<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7797317754501383331</id><updated>2012-02-16T02:46:54.197-08:00</updated><title type='text'>on the lighter side</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ralphcarter.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ralphcarter.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>ralph</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08885744257823388523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5919/589/1600/DSCN4767.0.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>16</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7797317754501383331.post-9120841780396619423</id><published>2008-11-14T06:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-14T06:23:57.352-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Top Ten Things I Like to Hear</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s2i11g8uors/SR2J4K6H7UI/AAAAAAAAACM/q5BBKDsQiBs/s1600-h/top-ten-gold.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268518737187171650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 347px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 346px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s2i11g8uors/SR2J4K6H7UI/AAAAAAAAACM/q5BBKDsQiBs/s400/top-ten-gold.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.farecompare.com/editorial/content/rickseaney/top-ten-gold.jpg&amp;amp;imgrefurl=http://www.mycreativeassistant.com/blog/&amp;amp;usg=__qI-ZxWB_rP890tmhsbjGPM5vhTQ=&amp;amp;h=346&amp;amp;w=347&amp;amp;sz=63&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;start=1&amp;amp;um=1&amp;amp;tbnid=JnGTls2lDU10DM:&amp;amp;tbnh=120&amp;amp;tbnw=120&amp;amp;prev=/images%3Fq%3Dtop%2Bten%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26rls%3Dcom.microsoft:en-us%26sa%3DN"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;10. Tiger Rag at Death Valley&lt;br /&gt;9. Thunder (If I am not exposed to the weather)&lt;br /&gt;8. "Next!" when you're at the DMV&lt;br /&gt;7. Christmas music about two weeks before Christmas&lt;br /&gt;6. The ocean as you walk along the beach&lt;br /&gt;5. A friend's voice from whom you haven't heard in a long time&lt;br /&gt;4. Little children giggling&lt;br /&gt;3. Quiet...as in: no talking, early morning, alone in the woods, quiet&lt;br /&gt;2. "Hey, Papa!"&lt;br /&gt;1. My secretary say, "The committee meeting has been canceled."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7797317754501383331-9120841780396619423?l=ralphcarter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/9120841780396619423'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/9120841780396619423'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ralphcarter.blogspot.com/2008/11/top-ten-things-i-like-to-hear.html' title='The Top Ten Things I Like to Hear'/><author><name>ralph</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08885744257823388523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5919/589/1600/DSCN4767.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_s2i11g8uors/SR2J4K6H7UI/AAAAAAAAACM/q5BBKDsQiBs/s72-c/top-ten-gold.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7797317754501383331.post-4047248016233240807</id><published>2008-08-18T05:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-18T05:19:06.147-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Interview of the Presidential Candidates</title><content type='html'>Kudos to Rick Warren and Saddleback Church for having the insight and courage to host the Presidential discussion of issues this last Saturday night.  How often have we heard that the church should stay out of the political arena, yet it was the church that hosted what many are saying was the most profitable, non-partisan discussion of the issues that has ever been held.   The format kept candidates from trying to one up the other, or seizing the opportunity to make much to do about nothing.  As I heard one news analyst say afterward, candidates didn't seem to be as cautious as they normally are in political debates because they trusted the interviewer.  There were no "gotcha" questions.  In case you missed it, each candidate was asked identical questions, completely unaware of what the other's responses were.  And, thankfully, except for one or two hedges on each of the candidates part, the answers were pretty forthright.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I liked best about the presentation was that it left the audience with some pretty clear choices.  I felt as though I understood both men's perspective and now I am able to make a choice about which one I believe is best capable to lead us for the next four years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you missed it, I urge you to watch for a re-run in the next few days.  It aired originally on Fox and MSNBC.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7797317754501383331-4047248016233240807?l=ralphcarter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/4047248016233240807'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/4047248016233240807'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ralphcarter.blogspot.com/2008/08/interview-of-presidential-candidates.html' title='Interview of the Presidential Candidates'/><author><name>ralph</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08885744257823388523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5919/589/1600/DSCN4767.0.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7797317754501383331.post-7277517191147942968</id><published>2008-07-29T11:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-29T12:45:15.032-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Solomon was dead on the money when he said "An anxious heart weighs a man down, but a kind word cheers him up." (Proverbs 12:25)  If all of us could learn to speak a kind word, what a difference it would make in people's lives. &lt;br /&gt;Sunday after worship, one of our youngest members came up to me with a note she had written.  