A DIRTY OLD MAN GOES TO THE DOGS John Cowart’s 2009 Diary John W. Cowart Bluefish Books Cowart Communications Jacksonville, Florida www.bluefishbooks.info A DIRTY OLD MAN GOES TO THE DOGS: JOHN COWART’S 2009 DIARY. Copyright © 2010 by John W. Cowart. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America by Lulu Press. Apart from reasonable fair use practices, no part of this book’s text may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Bluefish Books, 2805 Ernest St., Jacksonville, Florida, 32205. Library of Congress Cataloging-in- Publication Data has been applied for. Lulu Press # 8182926. Bluefish Books Cowart Communications Jacksonville, Florida www.bluefishbooks.info To Ginny Log Cabin Lady JANUARY 2009 Friday, January 02, 2009 On Receiving A Gift At the midnight service in church Christmas Eve, something disturbed my equilibrium. As Ginny and I attended the service, I anticipated singing Silent Night, holding up a pretty candle, and feeling nostalgic about Christmases past. But just before the service started… First I should say that six or eight weeks ago, I told someone about something that concerned me. On Christmas Eve I discovered that that someone told someone else who… Well, you know how that goes. Well there I was in church listening to the organ prelude, praying a bit, feeling sentimental, observing the cleavage of a woman in an extremely low-cut Christmas dress a couple of pews away, minding my own business, Then, just before the midnight service started, a wealthy gentleman came over to the big stone pillar I hide behind when in church and announced that he intended to help me with the matter that concerned me. In pure Christian charity, he offered to bail me out. He was only being kind. I took it wrong. I reacted as though he had said, “John Cowart, you failure. You looser. You no-good sorry excuse for a husband. You should have provided for your wife better than you do, you stupid, useless drone. Now I’m going to have to step in and straighten out the mess you’ve made of your life and marriage, you pathetic, pitiful bum”. That’s not what he said; that’s what I felt. Here he offered me a gift which involves a considerable amount of money, and I felt offended. His offered gift struck me as an affront. What business is it of his how I provide for my wife? In fact, why is my private business being talked about by people who are in no way involved? I don’t even belong to that church; I’m just visiting. I balked big time. Got my ass on my shoulder and sulked. Wanted to rev up my lawnmower and shred poinsettias. Wanted to stuff my candle someplace where it could never be lit. Wanted to pluck the wings off angels. Wanted to tell the low-cut woman to put on a sweater. Wanted to stomp out without taking communion. Wanted to huff and puff and… Well, that service was a wash. Why is it so hard for me to receive? Somebody said it is more blessed to give than to receive. A lot He knew! It’s easy for me to give. Makes me feel important. Empowered. A contributor. One of the blessed prosperous. But to receive—that’s hard. It’s humiliating. It means I have to acknowledge my weakness, my neediness, my lower station. It makes me beholden. When I first became a Christian, I remember what a struggle I had with the idea of receiving salvation as a gift from God. I felt I should earn it so that God would be beholden to me. John’s Gospel says, “He came unto His own, and His own received Him not. But as many as received Him, to them gave He power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on His name”. I think it would be easier to be saved if God only asked that I swing over a river full of crocodiles holding the rope in my teeth while carrying an anvil. It would take a real man to get saved that way. But to acknowledge that I have no merit, that I am a spiritual paraplegic, that I need Someone to save me because I don’t stand a chance otherwise. That I live every day on life support. That the building is burning and I can’t get out, that I need a Savior, that I have to receive Him—that’s hard. So, on Christmas Eve and in the days following, I’ve behaved churlishly. Instead of feeling gratitude for the help offered, I’ve felt resentful, offended, hurt. Instead of seeing the offered help as a gift of love from the Father through the hand of man, I’ve wished I’d never confided in anyone about my concern in the first place. I’ve fumed and worried and twisted this situation in my mind again and again. So much for the openness and transparency I wrote about on New Year’s Eve. Oh well, this is an on-going situation. May the Lord teach me how to cope with it… and maybe, eventually, be thankful. What a crock! Changes in attitude, heart-changes, are also a gift from above, and have to be received. How you react to a gift, reveals what you are inside… and right now, I don’t like what I’m seeing within myself very much. Ugly Ingratitude overshadows all my thoughts since Christmas Eve. I don’t know how to cope with this. What’s worse, I ‘m not sure I want to know. Lord, be merciful to John Cowart. Saturday, January 03, 2009 Return To Normalcy At last a weekend with no holiday activities. Thanks be to God! However, in the past week Donald and Helen gave us an office chair and a microwave. And yesterday Terri and Rita (friends of Jennifer’s) brought over an over-stuffed chair… But we already had chairs. Eeeek! I’ll have to move furniture all weekend. It looks fine where it is. No need to move it over there. Didn’t Solomon or someone say, “He that increaseth goods, increasteth sorrows”? No? Well, he should have. Sunday, January 04, 2009 Staying Connected Saturday’s mail brought in a royalty check from the my book sales in the Philippines; there I earned one dollar and 22 cents ($1.20) last year. Not enough to pay for a cell phone. Saturday also, Ginny and I went to browse in Jacksonville’s main library. After checking out our books, we paused in Hemming Park for a smoke. Here’s a photo of Ginny in the park: Hemming Park pre- dates the Civil War. Right across the street from City Hall, the park is venue for concert, speeches, art displays, whatever. Disguised as decorative rocks in some flower beds are electrical outlets for use in park activities. Snowbirds flock to the park—snowbirds are homeless people who migrate south every winter to escape the cold in the north— Snowbirds flock to the park because it’s in easy walking distance from the City Rescue Mission, the Salvation Army Shelter, and the Clara White Mission. It’s not unusual to find snowbirds asleep on park benches or playing checkers beneath the Civil War Memorial. As Ginny and I talked about our library finds this week, we noticed a snowbird settle on a wall across from us. Ragged clothes, shoes in tatters, worldly goods in a pillowcase, unshaven, typical. He fiddled with something in his pillowcase and drew out an electrical cord. He moved aside some bushes and uncovered one of the rock- disguised outlets and plugged in—He was re-charging his cell phone! This year, Jacksonville attracts a better class of bum. Monday, January 05, 2009 Rearranging Furniture I spent much of the weekend rearranging furniture with Ginny. If you really hate a man, give his wife two new chairs and a large ottoman on a weekend when bowl games are being played…. No, Honey, the fireplace would not look better over there! Since nothing much is happening in my life recently, I find joy in reading about what’s going on in the life of my e-friend Good Listener at Making A Life . I’ve followed his blog for over a year now, and it seems to me that God’s hand is on Listener; I enjoy reading his quiet adventures. You can drop by his site at http://makingalifewithk.blogspot.com/ ; please leave him a comment. Thursday, January 15, 2009 Treading Water I don’t know the name of the singer or the song. But the other day Ginny tuned the car radio to some folk song where this guy in jail bemoaned his unfair treatment. All he had done was shoot a deputy, he wailed, and that mean judge sentenced him to 99 years in jail. His cellmate comforted him saying it could have been worse; “He could have sentenced you to life”. For some reason, not sure why, that song resonates with me. While waiting for a manuscript’s proof pages to come back from the printer, I hesitate to start a new project till that one is finished, so I’m treading water between times. When the proofs return, I’ll correct them, then I’ll be ready to move on. Meanwhile I spend my days moving Ginny’s dirt- eating plants inside out of the cold (yes, winter has finally come to Jacksonville) and reading murder mysteries.