The Disney Version © 1968 by Richard Schickel

p. 18

"In essence, Disney's machine was designed to shatter the two most valuable things about childhood―its secrets and its silences―thus forcing everyone to share the same formative dreams. It has placed a Mickey Mouse hat on every little developing personality in America. As capitalism, it is a work of genius; as culture, it is mostly a horror."

p. 24

"[Disney] regarded urban design as the next great frontier of technology, and he wanted to be in on it."

p. 33

"Disney was continually, if mildly, irked because he could not draw Mickey or Donald or Pluto. He never could...Even more embarrassingly, he could not accurately duplicate the familiar 'Walt Disney' signature that appeared as a trademark on all his products. There are people who received authentically autographed Disney books and records but who thought they were fake because his hand did not match that of the trademark."

p. 136

"[Mickey's] humorlessness as well as his naïveté and his enthusiasm for projects were perhaps the first traits he inherited from Disney, who insisted that he had a sense of humor, put down those who lacked it, but was never the author of a genuinely funny remark that anyone ever recorded."

p. 139

"[Disney] was beginning to pay the price. 'I kept expecting more from my artists than they were giving me, and all I did all day long was pound, pound, pound,' he said later. 'Costs were going up. Somehow, each new picture we finished cost more to make than we figured it would earn; so I cracked up...I became irritable...and I couldn't sleep. I got the the point where I couldn't talk over the telephone because I'd begin to cry...'

"Finally, he consulted a doctor, who recommended a long trip."

pp. 140, 141

"There was always something obsessive about Walt Disney's personality. His single-minded concentration on his career, his possessiveness about his business, his unwillingness to share its management with any outsiders, his singular identification with The Mouse, the paternalism and the parsimony that marked his dealings with employees...In short, he carried the search for perfection to absurd lengths, and although he never again suffered a collapse like the one of 1931, he never learned to let up on his people either."

...

"He also acquired, at about this time, an obsession with death, which was so marked that even his daughter commented upon it in her study of her father."

p. 151

From "the last piece of writing ever to go out over Walt Disney's signature―the message to stockholders in the 1966 annual report of his company...: 'Back in the '30s The Three Little Pigs was an enormous hit, and the cry went up―"Give us more pigs!" I could not see how we could possibly top pigs with pigs. But we tried, and I doubt whether anyone of you reading this can name the other cartoons in which the pigs appeared.' It was a lesson well learned, and he refused to try to follow Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs with more films featuring the dwarfs, and as he said he said in this letter, he was not going to try to make sequels to Mary Poppins either. In an industry that has devoted enormous amounts of energy to scrambling on and off bandwagons it was an admirable and sensible policy."

p. 155

"The words [of Disney press releases] were designed to portray the organization as an open, happy, sunny institution, presided over first by a bashful boy artist, then (as he aged) an avuncular genius of the masses. Neither image could have been further from the truth about this complex man or his remarkable corporation...[Disney's discussions] revealed a man almost totally disengaged from the realities of the larger world even as that world was reaching out to him, fairly begging him to let it bestow its favors on him."

p. 354

"He told anyone who bothered to inquire that he was not a producer of children's entertainment, that in fact he had never made a film or a television show or an exhibit at Disneyland that did not have, as its primary criterion of success, its ability to please him. And he often admitted that his greatest pleasure was the business that he built, not the products it created. But he―and most especially his organization―did nothing to discourage the misunderstanding of his work and his motives. And so much did we want to believe that he was a kind of Pied Piper whose principal delight was speaking, for altruistic and sentimental reasons, the allegedly universal language of childhood, so much did we need an essentially false picture of him, that the public clung to this myth almost as tightly as an eager Wall Street hugged to its gray flannel bosom the delightful reports on the recent economic performance of Walt Disney Productions."

Albert Einstein

"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand wrapped in awe, is as good as dead; his eyes are closed. The insight into the mystery of life, coupled though it be with fear, has also given rise to religion. To know that what is impenetrable to us really exists, manifesting itself as the highest wisdom and the most radiant beauty, which our dull faculties can comprehend only in their most primitive forms―this knowledge, this feeling, is at the center of religiousness. In this sense, and in this sense only, I belong to the rank of devoutly religious men."

Anyway

From a sign on the wall of Shishu Bhavan, the children's home in Calcutta:

ANYWAY

People are unreasonable, illogical and self-centered,

LOVE THEM ANYWAY

If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives,

DO GOOD ANYWAY

If you are successful, you win false friends and true enemies,

SUCCEED ANYWAY

The good you do will be forgotten tomorrow,

DO GOOD ANYWAY

Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable,

BE HONEST AND FRANK ANYWAY

What you spent years building may be destroyed overnight,

BUILD ANYWAY

People really need help but may attack you if you help them,

HELP PEOPLE ANYWAY

Give the world the best you have and you'll get kicked in the teeth,

GIVE THE WORLD THE BEST YOU'VE GOT ANYWAY.

A Simple Faith

I finished this book yesterday, and Jodi―mostly just making conversation―asked me if I had learned anything from it.

Hmmm...

I didn't learn anything earth-shattering, nothing that I wasn't aware of on some level. In fact, I approach anything I don't believe or understand with a measure of skepticism, and I probably always will.

However, I was inspired by what I read.

(Note: I can completely disagree with your theology, but work side-by-side with you in any good work. I wasn't always that way.)

Some excerpts, which are all quotes from Missionaries of Charity volunteers:

p. 95
"In the West we have a tendency to be profit-oriented, where everything is measured according to the results and we get caught up in being more and more active to generate results. In the East―especially in India―I find that people are more content to just be, to just sit around under a banyan tree for half a day chatting to each other. We Westerners would probably call that wasting time. But there is value to it. Being with someone, listening without a clock and without anticipation of results, teaches us about love."

pp. 145-146
"For the first couple of days I was completely ecstatic―I thought, 'I'm so wonderful, I'm doing all these wonderful things looking after these children, I'm giving them loads of love and they just smile at me and love me.' I felt so brilliant and so holy! And then, after three days, I had a complete breakdown because I suddenly realized that I was a terrible person to be going there for only a short while. I was playing with these children, cuddling them, giving them lots of attention―and at the end of my time there I was coming back to my nice cozy little place in England, my nice cushy job, and my weekly wage. I was giving sweets to a baby and then taking them away again. I started to cry, I had felt so good, such a good person, and now I realized that I wasn't, because I was volunteering for me, not them. I was giving because of something in me that needed healing, and that was the need I had for love.

