The Word
By Bobby Winters
I get on the computer and do Duolingo every morning: Spanish, Hindi, and Russian. I also like to learn programming languages: I spent a few years learning Python and now I am learning C++. The two activities are connected by similar tastes and similar aptitudes. I also, as those of you who are here reading this know, spend a certain amount of time writing, looking for the right word. (Digging out that word aptitude above makes me kind of proud.)
Words are important.
Words are important for communication, but words are also important for thinking.
In mathematics, we have demonstrated this better than elsewhere. We define our terms precisely; we distill our ideas to their sharpest form. While we cannot capture all truth (and we’ve even proven that!) what we say is true. That is the quintessence of mathematics. We can be sure of our propositions because of the care we take with language.
These ideas are not new with me. I can point to the first verse of the Gospel of John in the New Testament: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God.” Here they are translating the Greek “logos” as “word”; logos can also be translated as “holy wisdom” but that just goes to show how important words are.
In communicating, there is an art in exactly how much precision one needs to use. That verse from John is a good example. One can fill libraries with what that means, but the reader will have neither the patience nor the lifespan. Sometimes the best choice is to leave something for the reader to work out for him/herself.
In this, I’ve come to appreciate how the electrical engineers communicate. Like mathematicians, they have special symbols that they use. I am speaking, in particular, of logic gates. These are symbols that are denoted by the words and, or, not, nand, xor etc. These symbols, which are used in electronic diagrams, stand in for hideously complicated configurations of transistors, diodes, resistors, switches, and so on. They mask out the complication so that the reader may more quickly grasp the point. Once the diagram is understood at this level, the reader can then proceed to learn at a greater level of detail.
Communicating with clarity requires the proper level of detail. I’ve a friend and former coworker who likes to joke by stating things in a very precise way. For example, he might ask, “Are you enjoying your caffeine laden particles suspended in a solution of hydrogen dioxide at a temperature of 80 degrees centigrade?” instead of asking, “Do you like your coffee?” He does this for humor, but it makes an excellent point. Detail does not mean effective communication.
Communicating is teaching. Teaching about a subject is like this. You first draw a big circle and say the thing is in here. There might be exceptions, but the circle captures the essence. When the student gets it, you then draw a smaller circle inside the big one and so forth. Each time you capture the essence of the concept but you get closer than the time before. Then you must stop at the right time or the forest disappears behind a tree.
When we are teaching our children about the sexes, we talk in cloudy but accurate ways: That is Jane’s mommy; that is Jane’s daddy. That is a momma dog; that is a daddy dog. While--to be sure--sex is a lot more complicated than that, this way of speaking captures something that is essential to the workings of human life. If one pushes too deeply, one can lose the whole world behind a chromosome.
There is something holy about language. Sure we need to be, uh, judicious in our use of profanity, and “Thou shalt not take the Lord’s name in vain.” But dare I say, more importantly even than that, we need to take care in speaking both truly and kindly. Sometimes it is best not to speak at all.
Here is an exercise. Take a period of time, say a day or week, and during that time only say things that are both true and kind. If you are in politics, you might want to start in five-minute intervals. And all of us will have longer periods of silence while we think about what is true and kind.
Bobby Winters, a native of Harden City, Oklahoma, blogs at redneckmath.blogspot.com and okieinexile.blogspot.com. He invites you to “like” the National Association of Lawn Mowers on Facebook. )
Saturday, July 25, 2020
Saturday, July 18, 2020
July, Josey Wales, Frito Pies, and Parables
July, Josey Wales, Frito Pies, and Parables
By Bobby Neal Winters
It's sad that governments are chiefed by the double tongues. There is iron in your words of death for all Comanche to see and so there is iron in your words of life. No signed paper can hold the iron. It must come from men. The words of Ten Bears carries the same iron of life and death. It is good that warriors such as we meet in the struggle of life... or death. It shall be life.
--Ten Bears in “The Outlaw Josey Wales”
Here we are in late July.
For the last couple of years, we’ve had wet summers with rain on a sometimes shockingly regular basis. It had looked early on that might happen this year as well, but in June someone turned the faucet off and here we are.
I mowed my lawn last week out of boredom rather than any sense it needed it. When I was done I felt secure that I wouldn’t need to mow it again until late August or may September, after the start of school.
