Black History Month, My History, Our History

    In some Februaries past, I was in my old building, more or less happily and securely employed, thinking that I was not the most successful person, but progressing in a steady way toward fulfillment in al facets. Employment, family, goals, dreams. 

    Things can change, this we know.

    Things did change. I left that building, and I struggled to find the next place.

    It can be hard to write such things, to review these things, to share these circumstances. I have not left, nor will parts of me leave them.

    Personal histories have privations and struggles, as do those of peoples, whole millions and millions of men, women, and children...

    TO BE CONTINUED. BLACK HISTORY MONTH.

 Developing a Joke Part IV

    An Inuit boy said to a polar bear: what's a Nootka?

    The bear replied: "I don't know. What a nootka with you?"

 Developing a Joke Part III

    The Nootka boy said to the Tlingit girl, also called Klingit, that the Nez Perce were a bunch of southern nincompoops, who did not know how to survive in even a foot of snow! He explained how he had met some Pierced Noses, and they talked like they had pine cones in their mouths.

    Meanwhile, the Haida grandpa told the Kwakiutl grandma about the crazy Inuit way up north, who lived in months of endless days and endless nights, and there were some white people who lived like that, but that they ate less caribou and whale blubber. How could people do that.

    The grandma blanched.

 Developing a Joke Part II

    What did the Nootka boy say to the the Tlingit girl?

    The same thing the Haida grandpa said to the Kwakiutl grandma!

    Plop.

 Developing a Joke

    What did the Nootka say to the Tlingit?

    The same thing that the Haida said to the Kwakiutl!

    Okay, maybe people do not like that one.  I will keep working it.

Jealousy versus Grace: It is Some Kind of Race

 Jealousy versus Grace: It is Some Kind of Race

    Jealousy, not a kind nor easy feeling.

    Grace, a powerful and sweet salve that heals almost all.

    

    Jealousy bites, and nags, can grow like a cancer.

    Grace smooths over and heals, it enlarges the spirit and soul.

    Jealousy, why do you enter my thoughts? Be thee gone!

    Grace, come into me, envelope me, take control of my weaknesses...

    Jealousy interferes, interrupts, causes interludes of sadness or envy.

    It lingers and causes doubts, or fears, or even anger.

    Not healthy, this jealousy thing.

    Grace must enter and uphold, overcome the pangs of envy or feelings of unworthiness.

    Grace can come and suck out all the jaundice wounds of worthlessness, or of feelings of coming up shorter than the one that you are jealous of...

    There are always those that are faster, stronger, wiser, smarter, wealthier, cooler, even kinder.

    All of those people exist. They are better than you.

    Objectively, subjectively. Many of them have the grace and power that you seek.

    Another reason to be jealous and feel less than?

    Irony, sad and sweet.

    Thus, we need grace, and truth, and love. Acceptance.

    Love yourself, accept your faults. 

    Do your best. Let God do what He does, best.

    He is the apex of grace, His Son brought it all. 

    They offer it all.

    We, the weak vessels, must accept them and absorb it.

    For those with little or no faith, you must still find grace.

    With the capital G or no, grace must be found.

    We seek it, to overwhelm the negativity and scurrilous thoughts, feelings, emotions.

    God must prevail, say we believers. We proclaim it.

    We must pray more earnestly. Look to the Son and live!

    Eternal grace. Grace become word. 

    Word. 

    Grace is stronger, more real, perfect.

    No one can be jealous of that.

    Let Him hold you and carry you.

    And I will not envy.

    I am not jealous of the jealous God.

    I wish for and receive His grace.

    Amen.

 The World Cannot Be Good Enough for All, and Neither Can I

    Bad things have happened, are happening, and will happen. And that is just me and my family.

    Reading up on J.D. Salinger, we see a lot of pain and suffering. He went through a lot in England, France, Luxembourg, and Germany. It went from bad to worse. He survived physically, but mentally and emotionally, or spiritually, he was very much damaged. But we were the bad guys; we made it back to fight for another day. Most of the millions of troops made it home. Around 400,000 did not. Many stories of woe and sadness.

    Many of those who fought went through too much. Europe, Africa, the South Pacific, into the Philippines and Japan. 