"A volunteer who had been there much longer than I comforted me and said, 'Whatever love you give, however small, they wouldn't have had if you hadn't come, or given it. Each volunteer who will come after you will give them a little more.'"

p. 152-153
"I'd do two nights a week at a shelter for women who were mostly drug addicts, alcoholics, ex-prostitutes, and people just out of prison. It was a dangerous place but I learned a lot about the homeless. You know, we tend to see them as visitors from another planet. We never think of hunkering down and talking to them, because we think they might be violent or mentally unbalanced; but from my experience those are usually in the minority. Most of them are quiet, gentle people where something has just gone wrong. They are vulnerable and more endangered than dangerous."

"Every morning I am delighted to be here. I think, Thank God, and let's get started. I'm always happy to start the day, unlike the way I felt at other jobs I had―secular, paying jobs―where I would always be discontented. Here what I am doing is compatible with what I'm thinking inside. There's no conflict between feeling and thinking and doing."

p. 156
"We've certainly learned a great deal from helping the sisters with their work. One of these lessons is that you become less vulnerable when you concern yourself with other people's vulnerability rather than your own. We've found that when we're fully involved with helping others, all around the place, we haven't really got time to worry about our own fears―and so they fall into perspective."

p. 157
"When you got to know the characters, I found you looked past the labels we use like 'alcoholic', or 'drug addict'―you saw the people and they became friends."

p. 174
"I've found that working here puts the things in my life in perspective, in balance. When I'm in the office I'm in the so-called real world, but then when I started volunteering with the Missionaries of Charity one day a week, I realized that this was the real world, not the other. The home isn't a glamorous or beautiful place but the people here are real live human beings who are being born again because they're dying. The people downtown are alive but the're not really living at all."

Nuggets from "Defining the Wind"

pp. 145 - 146

"Nature, rightly questioned, never lies." That quotation entirely sums up a book, an era, a world, a way of living.

One hundred fifty years before [1859], people thought there were questions that simply could not be answered. Defoe, in The Storm [1704], had said people could simply never know why the wind blew -- in fact, too much questioning would finally throw Mother Nature herself into a rage: The answer "is not in Me, you must go Home and ask my Father." Now, whether it's nuclear weaponry, cloning, or the Human Genome Project, we often wonder whether we are learning things we should not know.

No such uncertainty then -- at that moment, Beaufort and the phalanx of freshly minted "scientists" knew: "Nature, rightly questioned, never lies." They feared knowing neither too little nor too much; it was all a matter of finding the questions, and the rest would come almost as obligation. They believed that if you were patient, thorough, and careful, you could eventually figure out everything.

pp. 176 - 177

A dictionary thus becomes a document, a living history, a portal into the world it means to describe. The Merriam-Webster 1934 Second New International, for example, includes color plates of the house flags of the major steamship lines -- it's a detail, a clue about what was important in 1934. I once bought an atlas printed in 1933 only because in every map showing the North Atlantic it included transatlantic cable lines; in maps of Europe it showed the tangle of cables running all over the North Sea and the Mediterranean. That's what was important then, and it's sweet to remember it now, when it would no more cross the mind of an atlas publisher to include uncountable transatlantic cables than it would to include mail routes. The atlas, a reference book, itself becomes an artifact instead of merely a guide to others.

Books

I've always enjoyed reading...a lot. Mostly I read for the pure joy of understanding things.

In grade school I was fascinated by science books. In junior high (middle) school I read every math puzzle book that I could get my hands on. Over the past several years I have read quite a few histories and biographies. (See http://www.librarything.com/home/harleman)

It was only a little over a year ago that I grasped the concept that my view of the universe -- my paradigm -- is totally unique. No other person sees the world exactly as I do. (Nor can they; nor should they want to.) A book helped me to finally understand that.

I have always been curious about how humans came to have the body of knowledge that we have, and about what life was like before we knew what we now take for granted. The vast majority of all humans who have ever lived spent all their evenings doing something besides watching TV or playing with a computer (or a smart phone). From sundown until sleep, everything was done by firelight, moonlight, or in darkness. Almost certainly, nearly everyone knew the night sky as well as they knew their own back yard. Books are helping me to understand what life was like for most of human history.

Here is a list of the most important books that I have read in the past year (in the approximate order that I have read them). Each one has had a tremendous influence on the way that I view the world and/or myself:

• The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People © 1989 by Stephen R. Covey
• A Crack in the Edge of the World: America and the Great California Earthquake of 1906 © 2005 by Simon Winchester
• Let Your Life Speak: Listening for the Voice of Vocation © 1999 by Parker J. Palmer
• The Road Less Traveled © 1978 by M. Scott Peck, M.D.
• Defining the Wind © 2004 by Scott Huler

I've just started reading Defining the Wind. (I'm on page 43 of 281.) Its purpose is to explain how the Beaufort Scale was developed.

I don't recall how I came to have this book, or why I would have even chosen it in the first place. But it's a very enjoyable and captivating read. (Sometimes as much fun as Paul Harvey's The Rest of the Story.)

Defining the Wind has already helped me to get a better grasp of how our understanding of the world has changed in 200 years. It has also piqued my growing suspicion that maybe -- just maybe -- there really aren't so many "coincidences" in life.

It's a Small World (After All!)

Sometimes life sure seems to have a lot of funny twists and turns.

About 4 years ago I drove through Peru, Indiana -- where I had lived from 1964 - 1970 (4th through 9th grades) -- and decided that I was quite happy that I didn't live there any more.

About 2 1/2 years ago my wife and I moved into an RV with the idea that we'd do what a lot of people dream of doing (usually after retirement), but most never accomplish: Travel and spend time together. (During our first 8 years of marriage, we had been practically joined at the hip...and I wouldn't trade that time together for anything.)

After a year and a half of travel, we discovered that we weren't the close, happy couple that we had been decades before, and she discovered that she didn't really want to live without roots. She went back to a stationary life, and I stayed in the RV.