This time of year is traditionally very quiet in our sleepy college town, but the quiet is different this year. It has been this quiet since mid-March. Sure there have been some times during the past four month when it was more deeply quiet than others. There were times when you could hear the crickets at noon, as it were.
The quiet you hear now is different from the quiet of any other late July.
Late July most years is when many folks would take their last chance for a vacation. I know that last year my family went to Colorado. We rented an Airbnb up the mountains and revelled in the lack of electronic connection to anyone. We lived on hotdogs and s’mores. It was a good time.
Not this year. While I’ve not canvased my fellow faculty, the impression I get is that this year is very different.
Do you remember that movie The Outlaw Josey Wales? Near the end of the movie Josey and his ragtag group were holed up in a cabin believing the Comanches would be coming at them. They were fortifying the cabin and loading their weapons and planning contingencies. Then Josey went and talked with Ten Bears and everything was settled.
Well, it is like that at the university. We are in our cabins getting ready for the Fall Semester. The good news is that we have our equivalent of Josey Wales. The bad news is there no equivalent to Ten Bears in COVID 19.
We have to be prepared for anything.
It has become clear to me over the course of my 32-year career at Pittsburg State that we have to make a place for more online courses. It has also become clear that, while online courses have a place, in many cases there is just no substitute for being face-to-face.
Let me be like Jesus for a minute and explain it in a parable. A comprehensive university is like unto the Coney Island on the Washington Street Strip in Stillwater, Oklahoma.
Every Thursday, I would go with a group of companions to Coney Island. They served hot dogs, of course, but they also sold Frito pies. They had chili, onions, cheese, and mustard for the hot dogs, so all they needed for the Frito pies were Fritos. And they probably had Fritos as a healthy side-dish anyway. Ye who have ears to hear, let them hear that online courses are like unto Frito pies: they can be made from things we have on hand and some people will buy them. They are one of my favorite foods.
But we didn’t go to Coney Island for the food even though it was...filling. Coney Island had a pinball machine. We took turns at the pinball machine and enjoyed each other’s company. We could’ve gone to places with cheaper food; we could’ve gone to places with more nutritious food; we chose to go to Coney Island because we could play pinball with other young people of similar interests and start working on a life-long case of acid reflux.
But I digress.
We are preparing a metaphorical meal for our students this Fall. It has to be like a four-course banquet that is being held in the out-of-doors when there is a threat of rain. There must be nutritious food of every type. But we need to be able to disassemble it quickly so it can be eaten under the shelter of the trees should the storm come. Maybe hot dogs or Frito pies would be a good choice.
In any case, I’ve never been prouder to be connected with any group of people ever. They truly amaze me.
We are ready, Josey Wales.
Bobby Winters, a native of Harden City, Oklahoma, blogs at redneckmath.blogspot.com and okieinexile.blogspot.com. He invites you to “like” the National Association of Lawn Mowers on Facebook. )
By Bobby Neal Winters
It's sad that governments are chiefed by the double tongues. There is iron in your words of death for all Comanche to see and so there is iron in your words of life. No signed paper can hold the iron. It must come from men. The words of Ten Bears carries the same iron of life and death. It is good that warriors such as we meet in the struggle of life... or death. It shall be life.
--Ten Bears in “The Outlaw Josey Wales”
Here we are in late July.
For the last couple of years, we’ve had wet summers with rain on a sometimes shockingly regular basis. It had looked early on that might happen this year as well, but in June someone turned the faucet off and here we are.
I mowed my lawn last week out of boredom rather than any sense it needed it. When I was done I felt secure that I wouldn’t need to mow it again until late August or may September, after the start of school.
This time of year is traditionally very quiet in our sleepy college town, but the quiet is different this year. It has been this quiet since mid-March. Sure there have been some times during the past four month when it was more deeply quiet than others. There were times when you could hear the crickets at noon, as it were.
The quiet you hear now is different from the quiet of any other late July.
Late July most years is when many folks would take their last chance for a vacation. I know that last year my family went to Colorado. We rented an Airbnb up the mountains and revelled in the lack of electronic connection to anyone. We lived on hotdogs and s’mores. It was a good time.
Not this year. While I’ve not canvased my fellow faculty, the impression I get is that this year is very different.