    

    The civilians of those battle-reft lands were savaged and brutalized, and suffered so much. Maybe the Russians never healed enough; perhaps they fight into Ukraine because of those unhealed wounds from generations past. Not just the Great War, World War II, against the forces of Hitler and the Germans, but past wars, and even more recent. Like Afghanistan. They lost four or five times more than our coalition troops in less than half the years.

    The land where empires fall. Hard to change, even in the 21st century.

    Me, I did okay there. I survived, and sometimes thrived there. We were fortunate, most of us. Some were killed, maimed, and wounded. It was a war.

    But, we hold out hope for them and us. We can be okay enough, even excel, to greater heights.

    We have to overcome the challenges and setbacks.

IU Men Basketball: The Grit is Back? Nick Dorn and a Few Play Like they Care, they Can

    Wow! Or, wow. I am relieved the IU men survived at UCLA, and made it a gritty win. They were choking near the end, like their recent home win versus vaunted Purdue, but they survived, outlasted, just did enough for the victory. One injured point guard, and three others fouled out. 

    Nick Dorn might be the answer. Hello. You are a breath of fresh air, my Hoosier friend. Thank you!

    Maybe this Indiana team has enough to do it. They had Nebraska down, and Michigan State. They may have the right moxy.

    Perhaps I gutted them as gutless too soon, a few blog posts ago. Maybe they have enough talent, strength, and character to do some March Madness run?

    Who knows? They do have some pieces to do some great things. They need to be there and play as they can. Bot giving up. Yet.

    We shall see.

 Ice, Snow, and Cold Things

    It's Saturday morning; I told my best friend that I was going to write about ice and snow.

    This week brought a lot of snow, ice, and pretty cold temperatures to the region and the rest of the country. I was able to go to work three days. I stayed home two of them, plus remained in the house Sunday, not going to church or anywhere else.

    I saw snow and ice on the local roads, cul-de-sacs, highways, and free ways. I helped move some snow, shovel, and push some vehicles that were stuck in my greater neighborhood. My own car got stuck a couple times, but I was able to move it by shimmying and moving it back and forth. 

    

    Big snow, big ice. We got off our son to the airport, where he is off to bigger and (better?) adventures and climes. Another country, other cultures and tongues. Different flavors and spices, sounds and thoughts.

    Perhaps a poem...

Arctic and Antarctic

    I was not too close, but close enough to drive to Whitehorse

  That is the Arctic, I am pretty sure.

  I have looked at the maps enough.

  I have perused, and contemplated, and etched out the lines of the circle in my head, almost down into my organs and bones.

  I have looked at that far off Antarctic continent, too.

  Even read a few books.

  A few films.

  I thought of Bear Island during the week, where the extreme

  Svalbard or Spitzbergen chunks of ice and mountainous snows

  Come to the screen.

  Like Disney or some movie maker did with foxes and mice on a downtown theatre, likely the Indiana Theatre, of my childhood.

    We played in ice and snow.

    Sledding, walking home from school, crunching the ice of the local creek at Bryan Park.

    I saw the smooth, crazily slick and hardened ice and snow fields of my work place this week,

    Harkening me back to the places that I have seen and witnessed

    The snows of mountain passes in the Andes or the Sierra Nevadas, the Uintahs or Wasatch Front of Utah, the Cascades with its luminous Mount Rainer

    Or picturesque, statuesque, Mount Hood of Oregon.

    Cold, freezing waters in the latest Tom Cruz Mission Impossible

    Endless ice and snow.

    

    We walked in it, slipped and almost fell on the way back from flavorful chicken wings and cheesy fries.

    It was a walk and visit to remember.

    We can love the ice and snow,

    Almost like we can cherish the distances, cold and isolated, of friends and family.

    Like when many of us leave, and have to die.

    The ice and snow of the planets, outer rims and reaches of space.

    The utter freezing and mostly silent depths of the most vast wastes of space, on and on, far from the sun.

    Jesus welcomes us back to the warm spots, the beaches and islands and hot jungles or cool mists of warmer climates, like Florida, or other such places of the absence of snow.

    But we welcome the cold times, even death.

    Because in this way we celebrate memory, love, and life.

    All of it, cold and hot, near and far, close and distant.

    Snow, ice, and the sun.

[Sunday review, looking for a typo... Nothing much, I guess.]