A few months ago I pulled the house to Peru to visit someone I had known for 3 years, in 7th through 9th grades. We hadn't had any contact whatsoever in the 40 years from 1970 -- when my family moved to Seymour, Indiana -- until this year. I planned on staying in Peru for a week or two, then heading to Indianapolis for the Eagle Creek Folk Festival, where my brother would be performing. After that, I intended to be back in North Carolina (and Virginia) for MusicFest 'n Sugar Grove, FloydFest, FiddleFest, and the Shakori Hills Grassroots Festival of Music and Dance.

While in Peru, I (re)discovered that I didn't like the area any better than I thought I would. Among other things, Indiana summers are more oppressive than those in North Carolina, and Indiana winters are brutal.

But, getting to know the junior high classmate has been awesome, I've re-connected with several old friends, and made some very good new friends as well.

I've enjoyed music at the Honeywell Center in Wabash, Peru's Circus City Festival, Denver Days in Denver, Indiana (the web site is stuck on 1996, but the festival still happens every year), the Northern Indiana Bluegrass Association's festival in Kendallville, Indiana, the Roann Covered Bridge Festival, and open house at Doud's Orchard in Denver, Indiana.

I'm in one of the last places on earth that I would have chosen to live, but I'm more comfortable with life in general than I have ever been before.

So...in the next week or so I'll be moving out of the RV and into an apartment in Peru. I'm actually kinda nervous about whether or not I'm ready for my first Indiana winter in 16 years.

Come spring, maybe I'll head back to North Carolina. (At least for a visit. My daughters and grandkids are there.) I'd like to attend some of the North Carolina and Virginia music festivals that I missed this year...but, as much as I miss the festivals, they aren't as important as they were a few months ago. I might actually put roots in Peru, Indiana. (OMG!)

Life sure can be exciting!

The Five People You Meet in Heaven

"No life is a waste," the Blue Man said. "The only time we waste is the time we spend thinking we are alone."

"Adam's first night on earth? When he lays down to sleep? He thinks it's all over, right? He doesn't know what sleep is. His eyes are closing and the thinks he's leaving this world, right? Only he isn't. He wakes up the next morning and he has a fresh new world to work with, but he has something else, too. He has yesterday."

"Sacrifice is a part of life. It's supposed to be. It's not something to regret. It's something to aspire to."

All parents damage their children. It cannot be helped.

Before he can devote himself to God or to a woman, a boy will devote himself to his father, even foolishly, even beyond explanation.

"You have peace," the old woman said, "when you make it with yourself."

"He was a spender, a risk taker -- he went over the boards when he got an idea."

Even his happy moments feel encased, like holes jabbed in a hard sheet of ice.

He never speaks about the darkness to Marguerite. She strokes his hair and says, "What's wrong?" and he says, "Nothing, I'm just beat," and leaves it at that. How can he explain such sadness when she is supposed to make him happy? The truth is he cannot explain it himself. All he knows is that something stepped in front of him, blocking his way, until in time he gave up on things... He sat down in his life. And there he remained.

Parents rarely let go of their children, so children let go of them.

"Holding anger is a poison. It eats you from inside. We think that hating is a weapon that attacks the person who harmed us. But hatred is a curved blade. And the harm we do, we do to ourselves."

People say they "find" love, as if it were an object hidden by a rock. But love takes many forms, and it is never the same for any man and woman. What people find then is a certain love. And Eddie found a certain love with Marguerite, a grateful love, a deep but quiet love, one that he knew, above all else, was irreplaceable. Once she'd gone, [he had] let the days go stale.

"I ain't talked this much since I got here," he said. She nodded and smiled, a gentle smile, and at the sight of it, his eyes began to moisten and a wave of sadness washed over him...

...her eyebrows lifted and her lips spread and Eddie felt an old, warm feeling he had missed for years, the simple act of making his wife happy.

"Sounds strange, don't it?" Eddie said. "It sounds," she said, wistfully, "like someone else's summer." Eddie realized that was precisely what he'd been feeling for years.

"Love is still love, Eddie. It takes a different form, that's all. You can't see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken, another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it. Life has to end," she said. "Love doesn't."

"I was still in love with you." "I know." She nodded. "I felt it." "Here?" he asked. "Even here," she said, smiling. "That's how strong lost love can be."

She held out her arms. And for the first time in heaven, he initiated his contact, he came to her, ignoring the leg, ignoring all the ugly associations he had made about dance and music and weddings, realizing now that they were really about loneliness.

It is never hard to act ordinary if you feel ordinary, and the paleness of surrender becomes the color of Eddie's days.

He leans on the cane and he looks at the headstone and he thinks about many things. Taffy. He thinks about taffy. He thinks it would take his teeth out now, but he would eat it anyhow, if it meant eating it with her.

The Road Less Traveled

From "The Road Less Traveled: A New Psychology of Love, Traditional Values and Spiritual Growth" © 1978 by M. Scott Peck, M.D.

The process of clinging to an outmoded view of reality is the basis for much mental illness.

Psychiatrists refer to it as transference...

One such example was a patient whose treatment failed by virtue of his transference. He was a brilliant but unsuccessful computer technician in his early thirties, who came to see me because his wife had left him, taking their two children...

What had happened to this man was that when he was a young child he suffered painful disappointment after painful disappointment through his parents' lack of caring. Gradually or suddenly -- I don't know which -- he came to the agonizing realization in mid-childhood that he could not trust his parents. Once he realized this, however, he began to feel better, and his life became more comfortable. He no longer expected things from his parents or got his hopes up when they made promises. When he stopped trusting his parents the frequency and severity of his disappointments diminished dramatically...

...Because his distrust of people was a realistic adjustment to the reality of his childhood, it was an adjustment that worked in terms of diminishing his pain and suffering. Since it is extremely difficult to give up an adjustment that once worked so well, he continued his course of distrust, unconsciously creating situations that served to reinforce it, alienating himself from everyone, making it impossible for himself to enjoy love, warmth, intimacy and affection.

Men Are from Mars (excerpt)

One of the most common mistakes in asking for support is the use of could and can in place of would and will. "Could you empty the trash?" is merely a question gathering information. "Would you empty the trash?" is a request.

Women often use "could you?" indirectly to imply "would you?" As I mentioned before, indirect requests are a turnoff. When used occasionally they certainly may go unnoticed, but persistently using can and could begins to irritate men...

...If a woman doesn't understand how certain language can affect men, she will get even more snarled. She becomes afraid to ask and starts saying "Could you..." because she thinks she is being more polite. Though this works well on Venus, it doesn't work at all on Mars.