It said the sweetest, kindest things.  It was short, to the point, and as refreshing as rain.   I figured, in part, she was being overly kind.  It's how her parents have taught her to be.  But it sure felt good, nonetheless.  Thanks for the sweet note.  I'm hanging on to it, so I can read it again the next time somebody tells me how sorry I am.  I'm going to tell myself, "unuh, my friend, Ashleigh, said I was smart, cool and funny.  And I believe her, not you.  In fact, if she wasn't going to be an engineer, she'd be a pastor like me.&lt;br /&gt;Why don't we all try it for a few days.  Tell your bag boy how much you appreciate him.  Be especially kind to your waitress.  Tell the guy at the drive through - "Man, you have a tough job.  I bet it's hard to hear through that headset, but you do a fine job."  Tell your doctor or dentist, "It's obvious, you really do care about your patients."  Tell the guy who fixes your roof, car, plumbing, etc., "man, am I glad God gifted people like you, to help take care of people like me who aren't too handy with tools.  I'd don't know what I'd do without you."  Write a school teacher this summer when there's nothing to be gained from it and tell her/him how much you appreciate all they did for you or your child during the previous year.  You will be amazed how much difference your words of encouragement can make.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7797317754501383331-7277517191147942968?l=ralphcarter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/7277517191147942968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/7277517191147942968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ralphcarter.blogspot.com/2008/07/solomon-was-dead-on-money-when-he-said.html' title=''/><author><name>ralph</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08885744257823388523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5919/589/1600/DSCN4767.0.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7797317754501383331.post-7600609425520453216</id><published>2008-06-22T14:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-23T06:34:22.937-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I like Bo!</title><content type='html'>Bo Davis, do you know him? He is the son of Robby and Kelley Davis. He is 100% boy. I'd take him on as a grandson in a skinny minute. He is about 40 pounds of walking, stalking wildcat. He never stops grinning, moving or thinking. I watched him for about 2-3 minutes today as he stared out a window while his mother talked to him. I couldn't hear what was being said but I could look at Bo and see the wheels turning in his head. As soon as the talk ended he jumped down and started playing with his dad. With his finger as a pistol, his dad shot him at fairly close range. Bo, willing to go along, spun about and hit the floor, right in the middle of the restaurant. He lay there, pretending to be as dead as a hammer, like any fallen cowboy would. I was green with envy of both of them. Imagine not caring who came by as you lay dead on the floor at Schlotzsky's and imagine having a boy who you could shoot on the spur of the moment like that and know that he would gladly go along, without any rehearsal. How cool to be Bo and how blessed to be Bo's dad. Every one of you guys with little boys ought to thank the Lord for this time in your life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7797317754501383331-7600609425520453216?l=ralphcarter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/7600609425520453216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/7600609425520453216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ralphcarter.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-like-bo.html' title='I like Bo!'/><author><name>ralph</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08885744257823388523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5919/589/1600/DSCN4767.0.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7797317754501383331.post-771105035130115947</id><published>2008-05-27T11:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-27T13:54:05.991-07:00</updated><title type='text'>If I could be twelve again</title><content type='html'>If I could be twelve again, the next two weeks would be the time to which I'd return.  The last week of school and the first week of summer vacation.  What a blast!  I am so envious of kids getting out for the summer.  Weren't those great times?  Swimming, fishing, baseball, camping out, tree houses - if they could have just found a way to pack a few more hours into every day. &lt;br /&gt;    Granted, we didn't have video games, but in my day, no one stayed indoors anyway.  Nobody I knew had air conditioning.  Besides, your mother didn't want you inside messing stuff up.  My mom would barely let you come inside to go to the bathroom. &lt;br /&gt;    Hey, but I had no complaints!  I loved it.  I was the first kid out on the streets every morning.  I felt it was my obligation to wake up the neighborhood.  My first stop was always at Craig Reynolds house.  After beating on Mrs. Reynolds door for about 5 minutes, she would reluctantly open the door and just stare at me.  My line was always the same,  "Good morning, Mrs. Reynolds, can Craig come out and play?"  Her response varied little as well, "Frankie, go home!  It's 7:00 in the morning.  Craig isn't up yet." &lt;br /&gt;    As soon as I could persuade my neighbors to get up, it was on!  It didn't matter if it was a sandlot baseball game or collecting bottles to get the deposit money so we could buy a Coke or a Pepsi, life was filled with fun activities.  