 Trust in the System[s]

    In whom do we trust? What systems, beliefs, governments, people, institutions, do we trust and put our faith in? I just watched the last episodes of "The Chosen" last night with much of my family. We are snowed in, safe from the cares of much of the world, this weekend, like...

    Thousands of citizens of Iran who were killed or jailed in the last few weeks, fed up with their meager, economically savaged lives. About five thousand dead, with maybe many thousands of others detained. Iran is not in a happy way.

    Nor is Ukraine, nor Sudan, nor Russia, really. Venezuela is better off now, we think, despite all the hub bub of the overnight removal of their strong man and his woman. Maduro and Cilia Flores.

    Meanwhile, in the United States, we are struck by cold water and snow and ice, some have died from that, but sadder still, because of aggrieved feelings by many, there are two protestors killed in a week, plus quite a few detainments that are disturbing, of toddlers or small kids of five years. Senators and governors and others are opposed, against these rather draconian measures to remove illegals.

    There are many protests around the country, including locally, with the kids at our schools.

    Religiously, many of us posit faith and trust, hope and confidence in Jesus Christ. The Chosen series sums up a lot of those beliefs and hopes. Then there are our churches and organizations, the institutions of our holy practices and beliefs. How do we work and function within our societies?

    Our work places, neighborhoods, clubs and sports groups.

    Our taxes and law enforcement and justice systems, the ways that we pay for education, how we work, what we wish to work towards... Building up wealth and retirement savings. Planning, executing our life plans.

    How do we build it? In what do we put our efforts and hopes?

    Are we philanthropic? What do we give to charities and others? Adultery commandments help us stay married, this is true for most, yes? The institution of fidelity, of not lying, not taking others' lives or property.

    In who and what do we trust? How do we maintain our goals and standards? Can we trust ourselves? Can I trust my family? My neighbors? The local police and medical personnel? The firefighters?

    The military, the local school boards, administrators and teachers? Civilian drivers and other people in traffic? Can we trust systems to keep our planet in order? Environmentally? Orderly, clean?

    Can we be trusted to do the right things, and look out for ourselves now and into the future?

    Discuss.

Injuries Big and Small, External and Internal

    I jammed my ring finger on my left hand Monday morning, playing basketball. Many of us played on the MLK holiday. It was an unnecessary injury, but it happened. (How many injuries are necessary?). I played with the pain for a game and a half, but then I sat out the rest. I cooled off, got some ice. The middle knuckle continued to swell, thus my left hand was not functional to dribble, pass, or shoot, or even rebound, likely. I sat out. A buddy recommended that I pull it, fix it, and play on, but I knew this injury would only get worse, that I could make it a more painful problem, or that it could remain a longer term injury if I pushed it that morning. I put ice on it to reduce the swelling. 

    Yesterday, Friday, four days later, my ring finger turned a sickly yellow, the whole length of it-- reminding me of how the skin of corpses look, either in a coffin or being prepared for burial. I have seen more dead people in the caskets, but I also helped dress Jesus Amezquita over twenty years ago, up close and personal. Dead, jaundiced looking skin. The whole finger, not just the offending knuckle. My wedding ring would not fit when it was most swollen two and three days later; the same ring did not fit well on my right hand, either. The right ring hand ring finger is thicker. Probably because of use.

    I have used my left hand with the wounded finger all week. A few times I think I have re-injured or re-aggravated it a little, or made it slower to heal. I drive, I type, I open doors, mess with clothing and laundry. I pick up some things. Opening doors or handles can hurt my finger.

    This is a relatively small injury, but it has bothered me externally, but a bit on the inside as well. As I said before: this jammed finger happened for an unnecessary reason. My own teammate caused it, or at least made the ball do something unplanned that jammed my finger. He was playing a bit reckless or selfish, in my opinion. A few times this week I wanted to play against him, and maybe hurt him. Not good. I should not hold him responsible for this finger issue.

    Stinking thinking, I admitted at dinner last night. I realized this on my own later. I should not blame him, and less, seek a type of vindictive revenge. How would that help? Settling the score? Not the best reaction, plan, or impulse. He did not mean to hurt me. He plays with a little too much grit, arguably.

    Who hurts us? How are we wounded? We see and feel death and insult, injury and pain from many sources. Some offenses are worse than others. Some things last longer, both physically and emotionally. It happen spiritually too. We can be wounded, sometimes long-term, all kinds of ways. How do we heal?