On Mars it would be an insult to ask a man "Can you empty the trash?" Of course he can empty the trash! The question is not can he empty the trash but will he empty the trash. After he has been insulted, he may say no just because you have irritated him.

What Men Want to Be Asked

When I explain this distinction between the c words and the w words in my seminars, women tend to think I am making a big deal over nothing. To women there is not much difference -- in fact, "could you?" may even seem more polite than "would you?" But to many men it is a big difference. Because this distinction is so important, I'm including comments by seventeen different men who attended my seminars...

(see First Edition pages 252 - 255; pages 284 - 287 in 2004 paperback edition)

...One way women are sure to relate to the significant difference between would and could is to reflect for a moment on this romantic scene. Imagine a man proposing marriage to a woman. His heart is full, like the moon rising above. Kneeling before her, he reaches out to hold her hands. Then he gazes up into her eyes and gently says, "Could you marry me?"

Immediately the romance is gone. Using the c word appears weak and unworthy. In that moment, he reeks of insecurity and low self-esteem. If instead he said "Would you marry me?" then both his strength and vulnerability are present. That is the way to propose.

Similarly, a man requires that a woman propose her requests in this manner. Use the w words. The c words sound too untrusting, indirect, and manipulative.

When she says "Could you empty the trash?" the message he receives is "If you can empty it then you should do it. I would do it for you!" From his point of view he feels it is obvious that he can do it. In neglecting to ask for his support he feels she is manipulating him or taking him for granted. He doesn't feel trusted to be there for her if he can.

I remember one woman in a seminar explaining the difference in Venusian terms. She said, "At first I couldn't feel the difference between these two ways of asking. But then I turned it around. If feels very different to me when he says 'No, I can't do it' versus 'No, I will not do it.' The 'I will not do it' is a personal rejection. If he says 'I can't do it' then it is no reflection on me, it is just that he can't do it."

Mission Update

Yesterday I stopped by the Walmart shopping center where the young homeless lady was panhandling. (Her name is Rachel.)

She still has the phone, and seemed genuinely thankful for it.

She told me that she "makes" anywhere from $15 to $30 per day, but never has to worry about food since people are always dropping food off. (As she said that, a man walked up and handed her a bag from Subway.)

The right-rear tire on her car has a leak, so she has to air it up with a portable compresser before she drives the car...every time.

Mission

In the past year, the fullest, most enjoyable days that I have experienced have been those that I spent volunteering -- at music festivals and at a campground. A couple of months ago I blogged about the best job I have ever had, which was working at a campground/recreation park in 1986.

Until a few days ago I thought that "letting my life speak" -- doing what I am really passionate about -- necessarily involved camping/RVing. As much as I love my flexible lifestyle, last week a BFF made a comment that is gradually helping me to understand where my real passion lies. (Thanks, Jodi.)

I had stopped to help a young couple who were out of gas on U.S. 31 in Kokomo, and who had no money. Jodi was concerned that I was endangering myself (and maybe even her, as well). I told her stories about 40 years of picking up hitchhikers, and of helping other people in need. In some cases I never knew whether I had really made a difference; in at least one case -- when by chance I picked up a hitchhiker twice within a few months -- I knew that I had been conned. But, I told Jodi, I'd rather be occasionally taken advantage of than pass up the opportunity to help someone who might (or might not) truly be in need.

I also told her that during my first winter as a fulltime RVer I thought about equipping a bus with bunks, and using it to give homeless people some place warm to sleep during cold weather. (That idea is still rolling around in my head.)

Jodi said something like, "Well, then...maybe your purpose in life is to help others."

That comment struck me as a little odd, because all my life I had been under the assumption that everyone felt that "calling"...that -- aside from every other thing that we do -- all humans felt a keen responsibility to help people in need.

The fact is -- although I believe everyone must feel a degree of empathy for the homeless, hungry, and needy -- not everyone views helping others as a "mission". After a week of reflection, I'm beginning to think that is my true passion.

Yesterday, as I was pulling out of a Walmart parking lot in Indianapolis, I saw a young woman seated in the grass holding one of "those signs"...'homeless, needy'. As I pulled out onto 74th Street I suddenly knew that I could not leave without finding out how I could help her.

So, I pulled back into the parking lot to talk to her.

She says that she truly is homeless...that she sleeps at a shelter one or two nights a week, and that she sleeps in her car the rest of the time. She has a pay-as-you-go cell phone, but no money to buy "minutes" for it.

Either she was very genuine or she is a great actress, because she appeared to be near tears during part of our brief conversation.

Rather than ask her a lot of personal questions, I walked back into the Walmart and bought her a cell phone with 300 minutes on it. As I carried it out of the store and began activating it, I realized that she had no way to charge the new battery. I checked the (fully-charged) battery in my phone and discovered that it was a match for the new phone. So, I swapped batteries, finished activating the phone, and took it to her.

She seemed genuinely thankful: "This will make it so much easier to hunt for a job! I've been able to call companies, but I haven't been able to give them a number to call me back."

Maybe after I left she sold the phone. Probably I'll never know. But I feel good knowing that I did something. Discovering that I had been conned wouldn't feel nearly as bad as knowing that I did nothing.

Maybe my enthusiasm wasn't for the campgrounds themselves. Perhaps campgrounds are just great vehicles for expressing my real passion: helping others.

Nugget from a Book I'm Currently Reading

Say to them, O father, O mother, O wife, O brother, O friend, I have lived with you after appearances hitherto. Henceforward I am the truth's. Be it known unto you that henceforward I obey no law less than the eternal law. I will have no covenants but proximities. I shall endeavour to nourish my parents, to support my family, to be the chaste husband of one wife, — but these relations I must fill after a new and unprecedented way. I appeal from your customs. I must be myself. I cannot break myself any longer for you, or you. If you can love me for what I am, we shall be the happier. If you cannot, I will still seek to deserve that you should. I will not hide my tastes or aversions. I will so trust that what is deep is holy, that I will do strongly before the sun and moon whatever inly rejoices me, and the heart appoints. If you are noble, I will love you; if you are not, I will not hurt you and myself by hypocritical attentions. If you are true, but not in the same truth with me, cleave to your companions; I will seek my own. I do this not selfishly, but humbly and truly. It is alike your interest, and mine, and all men's, however long we have dwelt in lies, to live in truth.