So to all of you kids about to get out of school for the summer- have the time of your life.  Have some adventures!  Sell some lemonade, make some money cutting grass or washing a car.  Build a tree house.  Pitch your tent in the backyard and tell some ghost stories.  See if you can figure out what to do with a few playing cards, a couple of clothes pins (if you know what they are) and your bike.  But whatever you do, don't tell your mom, "I'm bored."  Life will never be any better than it is now, so live it to the max.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7797317754501383331-771105035130115947?l=ralphcarter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/771105035130115947'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/771105035130115947'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ralphcarter.blogspot.com/2008/05/if-i-could-be-twelve-again.html' title='If I could be twelve again'/><author><name>ralph</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08885744257823388523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5919/589/1600/DSCN4767.0.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7797317754501383331.post-2424239343743291457</id><published>2008-04-28T05:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-28T06:11:22.391-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Reality check</title><content type='html'>Why is it that big men want to dribble the ball and little guys want to dunk?  Ever noticed that?  A guy can be 7 foot tall, standing 3 foot from the basket, and have someone pass him the ball.  What does he do?  Go straight to the hoop?  Not in this lifetime.  No, he wants to put it on the floor and get one step closer.  Hey, news flash - they give you a step, whether you dribble or not!  Put the ball in the hole.  If you are 6 feet tall you typically can reach 8 feet high.  If you are seven foot tall, obviously you could reach at least 9 feet high but with longer arms, I am guessing closer to 9.5 or higher.  So if you stand on your tip toes you have got to be able to grab the rim or pretty close to it.  Put the ball in the hole!  Stop giving your coach and the fans heartburn - go to the hoop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And craziness isn't confined to the Goliaths of the world; the vertically challenged have their problems as well. Why is it that the shorter the guard, the more he feels the need to dunk the basketball over an opponent who is a foot and a half taller?  In fact, here's a great idea - let's get airborne before we have a clue as to what we are going to do.  That way we can improvise at the last second.  Or, as the opposing coach likes to call it, "turn the ball over."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am convinced it is a sickness that plagues us all.  We can't deal with who we are.  Skinny people think they are fat so they drink diet sodas.  Fat people see themselves as being thinner than they are so they wear their clothes too tight.  The truly rich don't want anyone to know they have money so they live often times like they are broke, while many of us who don't have two nickels we could rub together, overuse credit in order to give the appearance that we are wealthy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why can't we accept who we are?  I was thinking about how even we pastors often overrate our abilities.  I said, "Regina, there are a lot of guys who preach every week who aren't very good at it.  Wouldn't you agree?"  "Yes," she said, "I suppose there are."  Then I asked, "How many really good ones do you believe there are?"  She said, "I'm not sure, but at least one less that you think."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7797317754501383331-2424239343743291457?l=ralphcarter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/2424239343743291457'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/2424239343743291457'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ralphcarter.blogspot.com/2008/04/reality-check.html' title='Reality check'/><author><name>ralph</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08885744257823388523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5919/589/1600/DSCN4767.0.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7797317754501383331.post-3151169194020087301</id><published>2008-04-25T03:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-25T08:03:48.753-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Predictions for 2008</title><content type='html'>Wrong again! I never thought when they said two months ago that gas would soar to $4.00 a gallon by the end of the year, that they were right. Boy, was I wrong! A month ago I had never paid more than $2.99 and now I have had to pay as high as $3.36.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bought milk lately? You'd rather buy gas. Per gallon, gas is cheaper, honest. If you guys out there haven't gone grocery shopping lately, don't. It will scare you to death.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So until things improve, where do you think we Americans may cut back? Here's my list of predictions for the next 12 months:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Movies - The movies that have been coming out in the last couple of years haven't been stellar to begin with, and at $9 a pop for a ticket, I am betting a lot of people are going to wait in line at the video store.&lt;br /&gt;2. Starbucks - Look out Spinx, you are getting ready to sell some Joe. With prices rising at the pump most people, including the "twentysomethings" are going to have to cut back somewhere.&lt;br /&gt;3. Cable and satellite services - In order to buy essentials some people are going to decide they may not have to have 200 channels they never watch anyway. Look for a run on "basic" services.