    J.D. Salinger survived World War II, but it wounded him for life. He survived many harrowing, deadly moments and events that thousands did not. His life after that and his art, characters, and the analysis of him, the most reclusive best-selling author, stays with us and our psyches. Adolph and his forces hurt him, and us, and the psychological, the internal mysteries and injuries remain, bopping around our own consciousnesses. 

    Salinger had to do some awful, ghastly things. He even saw and experienced more terrible, heart-wrenching events, making it back to his home country, after seeing a lot of the worst of humanity, but somehow maintaining his heart and soul intact. We think. He lived a long life.  Long live the spooked recluse who killed and fought for his country! So we would not have to do and see all that nastiness and trauma, at least most of us would never be exposed to it. God bless those troops who live and do the hardest things. Some suffer profound and at times irreversible injuries through sacrifice so that the rest of us do not have to. Hard, but true. We are grateful for those that take it for the rest of us.

    Ok, I said what I meant to. Thanks for those dialogues, Holden Caulfield, Sergeant Salinger, the authors and researchers who have dug deep into the man and the legend, the misfit and the secret, private, artist. Haunted and hounded by history. Trying to save the kids from the big cliff by the rye fields.  That is what Holden wanted to do. Preserve innocence. Keep us pure. He wished to protect us for the lives lived, the damages witnessed, absorbed, and interpreted, and how we go on to the next wounds whether visible or lying deep within our hearts and minds. Our internal organs and brains withstand many injuries, we might say.

    Blog it. OKAY, an addendum. Next day, Sunday, after my Saturday post.

    Yesterday another person was killed in Minneapolis by government officials. This is two people in one week, dead, which is distressing to many, including people that I care about and I am close to. On many levels I am concerned for the proper execution or implementation of law enforcement and the rule of law. Due justice and peace need to be foremost in our minds in this and all times.

    We are wounded and scars remain from injustice and tragedy.

    How do we heal? How do we grow from the wounds and injuries that we sustain?

Poem from 2012: Los colores

 Poem, Los Colores

   Los colores de mi vida son muchos,

    Pero no brillan tanto sin ti.

    Los colores de mi sangre son muchos,

    Y los llevas en tu ser por tu cien y los lomos.

    Yo te llevo en mi mente coloreada,

    En mis recuerdos dulces y tiernos,

    Tu siempre luces como angel de anhelo,

    Compasion, tolerancia, hogarena de estabilidad.

    Y yo te amo, con todos tus colores.

    Y el mejor-- eres el color que vives:

    Amor.

    English translation from 2026.

    The colors from my life are many,

    But they do not shine so much without you.

    The colors of my blood are many,

    You wear them in your being on your temple brow and the loins.

    I hold you in my mind in all colors, 

    In my memories sweet and tender,

    You always sparkle as an angel of yearning,

    Compassion, tolerance, homemaker of stability.

    I love you, in all your colors.

    And the best thing-- you are the color that you live:

    Love.

    (Written from many thousands away, back in the 2012.)

    

    

Indiana Football Champs! Cinderella Amazing Season...

    Wow. It went perfect, getting past the mid-season struggles of Iowa, and Penn State, which were close. Oregon was tense, too. Then the close win versus Ohio State. Injuries were mostly avoided. Mendoza won the Heisman. Then the Hoosiers pounded Alabama, and Oregon, much bigger than the first game.

    The final, last night, was a formidable foe in the Miami Hurricanes. It was tense. The second half the Hurricanes kept coming, and IU stayed ahead, with some clutch plays and a blocked punt in the end zone, going up ten again. Integers of 10 most of the game for Indiana's comfort, then holding on six till the end. Jamari Sharpe picked up the game sealing throw with less than a minute to go.

    All of the Hoosiers contributed. Omar Cooper did his fine things. Elijah Sarrat was not stellar, but Charlie Becker came in huge, clutch.  Nowakowski, the big tight end, ran for a touch down and made big plays.

       The defense played well enough. Kamara on special teams added the vital second half score when IU's offense was stalling. Black showed power. Hemby finally got a few good runs. Mendoza ran his remarkable touch down run.