From Self-Reliance by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Inside My Heart: Choosing to Live with Passion and Purpose by Robin McGraw

A few months ago this book was recommended to me. (Thanks, Brenda.) I found a copy at a used book store, and I've spent the past couple of days reading it.

Ever since I started reading Stephen R. Covey's "7 Habits" last year, I've become more and more aware of how many people have written about the same thing: Figure out what your life is about, and live it.

In particular, I was impressed with McGraw's common-sense approach to relationships on pages 140-142.

The book was written primarily for a female audience, but I highly recommend it to anyone who is interested in what makes other people tick. (And...who shouldn't be?)

Another Nugget from "The 8th Habit"

(Thank you, Laura, for the book The 8th Habit by Stephen R. Covey.)

I am your constant companion. I am your greatest helper or heaviest burden. I will push you onward or drag you down to failure. I am completely at your command. Half the things you do you might just as well turn over to me, and I will be able to do them quickly, correctly. I am easily managed—you must merely be firm with me. Show me exactly how you want something done, and after a few lessons I will do it automatically. I am the servant of all great people; and alas, of all failures as well. Those who are failures, I have made failures. I am not a machine, though I work with all the precision of a machine plus the intelligence of a human being. You may run me for a profit or turn me for ruin—it makes no difference to me. Take me, train me, be firm with me, and I will place the world at your feet. Be easy with me and I will destroy you.

Who am I? I am habit!

—Anonymous

Inner Fire

In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit. -- Albert Schweitzer (from "The 8th Habit" by Stephen R. Covey)

Shakori Hills GrassRoots Festival of Music & Dance - Sunday

Click here for photos. I'll probably write more about Shakori Hills later. (It was awesome!) It has been a long 3 days and nights since the festival ended, and I am tired.

It all started with 100% pure biodiesel for sale at the festival...

Shakori Hills GrassRoots Festival of Music & Dance - Saturday

It was awesome! See pics here. I'll write more later. (I have a 2 1/2 hour drive back to Wilkesboro.)

Getting Back Up to Speed

I guess I didn't fully realize how good it was for me to keep busy at the campground until I left. This week I've started working on a web site that's been rolling around in my mind for about a year. Other than that, I haven't done much. I've been in a bit of a funk, and actually considered skipping MerleFest and pulling the house up to Indiana. (Yeah...it really is that bad.)

Over the winter I had been planning to attend the Shakori Hills GrassRoots Festival of Music & Dance this spring. But, I tabled that idea when I committed myself to helping out at Honey Bear Campground. (Dadgummit!) Yesterday I realized that the spring festival at Shakori Hills had already started, and there I was holed up in my RV. I could still make it for Saturday and/or Sunday...and I am thinking about it.

Every Friday morning from 7 - 9, WKBC-AM broadcasts the Hometown Opry from Main Street Pawn in North Wilkesboro. I've been there before, and it's always a real hoot. So, this morning I went again, and had a great time. (It was the first time that I've stepped out of the RV since arriving at Bandits Roost Monday afternoon.)

On the way to the Opry I saw a sign advertising North Wilkesboro's 'Shine to Wine (Wine & Art) Festival. I didn't realize that it was coming up tomorrow! I've been to it (and enjoyed it) the past two years, so if I don't go to Shakori Hills tomorrow, I know where I'll be.

At the Hometown Opry I found out that there will be a free concert of some sort Sunday evening at one of the MerleFest stages or tents at Wilkes Community College. I'll be checking that out if I'm not at Shakori Hills.

The three evenings before MerleFest (Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday) there are always jam sessions at the venue (also free). The Kruger Brothers are generally there. This Monday's session will also be the monthly meeting of the Wilkes Acoustic Folk Society.

So...from now until the end of MerleFest there's music somewhere every day...and I plan to take in as much of it as I can.

After MerleFest, I'm thinking about wandering north. My brother, Tom, has performed at the Eagle Creek Folk Festival in Indianapolis for the past few years, but I've never been there. This year it's being held June 12 & 13.

After that, the next music festivals that I'd like to attend are in the mountains of Virginia and North Carolina (where summer weather is very pleasant): Floyd Fandango Beer & Wine Festival (July 3 & 4), MusicFest 'n Sugar Grove (July 9 & 10), FloydFest (July 22 - 25), and FiddleFest (July 30 & 31). Big bonus: Two of those events are right on the Blue Ridge Parkway!

That's a lot of planning for a guy who prefers to fly by the seat of his pants. But, I'm pretty flexible. We'll see what happens.

Moving Day

Twenty-four years ago I found my niche in life. It wasn't until much later that I realized that I had found it. I was telling a friend about all the different types of jobs I had done. (Broadcast radio, sales, heavy equipment operator, paper hanging, computer programming, and so on...) He asked me, "Out of all the different jobs you had, what was your favorite?"

I had never thought about that before. But, as I reviewed what I had done to determine what I had enjoyed the most, only one job really stood out.

In the '80s I had been programming computers for a diversified company. Among other things, they owned construction firms, a lake/pond management business, and Redbrush Park (swimming, rides, camping, rooms and cabins). In early 1986 the general manager of the park asked me if I would be interested in managing the camp desk and housekeeping for the season, which began in the spring. The position didn't pay much...way less than what I billed for programming. (The park was mainly staffed by high school and college students during their summer vacation.) But, I had visited the park, and I loved it. So, I took the job just because I wanted to.

As I was self-employed and was already running two businesses of my own, I told the general manager that I could only commit to 3 1/2 days per week. But, I loved the work so much that I'd generally get to the park around 7:00 am (long before anyone else), and often wouldn't leave until after midnight...sometimes taking only one break for a meal. Each week my "3 1/2 days" amounted to well over 40 hours. When I programmed the computer at the park, I didn't bill for my time; I just did it as an employee (at the "summer job" rate).

I discovered that what I enjoy more than anything else is making people happy. If a guest was unhappy -- regardless of whether or not the park was in any way at fault -- I made it my mission to fix it...whatever "it" happened to be. I used a segment of a PBS video (that was based on Tom Peters' book In Search of Excellence) to show my camp desk and housekeeping people how "cast members" are trained at Walt Disney World. As a group, we had a lot of enthusiasm, and the video gave us a solid goal.