&lt;br /&gt;4. Ma Bell - She is going to take a whoopin'. Tons of people in their 20's and 30's have already gone completely wireless. Look for their moms and dads to do the same in the next year or two.&lt;br /&gt;5. Truck and SUV sales - At 14 mpg city and 18 mpg hwy, don't look for many of these puppies to sell. I am not sure that even the inevitable rebates we are about to see will be enough to lure consumers into buying them.&lt;br /&gt;6. Restaurants - Americans eat out about as much as they eat in. With fuel costs up people have to cut back somewhere. Look for that trend to reverse itself. And when eating out, people are going to think twice about a $10 hamburger and a $2 soda. Look for more water with lemon. $25-40 a pop for dinner is going to be viewed as half a tank of gas.&lt;br /&gt;7. Cruisin' around - Regina and I have always enjoyed just going out for a ride. "Loafin" is what my grandmother used to call it. Look for people to be more "Purpose Driven," pun intended.&lt;br /&gt;8. Water sports - You might find a pretty good buy in a ski boat right now. With most outboard motors getting about 6 miles per gallon or less, a lot of people are going to pull out the slip and slides instead of the skis this year.&lt;br /&gt;9. Newspapers and magazines - Subscriptions to newspapers are already down to an all time low across the nation. With less expendable income, some people are going to re-think whether or not they need to pay for a paper or magazine that often goes unread, when news can be heard 24/7 now anyway.&lt;br /&gt;10. Liquor, cigarettes - Since all of these pose health risks, are non-essentials and are pretty pricey - you can bet Americans are going to cut these out of their budget. They are gone, baby! Who am I kidding? We'd walk first. Only a sane person would consider cutting these out of their life when other things are needed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7797317754501383331-3151169194020087301?l=ralphcarter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/3151169194020087301'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/3151169194020087301'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ralphcarter.blogspot.com/2008/04/wrong-again-i-never-thought-when-they.html' title='Predictions for 2008'/><author><name>ralph</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08885744257823388523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5919/589/1600/DSCN4767.0.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7797317754501383331.post-1755526826928828840</id><published>2008-02-19T11:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-19T11:21:03.931-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Gas prices</title><content type='html'>Gas prices baffle me.  They really do!  For instance...&lt;br /&gt;how can a service station sell gasoline for one price and less than a hundred yards away someone else sell it for 20 cents more per gallon?  Why would anyone pull into the more expensive station?  But, obviously, they do.&lt;br /&gt;    Or how is it that bottled water sells more per gallon than a gallon of gas?  In fact, it's not even close.  My grandfather would flip over in his grave to know that people have to pay for water.&lt;br /&gt;    Or how is it that we have the scientific know how to send a satellite to Mars, let it remain operational in space for years and then bring it home, all on a tank of gas, while my Tahoe won't make it from here to Charleston and back.&lt;br /&gt;    These are just a few of the things that inquiring minds want to know.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7797317754501383331-1755526826928828840?l=ralphcarter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/1755526826928828840'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/1755526826928828840'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ralphcarter.blogspot.com/2008/02/gas-prices.html' title='Gas prices'/><author><name>ralph</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08885744257823388523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5919/589/1600/DSCN4767.0.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7797317754501383331.post-3029122895356169856</id><published>2008-01-30T14:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-30T14:43:07.624-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The difference we can make</title><content type='html'>Ever wonder if you make a difference in the lives of others?  Unfortunately, I think a lot of us wrongly conclude that if we do, it's not much.  But let me beg to differ with you.  I think we &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;can&lt;/span&gt; make a lot of difference in other people's lives.   The reason I know we can, is because of the profound influence others have on me. &lt;br /&gt;    I walked into the Chocolate Shoppe today to buy some cookies for a class I am teaching tonight.  When I did I was greeted by Pat Pitcher.   She and her husband, Ken, own and operate this incredible business and are members here at Brushy Creek.&lt;br /&gt;    She was up to her ears in customers, but you would have thought the President had just walked in.  She and her husband Ken, both, always have the kindest, most appreciative things to say.   She made me feel like a million bucks!  And before I left she said, "Wait a minute, before you leave" and came around the counter and gave me a big hug.  I got to say that part of me was a little embarrassed by all the attention I received, but man did she lift my spirit.  Being loved and appreciated sure feels good.  It does to me, and it does to everybody else as well. &lt;br /&gt;    The things you say to people, the way you treat them, greet them, smile at them, help them, serve them - it makes a huge difference in people's lives. &lt;br /&gt;    What Pat did for me today, I want to do for someone else!