    We are now tied all time for Yale of 1894. Who they play? Sisters of the Poor, for sure.

    Remarkable. Clutch. Gritty. Well honed, well executed. Few mistakes.

    Cignetti brought in a dynamo, with players and coaches and plans, the mental mind set to win.

    It happened. Last night.

    16-0. Perfect for the ages.

Martin Luther King Day 2026. How are We Doing?

    The United States has gone through its ups and downs far as racial relations up till this year, 2026. Today is MLK day, where we celebrate or discuss and analyze equal rights and freedom, the struggles of our nation's history and how we have advanced, or not, to making all people equal, or allowing people to have equal opportunities.

    Hard not to mention Donald Trump in these times, in this age of racial thinking. Is he racist? Does he hate or dislike people of color? I have thought over the years that he is not anti-black, in a racist way in that respect as some accuse him, but that he is a classist, and thinks of the poor as beneath him, that he sees the world in colors of green for money and power, not the skin tone as a source of his values and judgments. I could be wrong. He has said some racist things that I know of, but I am not convinced that those racially insensitive things that he shared in Chicago about the poor folks of Chicago who were black were about strictly being African-American, or simply as they were poor. Then again, I am a white man, so ask a hundred Black people how they interpret his words.

        It is not all about this re-elected president, but also but policies in place, those that he believes in, and other laws and policies that are in place now and in the past. We have hundreds and thousands of others who instill their values and actions, whether elected or appointed, or doing their jobs in law enforcement or other capacities.

    Are we a color free society? By no means. Judgments and harsh decisions come down unfairly at times against the poor, the infirm, the underprivileged, those without legal documents or identification...

    How are people in other countries treated per their race or ethnic heritage? In the United States it has been rough. Russia versus Ukraine, now for years, has been atrocious, but this is not racial but ethnic and economic. Congo and Sudan in Africa may be even more deadlier, but these are not considered racially motivated, but again, more ethnically based.

    I believe that Black people in the U.S. are doing better than ever. There are hurdles and uphill battles, still, but the opportunities and upward mobility is there. Disadvantages remain, based on inheritance wealth, or the lack of it. I know guys that I have worked with, specifically from Maryland, who are Black, but do not have much legacy money from their parents or families. Another young man, who I recently attended a funeral with, has made close to half a million dollars from the relatively recent death of his father, who accrued some wealth from his father. He is set to build his wealth in 2026 and in a couple decades for his retirement.

    Crime and prison is worse among African-Americans than most whites, which is an obvious drain on wealth gained and preserved.

    I am leaving out the second biggest minority in the U.S., which are Latinos. While some Latin Americans are qualified as Black, most are deemed brown, and have received their share of discrimination and hard times to succeed in our modern society. However, I believe there are metrics that show that Latinos are progressing, overall. Asians and Europeans are doing well here in the homeland, as some believe that they have inside advantages. Perhaps. Not as many problems as the bigger minorities, which could be debated in many ways.

    Some have argued that economics in jobs, health care, home ownership, diet or health, have the biggest impact on the various races of the U.S.

    Perhaps this is true.

    Are we a meritocracy yet? As Doctor King and so many others have wanted and planned?

    Maybe not.

    There is a lot to go. But somewhere inside of me, I think that Martin Luther King and his dream is going ahead. 

    Happy day, and how blessed are so many of us that are paid to have this holiday paid for, with time to be with family and friends. And maybe even serve and do other things for others. As the Reverend might preach and commend us to do.

    Onward and upward.

    Live the dream.

Most of Us Come Back. Alive and Active - The Missions that We Undertake

    Some make fun of missionaries for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Matt Parker and Tre Stone, enjoy your millions made for your mocking comedies and catchy, profane musical about guys in the faith who in their case went to a mythical yet stereotypical and rather insulting or racist African nation. We are serious about spreading the Gospel of Jesus Christ, which is not funny, whimsical, or racist. Most of us are not full time missionaries, but we strongly support those that are set apart to work around all corners of the world.

    Missions for the Church were a thing before that farcical attempt at levity, during that, and since. The musical still goes from city to city (in 2025), but I think since the George Floyd summer of 2020, more people realize that racism is alive and well (stinky well) in so many ways, and even humor cannot take the glimmer from the virtue and goodness of the missionaries of the Church. Not as many people will be cool with the racist musical about the elders of the church doing a good-hearted mission. It will be a side note in history.