The only negative part about the job was that the park lost oodles of money every single year, which meant that around midsummer -- when it always became clear that this year would not be "the year" that the park would get "turned around" -- the general manager would become extremely irritable, and vent his frustration all over whoever happened to be around (although never at me). More than once I walked into his office to confront him after he had vented on one of my employees. Each time I would explain to him that, if he had a problem with the way one of my people was doing her job, he needed to come directly to me, since -- in every single case -- the employee was following my orders to the letter! The manager would apologize to me and promise that it wouldn't happen again.

Until the last time it happened.

The manager left a retirement-aged employee standing in the middle of the gift shop crying her heart out. I consoled her the best that I could, then went directly to his office. His response: "This time I'm not going to apologize." I quit on the spot. (On my way out the manager asked, "Can we still call you to work on the computers?" My answer: "Of course!" I would be more than happy to get paid far more without any of the drama!)

Fast forward twenty-some years...

After about a year of fulltime RVing, I found a campground that really needed help: Honey Bear Campground. The owner -- who has never camped a single time in her life -- had bought the campground 6 months earlier, and was in way over her head. I just started looking for things to do and ways to help out, and stayed about a month. Among other things, I created a system for reporting and tracking problems...repairs, errors and things like that. Had it not been for the owner, I'd have stayed there all season. But, she was bleeding money and was even more difficult to get along with than the manager of Redbrush Park had been. (During my first week at Honey Bear Campground I broke up a fight between the owner and a guest!) Finally, one morning -- after I had watched her walk all over a couple of her work campers for the umpteenth time -- I hitched up my house, told the owner goodbye, and left.

A month later she called me and invited me to come stay at the campground over 4th of July weekend. I knew she was just looking for some more free help (on a particularly busy weekend), but I didn't mind. I really enjoyed working hard for the campground guests. I showed up July 1, and endured a few more weeks of random neural firings.

Things came to a head the day that I busted my tail finding accomodations for a family with 4 RVs who had -- months earlier -- reserved 4 campsites together. For some odd reason (probably having to do with the alignment of the moon and stars) the owner had moved two of the reservations to two different areas of the campground, and had canceled another one of them entirely! After finally finding 4 sites together that the family was content (barely) with, one of them discovered that the sewer hookup at his campsite was clogged. I realized that the last thing this group needed was one more delay. I reached into the sewer pipe and cleaned it out by hand.

As I washed up at the office I remembered something: Hadn't I written a "trouble ticket" on that clogged sewer line two months earlier? Sure enough, I had! Why was I the only person who cared about satisfying our guests??? I wrote a strongly-worded note on the trouble ticket and taped it to the owner's computer screen. The next morning she fired me (I guess you can fire an unpaid volunteer!), using language that I had never even heard my father (a merchant marine) use.

A few weeks ago the owner of the campground called me to ask if I'd help open the campground for the season. She assured me that some major "stressors" in her life were now settled, and that she would be much easier to work for. I doubted that she would be that much different (she wasn't), but I showed up (as an unpaid volunteer, as before) and brought in a work camper who hustled from dawn to well past dusk for very little pay. I was hoping that the owner would see the value of keeping a couple of people (one free, the other dirt-cheap) who were willing to do whatever it took to open her campground. (My bad. She didn't.)

She must have had a really bad night last night, because this morning she came into the office looking for a fight to pick...even more than usual. She lashed out at me more than once, and I let her know that her verbal abuse wasn't appreciated. She responded, "Well then, let's just end it right now." I suppose she thought I'd beg her to let me stay on as her unpaid doormat.

I didn't.

So...now I'm at Bandits Roost campground near Wilkesboro. Next Monday I start my volunteer work for MerleFest. The festival ends Sunday, May 2. After that, who knows? I'd love to find a campground that would really appreciate someone who takes guest relations seriously.

Food for Paradigm-Shifting Thought

It is useless to try to reason a man out of a thing he was never reasoned into. -- Jonathan Swift

Tonya and the Grandkids!

Tonya brought the grandkids (Diana's and Julie's kids) over for a visit today. We had a great time, fishing, exploring the stream, and more.

See more pictures here.

The Wailers at ASU

Friday afternoon, as I checked in a tenter from Columbia, South Carolina at Honey Bear Campground, he told me that the purpose of his stay was to attend a concert by The Wailers at Appalachian State University.

THE Wailers? As in Bob Marley and The Wailers???

Yup! They were playing at Legends, an ASU students' nightclub and social center. The ASU campus is only 3 miles from Honey Bear Campgound.

Over the years I've enjoyed several live reggae performances. But, there were a few things that discouraged me about this concert:

• The music wasn't scheduled to start until 9:30 pm, and an opening band was going to play for an hour. That meant that The Wailers wouldn't start performing until about 11:00 pm, which is way past my bedtime.
• The venue was a nightclub. I've rarely been in bars, and never in a club. (Drinking makes me sleepy, so I don't drink often.) Although I knew I'd love the music, I wasn't so sure about the atmosphere.
• The online ticket sales website listed the event as BYOB; each person was allowed to bring six beers. (Again, I wasn't sure if it was someplace I'd want to be.)

Okay, I figured, if I get too tired, or if I'm really not comfortable in that crowd, I can always leave.

So I went. On the way I even picked up a 6-pack of Guiness Draught. (Drank 2 at the concert, brought 4 home.)

I couldn't have enjoyed it more.

The opening band, Soul Benefactor, was great. With guitar, bass, drums, trumpet, and trombone, they played an hour of upbeat music, including a few Stevie Wonder songs.

The Wailers -- as expected -- were awesome. (The guy who told me about the concert said that one of the vocalists was Bob Marley's nephew.)

The crowd was 99% ASU students (I saw a handful of fossils my age), and they were all there to enjoy the music. No smoke, no rowdiness; just a whole lotta fun!

Possible Paradigm Adjustment

The world did not change 11 September, but the English-speaking peoples' understanding of it did. -- From A History of the English-Speaking Peoples Since 1900 by Andrew Roberts

Smart & Stupid

A couple of days ago I had a very enjoyable conversation with one of my daughters about "smart and stupid". I believe that -- with very few exceptions -- there are not "smart" people and "stupid" people...although people do some pretty smart and stupid things.

I have always been considered pretty "smart". My first grade teacher used me to tutor other students in reading. I think she did that partly because I was an excellent reader, and partly because I had way too much time on my hands, as I finished my classwork very quickly.

At some point I seem to have made it my life's mission to befriend the friendless...to hang with -- and help -- fellow students who were rejected by most.