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7797317754501383331-3029122895356169856?l=ralphcarter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/3029122895356169856'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/3029122895356169856'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ralphcarter.blogspot.com/2008/01/difference-we-can-make.html' title='The difference we can make'/><author><name>ralph</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08885744257823388523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5919/589/1600/DSCN4767.0.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7797317754501383331.post-1716302178788504839</id><published>2008-01-21T06:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-21T06:56:58.902-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What were they thinking?</title><content type='html'>I guess you've heard the latest thing out of Washington, that leaders on both sides of the aisle say is needed to prevent us from falling further into a recession - a rebate.   If you pay taxes, the thinking is that you should receive an $800 refund, with working families receiving as much as $1,600.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't get me wrong, when the government wants to return some of my money, I like it.  But here's what bothers me:&lt;br /&gt;1.  We hear all the time about our debt spiraling out of control.  Is this going to help that?  I don't think so.&lt;br /&gt;2.  If we can't afford all the other things they say we can't afford, how can we afford this?&lt;br /&gt;3.  Since the feds don't earn money, they take it from taxpayers, isn't the money they are returning, already ours?&lt;br /&gt;4. Since they didn't apparently need it to begin with, it would appear to me they overcharged all of us on the front end.  I don't recall getting my apology letter.  If I  took your money, kept it until I was ready to return it, it would seem to me that I would at least owe you an apology for overcharging you on the front end.&lt;br /&gt;5.  Here's the really big one - If giving us this money back now will really cure a recession, why didn't they give it back earlier, and we would have avoided one?&lt;br /&gt;6.  And finally, here's the really troubling one - If this will increase our debt as a nation, not lower it, won't they sooner or later need the money back?  I am pretty sure the answer is yes.  The problem I have is timing.  Will they want it back after I take the $1,600 they are promising me and make a down payment on a car in order to spur on the economy (they have openly said they hoped we would spend it not save it) and have a car payment I can barely afford?  Hey, but why should I worry?  Knowing how benevolent and patient the IRS is, they will probably let us pay it back whenever we want to - just like they did us, right?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7797317754501383331-1716302178788504839?l=ralphcarter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/1716302178788504839'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/1716302178788504839'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ralphcarter.blogspot.com/2008/01/what-were-they-thinking.html' title='What were they thinking?'/><author><name>ralph</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08885744257823388523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5919/589/1600/DSCN4767.0.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7797317754501383331.post-213437175337516894</id><published>2008-01-16T13:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-18T08:45:42.737-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The hazards of getting old</title><content type='html'>Rodney Dangerfield was right, "I can't get any respect around here." This last week my darling &lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_s2i11g8uors/R5DVoGshUxI/AAAAAAAAABU/1AKXW_BuQ54/s1600-h/my+blog.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;daughter and all our helpful secretaries gathered in my office. They wanted to give me a gift. I grew suspicious when the card said, "From all the staff except the stinkin' male ministers." I opened it to find a black tee shirt with a tiny counter where a pocket might otherwise have been, that simply said, "002". Then, emblazoned in the middle of the shirt were these words in bold print. "MORE PEOPLE HAVE READ THIS TEE SHIRT THAN HAVE READ MY BLOG!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If that weren't enough abuse, Sunday I am sitting on the front row getting ready for our new contemporary service to start and a gentleman walks up, smiles and with great delight says, "Hey, buddy, they can take the tie and coat off of you, but they can't make you look contemporary." And I was absolutely sure the white belt and matching zip up boots would do it, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a serious note, thanks for all the kind remarks you made regarding the preview of the contemporary service. Everybody that spoke to me about it, had a positive word to say. One elderly woman who I thought might not like it because of the increased volume said, "That was great, I could really hear the music." Even though the weather was kind of bad the attendance jumped 200 for the preview Sunday. Let's keep inviting our friends and pray that we see great growth in both services when they kick off on February 3.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, by the way, thanks to my mom and whoever else is reading this blog.