Do you remember that movie The Outlaw Josey Wales? Near the end of the movie Josey and his ragtag group were holed up in a cabin believing the Comanches would be coming at them. They were fortifying the cabin and loading their weapons and planning contingencies. Then Josey went and talked with Ten Bears and everything was settled.
Well, it is like that at the university. We are in our cabins getting ready for the Fall Semester. The good news is that we have our equivalent of Josey Wales. The bad news is there no equivalent to Ten Bears in COVID 19.
We have to be prepared for anything.
It has become clear to me over the course of my 32-year career at Pittsburg State that we have to make a place for more online courses. It has also become clear that, while online courses have a place, in many cases there is just no substitute for being face-to-face.
Let me be like Jesus for a minute and explain it in a parable. A comprehensive university is like unto the Coney Island on the Washington Street Strip in Stillwater, Oklahoma.
Every Thursday, I would go with a group of companions to Coney Island. They served hot dogs, of course, but they also sold Frito pies. They had chili, onions, cheese, and mustard for the hot dogs, so all they needed for the Frito pies were Fritos. And they probably had Fritos as a healthy side-dish anyway. Ye who have ears to hear, let them hear that online courses are like unto Frito pies: they can be made from things we have on hand and some people will buy them. They are one of my favorite foods.
But we didn’t go to Coney Island for the food even though it was...filling. Coney Island had a pinball machine. We took turns at the pinball machine and enjoyed each other’s company. We could’ve gone to places with cheaper food; we could’ve gone to places with more nutritious food; we chose to go to Coney Island because we could play pinball with other young people of similar interests and start working on a life-long case of acid reflux.
But I digress.
We are preparing a metaphorical meal for our students this Fall. It has to be like a four-course banquet that is being held in the out-of-doors when there is a threat of rain. There must be nutritious food of every type. But we need to be able to disassemble it quickly so it can be eaten under the shelter of the trees should the storm come. Maybe hot dogs or Frito pies would be a good choice.
In any case, I’ve never been prouder to be connected with any group of people ever. They truly amaze me.
We are ready, Josey Wales.
Bobby Winters, a native of Harden City, Oklahoma, blogs at redneckmath.blogspot.com and okieinexile.blogspot.com. He invites you to “like” the National Association of Lawn Mowers on Facebook. )
Saturday, July 11, 2020
The God of this Place, revisited
The God of this Place, revisited
By Bobby Neal Winters
Twenty years ago I spent the month of June on a Rotary Group Study Exchange in Siberia. It changed my life.
People say that a lot, maybe it is true when they say it. I know it is true when I say it. There is a before and an after. It was one of those experiences that if I knew what it was going to be like before I went, I never would’ve gone, but now I wouldn’t take for it.
It was bought at a price.
When I got back, it took me a while to recover. There is a 12-hour time difference between here and there, and I was jetlagged beyond jetlagged when I got home. I would be sitting in my chair in the middle of the evening apparently fine and would suddenly just tip forward asleep in my chair. I call that being 58 now, but it was jet lag then.
But it was more than that. This was all before I started writing my column, but at some point it came upon me to start writing this up. I wrote my experiences in different articles. I showed them to the then editor of the Morning Sun Cindy Allen. She liked them and published them. Printers ink has been in my veins ever since.
One of the articles was called “The God of this Place.” It has been years since I looked at it. I will try to bring it up on my blog for those who are interested.
As we were driven through the countryside, we kept seeing places where there were strips of cloth tied in the limbs of trees. We asked what they were, and we were told they were prayers. They were usually in trees that were at the crest of a hill.
Trees are a bridge to God. Their roots are in the ground, but their limbs reach toward heaven. The crest of a hill is a place where the earth itself is reaching toward heaven, and it is also a boundary between one side of the hill and the other. Boundaries are magical places.
What better place to put a prayer?
Once we visited a Buddhist Temple. We walked around the grounds. There were shrines to various gods. People would come in to pray to one or the other and leave a few coins as an offering. We noticed there was a little dirty-faced girl who came after the coins were left and took them.
We were told by the priest that she was getting them to buy ice cream. At that point, those of us from the group--composed of Baptists and Methodists--began leaving coins at the altars of pagan gods.