In fourth grade, I actually got called out for trying to help a boy who could not read. He had failed and repeated two or three years (so he was older than the rest of us) and then he had simply been given all "F"s and promoted. I discovered that he did not even know the alphabet, so I took it upon myself to teach it to him during recess. (Yes, he did learn it.) When Mrs. Banks -- one of the most hateful teachers I have ever known -- "caught" me teaching him, she screamed at me in front of the entire class, "HE CAN'T LEARN!!! IF COLLEGE-EDUCATED TEACHERS CANNOT TEACH HIM, WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THAT YOU CAN???" I am not proud of the fact that I stopped trying to teach him after that.

At the beginning of my fifth grade year, the teacher explained to the class quite honestly that math was not her favorite subject, and that if anyone was able to learn it by reading the text book and wished to work ahead, they were welcome to go ahead on their own as long as they turned in every written assignment in the book. (In my experience, teachers typically asked for only certain written assignments to be done in any subject, and never finished a complete text book by the end of the school year.) I took her up on the offer, turned in every single assignment, and finished the entire book two months before school ended. (Math was my favorite subject -- and I generally aced all the tests -- right up through ninth-grade Algebra I.)

I did well on I.Q. tests. (Still do.) But I believe that tests -- while important -- of necessity measure a person on specific areas of "intelligence"...areas that are important to society, and particularly those parts of society that are commercial. I firmly believe that everyone (again, with very few exceptions) is equally "intelligent" and "smart". The intelligence of some simply has little value in society. (Think "Rain Man", for example. I have personally known similar people.)

My belief that there are not "smart" people and "stupid" people was reinforced when I began reading The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People a few months ago. I cannot think of a single book that has enlightened me the way Stephen Covey's book has. Really. For the first time in my life I truly understand that no two people see the world in the same way. Everybody's view of things is distorted by their own unique paradigm, which is based on their own knowledge and life experiences. (If you find that hard to understand or accept, I invite you to participate in an experiment that I am preparing on a Facebook discussion forum that I created.)

For the past few weeks I have been reading A History of the English-Speaking Peoples Since 1900 by Andrew Roberts. (I hated social studies and history when I was in school. Now I read lots of biographies and histories, and almost no fiction.) About Michael Ventris (an Englishman who deciphered Europe's oldest language) Roberts wrote that "he exhibited any number of signs of genius: the capacity to take infinite pain, depression, fluency in four languages from childhood, a mother who committed suicide, lack of interest in human (or even family) relationships, an ill and remote father, a mathematical, logical but above all compartmentalised mind, and no teritary education."

Wow. With a couple of exceptions, that's a fairly good description of me!

Yet, I am constantly reminded of how little of lasting value I have ever accomplished. By some measures, I am quite intelligent. And yet, it isn't always very evident in my life. Many people of average or below-average "measured intelligence" appear much smarter than me in the real world.

Roberts' description of Ventris also fits my idea that there aren't "smart" and "stupid" people. By some measure, I believe that virtually everyone is intelligent...maybe even equally so. I've always been fascinated by the human mind...and particularly interested in people who are autistic or savant. They are good examples of unquantified intelligence.

Our perceptions of "smart" and "stupid" -- as well as "right" and "wrong" -- are very subjective. That does not mean that reality does not exist, or that "right" and "wrong" do not exist. They do! But I am convinced that no human can see things as they truly are. Our only possible viewpoint is through our own unique paradigm.

The more conscious I am that everything I "see" is distorted by my paradigm, the more I recognize the need to examine and adjust it. It is a process that must never stop, unless I choose to cease progress and remain as I am.

Sometimes I think that I am awfully old to just now be learning such deep but basic things about myself. But then I realize how fortunate I am to to understand it now!

RVing in the Snow!

Yesterday I left Stuart, Florida at 7:30 in the morning, headed to Greensboro. Had I left the day before, as intended, weather wouldn't have been an issue. But, strong thunderstorms were forecast for southeast Florida, and I wanted to get away early. Besides, snow was forecast for much of North Carolina, and I wanted to get the trailer to the campground at Hagan-Stone Park before things got too messy.

So much for plans.

About halfway through the 700-mile trip a tire on the trailer blew out. If I hadn't heard it blow out, I probably wouldn't have even known it until I stopped for fuel, or until another motorist signaled for me to pull over. I was somewhere south of Savannah, Georgia, on a clear straight stretch of I-95 with the radio cranked up loud, when I heard what sounded like a shotgun blast behind me. Those of you who know how well I hear (NOT!) are probably thinking, 'Wow! That must have been a loud boom!' Well, that's what I was thinking, too! There was no other vehicle close to me, so I was pretty certain that the sound came from my house! I immediately pulled onto the shoulder and got out and looked. The tire was split almost from bead to bead, and steel belts had already taken a small chunk out of the fender.

As part of my normal routine, before I had even hitched the trailer to the truck, I had checked the pressure on all the tires. Still, the only thing I could think of that would have caused a failure was overheating from a loss of pressure. Maybe I had picked up a nail somewhere...? (The tire was only a year old and had very little wear...probably less than 5,000 miles.) But, when I felt the tire, it wasn't any warmer than the intact tire right next to it! Hmmm...so it didn't overheat, which means it didn't fail from low pressure. That kinda made sense, because tire disintegration from low pressure probably wouldn't happen in one big explosion. So...I don't know why the tire went. At any rate, changing it (and checking the other 7 tires) delayed me about 45 minutes.

By the time I crossed the North/South Carolina line, it was already dark. About 30 miles south of Ashboro (and 55 miles from my destination) I suddenly ran into snow...pretty big flakes, and falling fast. I haven't had much experience with snow since moving to North Carolina 17 years ago. (Around here, when snow is forecast -- maybe once or twice a year -- everything just closes and people go home.) I had forgotten how a heavy snow in the headlights looks like a meteor shower -- or like the view from the Millenium Falcon going into hyperspace (Star Wars). Within a few miles I had passed 6 cars that had slid off into the median. (Wreckers and police were already attending to a couple of them.)

I finally pulled into Hagan-Stone park shortly before 9:00 pm. Since the ground was already covered by a couple inches of snow, I first had to get out of the truck and walk the campsite just to find out where the drive was. Then I had to back in blind, because there was no light in that part of the campground. Parking took several attempts (back up, get out of the truck and look, pull forward, back up again, get out of the truck and look, and so on), but I finally got it right where I wanted it.