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7797317754501383331-213437175337516894?l=ralphcarter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/213437175337516894'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/213437175337516894'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ralphcarter.blogspot.com/2008/01/hazards-of-getting-old.html' title='The hazards of getting old'/><author><name>ralph</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08885744257823388523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5919/589/1600/DSCN4767.0.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7797317754501383331.post-2011666409186165362</id><published>2007-12-11T08:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-11T09:11:40.621-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Passionate People</title><content type='html'>Some people respond to life in a milk toast, brown shoe fashion, regardless of the occasion.  It doesn't matter if they have just come out of a performance at Radio City Hall or the seventh game of the World Series.  You ask them, "So how was it?"  With the shrug of their shoulders they say "It was ok." &lt;br /&gt;Others, thank God, live life with flair and passion.  They have a dream and pursue it.  They make a statement about what they view as being important. &lt;br /&gt;Make some time one night soon and get directions from Mapquest to 108 Shearbrook Dr., Mauldin, SC, 29662.   Drive over and take a look at a home decorated for Christmas by a guy who is passionate.  He has been intrigued by Christmas lights since he was eight years old.  He always believed the house that Santa could spot from the sky the easiest, was the first place he stopped.  If that's the case, you would like living on Shearbrook Drive.  You'll find no less than 68 inflatables.  I'm told by a neighbor of his that his goal is to have a 100.  He'll give you some popcorn and even let you tour his backyard.  It is beautiful in an overstated, Christmassy kind of way.  I promise you will love it and so will your children or grandchildren.  Ask to see his electric meter (I'm only kidding about that) because it has to be spinning faster than a top.  My guess is, he doesn't care.  We are all going to spend our money on something.  He likes spending his on Christmas.  I watched him greet people who stopped by.  He is having a blast!  I don't know what it is costing him, but I bet it is worth every penny to him.  Have a Merry Christmas, and find something about which you can be passionate too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7797317754501383331-2011666409186165362?l=ralphcarter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/2011666409186165362'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/2011666409186165362'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ralphcarter.blogspot.com/2007/12/passion-for-christmas.html' title='Passionate People'/><author><name>ralph</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08885744257823388523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5919/589/1600/DSCN4767.0.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7797317754501383331.post-3516789441330786645</id><published>2007-12-05T06:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-05T06:20:44.786-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cutting your own tree!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_s2i11g8uors/R1azNuJnlII/AAAAAAAAAAs/VPM1ut2KODc/s1600-h/scout+kissing+bulldog.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_s2i11g8uors/R1azNuJnlII/AAAAAAAAAAs/VPM1ut2KODc/s320/scout+kissing+bulldog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5140493072998044802" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went with Matthew, Carla and Scout this past Saturday to get their Christmas tree.  We had a great time.  Matthew and Carla started a family tradition the first year they were married.  They go every year to a farm off Old White Horse Road and cut their own tree.  While they picked the perfect tree, me and Scout played.  We rolled around in the grass, peek a boo around the trees, and I gave her a ride in a wagon they provide to haul your tree out of the woods with.  She made fast friends with the two bulldogs who live on the farm as well.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_s2i11g8uors/R1azD-JnlHI/AAAAAAAAAAk/ayiBOuzQtzY/s1600-h/scout+hiding.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_s2i11g8uors/R1azD-JnlHI/AAAAAAAAAAk/ayiBOuzQtzY/s320/scout+hiding.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5140492905494320242" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got to tell you, you can spend a lot more money, and have a lot less fun.  If there is anything in life better than being a grandpa, I don't know about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_s2i11g8uors/R1azbOJnlJI/AAAAAAAAAA0/WhKbIFNmoiA/s1600-h/scout+smiling.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_s2i11g8uors/R1azbOJnlJI/AAAAAAAAAA0/WhKbIFNmoiA/s320/scout+smiling.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5140493304926278802" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7797317754501383331-3516789441330786645?l=ralphcarter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/3516789441330786645'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/3516789441330786645'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ralphcarter.blogspot.com/2007/12/cutting-your-own-tree.html' title='Cutting your own tree!'/><author><name>ralph</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08885744257823388523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5919/589/1600/DSCN4767.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_s2i11g8uors/R1azNuJnlII/AAAAAAAAAAs/VPM1ut2KODc/s72-c/scout+kissing+bulldog.