    But this post is not about those that are against Latter-Day Saint missionaries. Rather, I wish to discuss the survivability and the endurability of those that go on full time missions for the Church, the one so many call Mormon, but within the faith itself wishes to promote and sustain the name of Jesus Christ.

    Some outside the religion based in Salt Lake City respect that naming convention, The Church of Jesus Christ of LDS, the longer and official one, but do not evince the faith and follow the purpose for which it is promoted, and for which it enforces such nomenclature. It is of Jesus Christ, say us believers, not Mormon, a nickname, no matter how great a prophet he was and the book that he edited. Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. Not some ancient follower of Him (Mormon), he who commanded armies of Nephites, and who redacted golden plates. Mormon was a great man. He shared about Jesus. And the latter of course, is the one to emphasize.

    Missionaries of the Church (of the Lord, we say), go on full time status and regularly go to distant places to share and uphold the faith of the Latter-day Saints. Mormons, as most call me or us at work.

    One is normally the other. Names and labeling. Okay, we establish that. LDS missionaries. Mormon evangelizers. Elders and sisters. Full time, set apart, young and old badge-wearing, adult representatives of the Church. Of Jesus Christ. Of Latter-Day Saints.

    I was one, my wife was one, my mother and step-father became them for service in Cambodia and Indonesia. Many of us go and do. My daughter has been one, my son and his girl friend are now, in this perhaps momentous month of January 2026. May they go, learn, love, and thrive!

    Since the 1830s we have gone and served, preached and taught, testified and bore witness to Jesus the Savior, Joseph Smith, the Book of Mormon, the Priesthood of God restored, and all the other points of the faith. Principles, morals, tithing, temples, vicarious ordinances, music, gatherings, family togetherness, and on. Things churchy, Mormon, Christian.

    I do not mean to meander, or bluster on about the things that we all know and have heard before. I wanted to talk about the ones that go out, that most of us return, and not the same numbers but most of us full time missionaries  stay active upon returning and going "part-time" as regular members. Some fall away. Some quit during the missions and never go back. I know a few stories of this. We are hundreds and thousands of stories and case studies. Some go anti-church, while others more quietly leave the religion and its tenets and practices.

    Some are cut short while being full-time representatives and elders and sisters for the church.

    Some die in the mission field. Occasionally murder takes a missionary life. It happened to a young elder in Virginia Beach this century. Or Chesapeake, the Hampton Roads area. A random thing, but devastating to him and his family. People get attacked and killed while serving. Not often. It occurred in Peru in the 1990s when I served full-time. A knife attack by a random crazed guy? It took the life of some missionaries in Bolivia in the late 1980s.

    Traffic accidents and deaths happen. A bad one in Iowa in the 1990s, to James' mission, he of Southern California, a friend and family member of those I know. Sicknesses and illnesses take the lives of some. Some mysterious. Some, like soldiers or others on more secular missions, die of strange and unexplained heart defects or stomach poisons, never to be fully discovered. 

    But as stated from the start, most us return alive. Not all fully healthy. A man in his forties in Utah has a type of mental illness perhaps derived from some bizarre bacteria or microbes from Spain, of all places.

    Most of us come home alive, breathing, and primarily healthy. Some changed, some forever, others not. And we move on with our lives. Some work and achieve tremendous success. Others not. Some returned missionaries might devolve into mental illness, or physical disrepair.

    We keep moving. An illness took a fellow returned missionary with brain cancer last month, December 2024. However, he went out as a champion. I attended his funeral yesterday. An honorably returned missionary, now to his eternal creator. He left behind two young boys, future emissaries of Jesus, like him, who went to Little Rock, Arkansas. His boys may be in hi mold.

    Most of us returned missionaries will grow old, and grey, and perhaps senile. Like my friend Ron M., who is now deep into his 80s. His wife passed this last year or so. Ron served in Brazil.

    Most of us will have deep and meaningful experiences in our church missions without getting too ill. Some, like my nephew Robert, will get sick multiple times while in Sierra Leone. Or like Greta Johnson, who fought malaria throughout her senior mission in Ghana. I had a sickness for a month, about eight months in, and lost a month of service time. It was hard; there was some time of pain and loneliness. But I made it. Decades later I had a similar sickness; it was diagnosed as Epstein Barr. Or maybe cytomegalovirus. Either way, like mononucleosis. Not great, but we still stayed current on our investigators and we taught and baptized. I recovered.