Given the fact that it was around my usual bedtime, and I had started driving 13 1/2 hours earlier, and snow was coming down, and everything was slushy-sloppy, I really didn't want to mess with leveling the trailer. I figured I wouldn't worry about leveling side-to-side unless it was off quite a bit. I checked that level, and it was right on the bubble! (Woo-hoo!)

When the trailer is hitched to the truck, the front is always a little lower than the back. (One of these days I'm going to raise that hitch ball...) I had decided that if it wasn't too low, I'd just sleep with the head of my bed sloping down a little, and unhitch in the morning. Well...evidently the campsite I chose slopes down toward the back, because the trailer was perfectly level front-to-back, too!

So -- after the normal post-travel set-up, answering a few emails, and taking a phone call, I was in bed watching the news by 10:00.

This morning, as soon has I had my shower, I took the camera out to get pictures.

This is the first time I've had the RV in the snow. It's kinda cool...but not something I'd want to do often.

See more pics here.

Best I Can

His name is Bill. Say's he's "a half-breed native American". He had been paying for his father's house. After his father died, Bill lost the house. For a while, he lived in a truck and camper. But -- sometime in the last year -- he had to sell the truck and camper.

Bill told me all this as I filled his "coffee cup" (actually a square, white plastic jar minus the lid) with some freshly-brewed Starbucks French Roast. We were standing outside his tent in the 31-degree pre-dawn darkness. That's unusually cold for south Florida in a typical January...but it's been this way for the past week. "Normal" temperatures won't return for another few days.

About a year ago, while my house (travel trailer) was parked near my mother's home in Stuart, Florida, a man approached me and asked if I could spare a dollar or two so that he could get a bite to eat. He told me that he was living in the woods behind the nearby Publix supermarket, and that he had a job interview to go on that morning. Although he looked fairly clean and well-groomed for a homeless man, he seemed sincere, so I gave him some money and wished him the best. I also told him to stop by again if he needed anything. (For whatever reason, he never came back. I hope he got the job.)

A few minutes later I decided to bag up some food -- mostly non-perishable -- and try to find the place where the man was camped. Near Publix (although not behind it) I followed a path leading into the woods. At the end of the path were 3 or 4 tents.

Standing in the middle of the "camp", I hollered out the man's name. (I don't remember his name today, but I wish I did.)

From one of the tents a man growled, "What do you want?"

"I'm looking for [whatever his name was]."

"He don't stay here!"

"I met him, and he told me he lived out here."

"Well, he left a couple of days ago." Now the speaker's face appeared at the opening of his pup-tent. Although it was a bright, warm Florida morning -- almost noon, in fact -- I had obviously awakened the man. He was not clean, nor well-groomed. In fact, it appeared that he was sleeping off the previous night's bottled self-medication.

As the man watched me warily, I stepped to within 20 feet of the pup-tent and placed the bag of food on the ground. "I brought this food for [whatever his name was]. But there's plenty. Help yourself to whatever you want." And I left.

Now, exactly a year later, we're again parked near Mom's house for the winter. A week or so ago, when the weather turned cold, I checked the woods near Publix to see if the "camp" was being used. In addition to one tent and a fabricated plastic-tarp shelter, there was evidence of a recent campfire.

A couple of days ago, Brenda told me that she had spotted some wood that someone had put out to be hauled off with the trash. We visited the "camp" again. No one seemed to be "at home", but there was plenty of evidence (including a bicycle) that the camp was being used. So, we found the wood (a recently-cut pine tree and something that resembled a pallet made of 2x6s), loaded it onto the truck, drove as far down the "camp path" as we could go, and deposited the wood by the trail.

This morning I was up before 4:30 (as usual), killing time on the computer. Our overnight temps had dipped below freezing again, and I thought about the people who might be sleeping outside in tents. According to WPTV, the West Palm Beach NBC affiliate:

• "Typically, when the local temperature is forecasted by the National Weather Service to be 40 degrees Fahrenheit or less, or have a wind-chill factor of 35 degrees Fahrenheit or less, for a period of more than four hours, the Public Safety Department's Division of Emergency Management, in partnership with other non-governmental organizations such as the Red Cross, will open cold weather shelters for those who need to keep warm."

So...the shelters aren't open when it's below 40 for 4 hours or less??? How do the homeless know what the forecast is for tonight? When the shelters are open, how many are sleeping outside anyway?

Suddenly I realized that I could do more than just wonder. I brewed a pot of coffee, poured it into a couple of stainless-steel Starbucks thermoses, and drove to the "camp" with the coffee and a flashlight.

As soon as I got there, I noticed that the wood was gone from alongside the trail. After walking on back to the camp I saw that some of it was stacked near the campfire spot, ready to be used. Among other items on a makeshift table, I noticed a corkscrew.

The end of the tarp shelter was open, so it was easy to shine the light inside. No one was there. As I shone my light around the rest of the camp, a man's voice came from the tent. "Who is it???"

"I brought some hot coffee, if you're interested. I left the wood a couple of days ago. I'm glad you could use it."

"Yeah! Some of that stuff was really good wood...from Australia!"

From inside the tent he told me that, no, he wasn't cold; he slept under 6 blankets. But that he would appreciate the coffee. I heard him getting dressed.

I asked him how many people were in the "camp".

"Just me."

I told him that I thought several people had stayed here last winter.

"I won't let 'em. All they wanna do is drink."

"Are you hungry? We can go over to McDonalds for a dollar breakfast sandwich...my treat." (It was 6:30, so I knew the McDonalds -- just a block away -- was open.)

"Naw...I'm okay."

As he emerged from his tent, I lit my face with my flashlight so that he could get a look at me. I asked him if he had camped here last winter. "No," he said. That's when he told me that he was living in the truck and camper last winter, after his father had died and he had lost the house.

As I filled his jar with the contents of one thermos, Bill pointed to a nearby tree. "Them pepper trees are from Brazil."

"If you like, Bill, I'll leave this other thermos with you. It will keep the coffee in it hot for hours. I'll drop by later today to pick it up. You can leave it on the table, or -- if you're worried it will be taken -- you can put it somewhere else."

Bill set the thermos inside the door of his tent, just to the right of the opening. "I'll leave it right here. Thanks."