This girl would’ve been about seven, I think. She is now in her late twenties. I hope she’s still alive. The world is a hard place for children that have to get their ice cream money from the mouths of the gods.
Excuse me, I had to pause a little. I was back there for a moment looking into the eyes of that little girl, wondering about the woman she has become.
While my trips to Paraguay have scratched the itch somewhat, I’ve never attained that level of adventure again. It changed me.
All human beings, all over the world are connected. We leave our pitiful offerings for the gods, for God, and it doesn’t seem like much, but if they can be brought together to put ice cream in the stomach of a little girl, that makes it better.
Maybe this is what the gods want? Maybe we turn from the gods to God by realizing that we all have the same God.
The God of that place is the God of this place.
Bobby Winters, a native of Harden City, Oklahoma, blogs at redneckmath.blogspot.com and okieinexile.blogspot.com. He invites you to “like” the National Association of Lawn Mowers on Facebook. )
By Bobby Neal Winters
Twenty years ago I spent the month of June on a Rotary Group Study Exchange in Siberia. It changed my life.
People say that a lot, maybe it is true when they say it. I know it is true when I say it. There is a before and an after. It was one of those experiences that if I knew what it was going to be like before I went, I never would’ve gone, but now I wouldn’t take for it.
It was bought at a price.
When I got back, it took me a while to recover. There is a 12-hour time difference between here and there, and I was jetlagged beyond jetlagged when I got home. I would be sitting in my chair in the middle of the evening apparently fine and would suddenly just tip forward asleep in my chair. I call that being 58 now, but it was jet lag then.
But it was more than that. This was all before I started writing my column, but at some point it came upon me to start writing this up. I wrote my experiences in different articles. I showed them to the then editor of the Morning Sun Cindy Allen. She liked them and published them. Printers ink has been in my veins ever since.
One of the articles was called “The God of this Place.” It has been years since I looked at it. I will try to bring it up on my blog for those who are interested.
As we were driven through the countryside, we kept seeing places where there were strips of cloth tied in the limbs of trees. We asked what they were, and we were told they were prayers. They were usually in trees that were at the crest of a hill.
Trees are a bridge to God. Their roots are in the ground, but their limbs reach toward heaven. The crest of a hill is a place where the earth itself is reaching toward heaven, and it is also a boundary between one side of the hill and the other. Boundaries are magical places.
What better place to put a prayer?
Once we visited a Buddhist Temple. We walked around the grounds. There were shrines to various gods. People would come in to pray to one or the other and leave a few coins as an offering. We noticed there was a little dirty-faced girl who came after the coins were left and took them.
We were told by the priest that she was getting them to buy ice cream. At that point, those of us from the group--composed of Baptists and Methodists--began leaving coins at the altars of pagan gods.
This girl would’ve been about seven, I think. She is now in her late twenties. I hope she’s still alive. The world is a hard place for children that have to get their ice cream money from the mouths of the gods.
Excuse me, I had to pause a little. I was back there for a moment looking into the eyes of that little girl, wondering about the woman she has become.
While my trips to Paraguay have scratched the itch somewhat, I’ve never attained that level of adventure again. It changed me.
All human beings, all over the world are connected. We leave our pitiful offerings for the gods, for God, and it doesn’t seem like much, but if they can be brought together to put ice cream in the stomach of a little girl, that makes it better.
Maybe this is what the gods want? Maybe we turn from the gods to God by realizing that we all have the same God.
The God of that place is the God of this place.
Bobby Winters, a native of Harden City, Oklahoma, blogs at redneckmath.blogspot.com and okieinexile.blogspot.com. He invites you to “like” the National Association of Lawn Mowers on Facebook. )
The God of this Place (from 2000)
The God of this Place
By Bobby Winters
The Buryats are a people who are native to Siberia. They are not ethnically Russian, and they are not Mongolian. However, I grew up in Oklahoma surrounded by Chickasaws, and they would pass for Chickasaws in my book.
We met religion among the Buryats a number of times on our trip. Our first day in Ulan-Ude we made a trip to the Buddhist Temple just out of town. Since this was my first visit to such a temple, everything was new, and I did not take in very much. One thing that I did notice, however, were strips of cloth tied on the branches of the trees just outside of the monastery grounds. We were told that these were prayers.