    Some do not. Some are electrocuted, and die, like in Guatemala (I was shocked in Chile but only stunned a bit) or shot like that poor elder in Jamaica in the last few years. Some come home early, like two different cases I know from Hawai'i. 

    Most of us finish out our 18 months or 24 months with honor. Some do not. Some confess about getting too close to a girl in some remote part of South America, like where you get relegated to after three months of Santa Juana, with me. I cannot recall the name of the town now. Remote. Away from stuff. Perhaps the confession gave our mission president a heart attack. But he survived. Lived till my oldest was eight or nine, a good, long, life. Jud Allsop. Great man. Great guy. Man of faith.

    He served his mission in Mexico, where he met his wife. Decades before. She was a dear companion and helpful to him and us while down in Chile. She and him and their maid helped me recover one week while coming back from the hospital when I was ill in Concepcion, Chile.

    More and more missionaries and ex-missionaries and returned missionaries all the time join the ranks.

    Most of us come back. Whole, or at least partially intact.

    To go on more battles or missions, or to fight windmills or slay dragons. Some of these are imaginary foes, while other struggles are real. We survive and continue to live, move, and continue.

    And we come back alive, to breathe to tell tales of the heartaches and emotional swells, the triumphs and the lows, the beauties and the challenges of being a full time missionary.

    May we all come back alive. And thrive.

    

 Indiana Men: In Basketball, You Suck. You are Kind of Pitiful

    Well, I can be that way, too. Same, same, maybe.

    But I am not worth millions of millions of dollars, with a huge alumni base rooting for all my minutes and games week to week, month to month. 

    Lamar Wilkerson. Too inconsistent. Peyton Conorway. He played decently against Iowa for a while in Bloomington today, this  afternoon, but not enough, and nothing after IU cut it to four in the second half when I turned on the game. Indiana did little right after that point. They have crumpled against the last few teams: Michigan State... a whole lot of nothing late, 19-0 run against them. Who else? Wisconsin? No, Ohio State? Whoever, they were up by six and then all bad. Illinois? They had Nebraska down by 16, and crumpled.

    Crumple, crumple, IU men in b-ball.

    So sad. DeVries is the new coach. His son and the big men were supposed to be good, better.

    Tucker. Reed. Trisley, Alexis. 

    Connor Enright flashed perhaps two good games in a row, but not good enough lately. 

    Ugh. We need better. 

    We need an enema. Nah, that is Jack Nicholson playing the Joker.

    We need a general, again. Great recruiting. Tactician work.

    Do we have it? Not convinced.

    Better luck next year? Or, they may rebound this season.

    Slight chance. Slightest of chances.

 Indiana Men's Basketball: Relegated to the Dung Heap of College Championship History?

    Maybe. Maybe these Hoosiers never get the talent and the moxy that they need. Perhaps we have left them behind in the 1980s. Perhaps we will never return to any of those glory days.

    Year after year of futility. Now decades. The current coach and the program writ large are okay. Brand new. But they lack grit and talent, plus cohesion.

    DeVries and Devries. The coach might be big-time enough. The son is too slow, in my opinion. I wish he shot a little bit better. And would move better. Same with all the new Hoosier guys.

    They made a second half run at Michigan State tonight in East Lansing, as I write this, but then they folded and were crushed. A bit like the last game in Bloomington to undefeated Nebraska. Yes, top ranked Cornhusker nation. They are being picked by some as a number one seed.

    Nebraska. 

    Meanwhile, Indiana lingers as a bottom of the basketball cellar dweller, after being briefly ranked when winning a few games in the pre-conference months. Marquette looked like a great victory, but now they are little regarded as anything special.

    And now IU.

    Nothing special. No championship prospects again. 

    1990s. One Final Four. Duke stood in the way.

    2000s. One great run to the Final Game. Maryland had its way.

    2010s. Crean had one great team that choked in the Sweet Sixteen.

    2020s. Over halfway through and Indiana is not good enough.

    I am too old for this.

    Go, IU. Fight, fight, fight...

    For relevance.