then all hell breaks loose. Or another driver could be going home after a rough day and be close enough to the edge that a sudden obtrusive sound would push him right over, with the results being unpredictable.

Needless to say, the re-enactment of the horn-honking memory is rare, to say the least. It was more fun in my memory. In countless ways, progress is a good thing. But there are some small, yet meaningful things that get lost along the way. Then the next generation has their own particular fond memories. With any luck, and with God’s grace, the generations have a chance to share each others memories. Our boys got a kick out of my honking the horn through the tunnel. And I have an MP3 player. Life goes on.

Peace be with you.

Have you ever had one of those times when you needed a sign that you were not going crazy and everything is as it should be? When you thought you would explode from the magnitude of external forces?

You have to get away. In my case, from teenagers who think their duty is to make life miserable for their parents if they do not get their way. Your situation may be different, but no less burdensome, emotionally speaking. In addition to life’s worries that everyone experiences. Whatever your situation, you feel a sudden need to spend time alone. You get in the car to drive to the store, around the block, through the neighborhood - just to be away and moving.

As you drive you punch buttons on the radio to find a song to bring you out of your funk. Then you hear one of your favorite tunes, begin to feel a little better, and settle down a bit. The next few songs are songs from your past that take you from the troubled situation at home and/or work to the place of fond memories. As each new song brings to mind another past circumstance, your conscious mind pulls files from your subconscious database - some of which have not been accessed in quite some time.

For a while you are ageless. Once again - as you have many times since you began driving - you are just driving around enjoying life. On the road, mobile, and unencumbered, you sing out loud, tap the steering wheel or the dash, and smile on impulse. Life’s problems do not matter until you return home. You get the sense that the disk jockey is locked into your mental jukebox, choosing from the "Best Of" collection.

The facts that gas is almost $3 a gallon and the disk jockey does not know you from Adam are irrelevant. Your state of mind is all that is relevant. The songs are giving you the mental break you need, a chance to take a breath. You can deal with the problems when you get home. You wonder, though, how those particular songs - which were particularly special to you - happened to be played at that particular time. One of those occurrences that leaves you with the feeling someone is looking over your shoulder. I’ve always been comforted by that feeling.

Peace be with you.