We were led through the temple by a guide. We went around the grounds clockwise. We were invited to turn the prayer wheels, but I did not. I was uncomfortable with the idea of praying to any deity other than my own.
While this guided tour did help lay a foundation for learning about the local beliefs, it is not the best way to learn about the religion of people. The best way is out in the natural habitat.
We got another dose during our stay in Ulan-Ude on an excursion to Lake Baikal. We started out in the morning and proceeded for a while down a beautiful mountain road. The driver of the car that I was in liked speed, and soon we were well out ahead of everyone.
When we stopped on a mountain summit and got out to let the rest catch up, I noticed that there were strips of cloth tied in the branched of trees by the side of the road. Prayers like we had seen in the temple.
Then the rest of the group caught up with us, and our driver called us over to form a circle. He got a silver goblet out of the van along with a bottle of vodka and filled the goblet. Then he wet his fingers with the vodka, flicked it out in a spray, and he took a small drink. It was more than a sip but less than a shot. He then poured a similar amount out on the ground and said something in Russian. The translator said, "For the god of this place.” After this he passed the cup to the next person in line.
This reminded me of the baptism ceremony, and as the cup was passed from person to person my mind whirled, as I began to see a connection between this religion and my own. In the days of Noah, God cleansed the world by water. And using Moses at the Red Sea, God had saved the children Israel by water.
All through the Bible there is all of this wonderful symbolism with water in the stories of Noah, Moses, Joshua, Jonah and others in the Hebrew Bible. In the New Testament this is played out in the stories of John the Baptist baptizing in the Jordan, Jesus walking on the water, and Paul shipwrecked at sea.
Add to this the fact that the Russian word for water is "voda" which differs only from "vodka" by a single letter. All this was too much for my melodramatic nature.
My turn came. I sprinkle the vodka and said, "Remember your baptism." I drank a small portion, and I poured a libation saying, "For the God of this place."
After the ceremony, we continued on our way. We crossed a river by a ferry and made our way to Lake Baikal where we took a very nice Banya, a Russian steam bath, showered in western style showers, and took a boat ride on the Lake.
We met the religion of the Buryats a last time on a trip while we were in Chita. We went from Chita down to Aginskoye which is in a predominantly Buryat sub-region of Chita Oblast. A few miles before we got to Aginskoye, our van broke down. We got out while the driver looked over the engine and walked back about a quarter of a mile to a roadside shrine like the one we had drunk our libation at on our Baikal trip. Then we turned and walked back.
The driver had found the problem. The radiator was leaking water. He took a five-gallon jug that he kept in the back of the van and walked a half a mile ahead to a creek, filled the jug, and walked a half a mile back. He filled the radiator, and we continued on to Aginskoye.
While we were in Aginskoye, we visited another Buddhist temple. As we entered the grounds by a gate, I noticed a pair of ethic Russian children with dirty blond hair climb over the back wall. We proceeded around the grounds of temple in a clockwise fashion.
I turned the prayer wheels this time. As I did this, I noticed that our guide was putting coins as offerings to the god of Wisdom among others. The children followed us. When we had almost completed our circle, I finally realized that these children were taking the coins that our guide was leaving and that our guide was unconcerned.
I walked over and nonchalantly laid a one-rouble coin on one of the altars. I hope the altar of the God of Wisdom. I nonchalantly walked away. The coin disappeared into the hand of a dirty-faced little girl. Another member of the group, who had looked at me strangely when I did this, had a light dawn in his face. He walked over and put two roubles in the same place.
After supper we began back to Chita. Our van ran out of water every fifteen minutes. Our long-suffering driver stopped and refilled it and stopped at every river that we crossed and refilled the jug.
And we returned safely to Chita.
Saturday, July 04, 2020
For What It’s Worth
For What It’s Worth
By Bobby Neal Winters
I think it's time we stop, children, what's that sound
Everybody look what's going down--Buffalo Springfield
I am writing this on the Fourth of July.
A few months ago I remember thinking--I and think I even said it out loud--that this would all be over by the Fourth of July. I’d grill up some small filets from Beck and Hill, Jean would cook some corn on the cob, and then we’d sit on the driveway and shoot off some fireworks to celebrate “it all” being over.