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7797317754501383331.post-6198945630700940417</id><published>2007-11-14T06:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-14T10:36:11.014-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Him speak with forked tongue"</title><content type='html'>When I was a kid I loved cowboy movies, especially if they had Indians in them.  I always thought Indians were the coolest people.  They rode horses better than the white man, they were craftier, and they always told the truth, not to mention the fact that their broken English was completely acceptable.  When I recall those days, I can hear a brave turn to a chief even now and warn him regarding a proposed treaty, "white man speak with forked tongue."  Every time he proved right, too.  The government official in question always went back on his word.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, that was the movies.  It wasn't reflective of real life at all. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey, have you been listening to any of the Presidential debates?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7797317754501383331-6198945630700940417?l=ralphcarter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/6198945630700940417'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/6198945630700940417'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ralphcarter.blogspot.com/2007/11/him-speak-with-forked-tongue.html' title='&quot;Him speak with forked tongue&quot;'/><author><name>ralph</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08885744257823388523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5919/589/1600/DSCN4767.0.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7797317754501383331.post-8414671496499517901</id><published>2007-10-30T07:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-30T08:22:24.598-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Cool Age</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_s2i11g8uors/RydL2LTSPvI/AAAAAAAAAAc/KVyWuGe8Qwg/s1600-h/green+scout.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_s2i11g8uors/RydL2LTSPvI/AAAAAAAAAAc/KVyWuGe8Qwg/s320/green+scout.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127150094903295730" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   Scout is at a cool age.  Everything about her changes almost from day to day.  One month she jabbers, then out of nowhere - POW - she talks.  It's like having a Parrot.  I say it, and she repeats it.  And what a vocabulary she is developing:  bye, cheese, pleeze, eye, nose, and my two favorites, Papa and "I love you".  She has been saying "Papa" for a month or longer, but this last week I became convinced she really does know it is me.  You talk about a great feeling.  To know your granddaughter knows you - it doesn't get any better than this!  She might as well have memorized the PIN number to my bank account.  I am Play-Doh, and I kinda think she knows it!&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_s2i11g8uors/RydL2LTSPuI/AAAAAAAAAAU/Gz5wqeKzu_w/s1600-h/scout+tiger+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_s2i11g8uors/RydL2LTSPuI/AAAAAAAAAAU/Gz5wqeKzu_w/s320/scout+tiger+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127150094903295714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_s2i11g8uors/RydL2LTSPtI/AAAAAAAAAAM/XN3nG_oRxhg/s1600-h/scout+tiger+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_s2i11g8uors/RydL2LTSPtI/AAAAAAAAAAM/XN3nG_oRxhg/s320/scout+tiger+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127150094903295698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7797317754501383331-8414671496499517901?l=ralphcarter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/8414671496499517901'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/8414671496499517901'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ralphcarter.blogspot.com/2007/10/cool-age.html' title='A Cool Age'/><author><name>ralph</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08885744257823388523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5919/589/1600/DSCN4767.0.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_s2i11g8uors/RydL2LTSPvI/AAAAAAAAAAc/KVyWuGe8Qwg/s72-c/green+scout.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7797317754501383331.post-7215006481804731604</id><published>2007-10-23T07:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-23T07:35:33.000-07:00</updated><title type='text'>who would have ever thought...</title><content type='html'>I remember a line from the old Ray Stevens song, "When You Get A Haircut".  It went, "I'm a logger.  Just up from &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Coos Bay&lt;/span&gt;, Oregon.  Quite possibly the toughest man in the world."  It was a song about a man who needed a haircut and went into a pretty weird barber shop, where suddenly he felt a little insecure about his manhood, so he came out with those words.  I can identify with ole Ray.  I don't feel insecure about my manhood, but I do feel insecure.  Why?  As of today... I'm a blogger!  Just up from Atari and Texas Instruments.  Quite possibly the most computer illiterate human to ever blog!  But hey, I'm game if you are.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7797317754501383331-7215006481804731604?l=ralphcarter.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/7215006481804731604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7797317754501383331/posts/default/7215006481804731604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ralphcarter.blogspot.com/2007/10/who-would-have-ever-thought.html' title='who would have ever thought...'/><author><name>ralph</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08885744257823388523</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5919/589/1600/DSCN4767.0.jpg'/></author></entry></feed>