Well as the lady said, “God made the world round so we couldn’t see too far ahead.”
Little did we know.
Little did we know that COVID 19 was just like the drum beat in Fleetwood Mac’s song The Chain. It laid down a rhythm that other elements would be worked into. Slowly racial unrest began to build. Then the statues etc.
And all through it the COVID 19 keeps beating like the drum.
And the long, hot summer lay ahead.
I’ve spent a good deal of time cleaning, putting things in order so that I know where to find them. Throwing other things away.
For many years, I’ve thought about the cleaning of the Temple during the time of Josiah whenever I do a deep cleaning. When Josiah cleaned the Temple, they discovered that they lost the Bible.
Cleaning and putting things in order is an act of creation. It involves finding things that have been neglected and putting them in a place where they won’t fall out of our attention. It involves finding things that are dirty, torn, broken, and useless and throwing them away.
And if you are married or doing this in partnership with others, it involves a lot of conversation about which of these is which. Which of these piles of paper is the Holy Bible and which is a file of cancelled checks from a bank account you haven’t had for 30 years?
Sometimes we have saved things that are very meaningful for us but are very upsetting to others. Those we save, but we put away quietly. We give them the special honor of mothballs and a cedar chest. Either there will be a day where they can be appreciated by others or they will be forgotten about entirely. Time decides which and it has the final say.
Right now I am looking at a porcelain statue of a donkey that I had on my desk as a graduate student at Oklahoma State. I am not sure where I got it from, but I seem to remember my Aunt Anne who died last year gave it to me. She passed away a couple (a few?) years back. It pleases me to think of it that way, but if someone were to tell me differently and had a convincing argument, I would have to believe them and change my thinking.
This is because above all sentiment and feeling we should seek the truth, even if it is among the debris of our memory. We’ve been told we shall know the truth and the truth shall set us free.
Because this is the Fourth of July and our freedom is what we are celebrating.
But the drum is still beating. It’s hot. And I think it’s going to get worse before it gets better.
But I think it will get better.
For what it’s worth.
Bobby Winters, a native of Harden City, Oklahoma, blogs at redneckmath.blogspot.com and okieinexile.blogspot.com. He invites you to “like” the National Association of Lawn Mowers on Facebook. )
By Bobby Neal Winters
I think it's time we stop, children, what's that sound
Everybody look what's going down--Buffalo Springfield
I am writing this on the Fourth of July.
A few months ago I remember thinking--I and think I even said it out loud--that this would all be over by the Fourth of July. I’d grill up some small filets from Beck and Hill, Jean would cook some corn on the cob, and then we’d sit on the driveway and shoot off some fireworks to celebrate “it all” being over.
Well as the lady said, “God made the world round so we couldn’t see too far ahead.”
Little did we know.
Little did we know that COVID 19 was just like the drum beat in Fleetwood Mac’s song The Chain. It laid down a rhythm that other elements would be worked into. Slowly racial unrest began to build. Then the statues etc.
And all through it the COVID 19 keeps beating like the drum.
And the long, hot summer lay ahead.
I’ve spent a good deal of time cleaning, putting things in order so that I know where to find them. Throwing other things away.
For many years, I’ve thought about the cleaning of the Temple during the time of Josiah whenever I do a deep cleaning. When Josiah cleaned the Temple, they discovered that they lost the Bible.
Cleaning and putting things in order is an act of creation. It involves finding things that have been neglected and putting them in a place where they won’t fall out of our attention. It involves finding things that are dirty, torn, broken, and useless and throwing them away.
And if you are married or doing this in partnership with others, it involves a lot of conversation about which of these is which. Which of these piles of paper is the Holy Bible and which is a file of cancelled checks from a bank account you haven’t had for 30 years?
Sometimes we have saved things that are very meaningful for us but are very upsetting to others. Those we save, but we put away quietly. We give them the special honor of mothballs and a cedar chest. Either there will be a day where they can be appreciated by others or they will be forgotten about entirely. Time decides which and it has the final say.
Right now I am looking at a porcelain statue of a donkey that I had on my desk as a graduate student at Oklahoma State. I am not sure where I got it from, but I seem to remember my Aunt Anne who died last year gave it to me. She passed away a couple (a few?) years back. It pleases me to think of it that way, but if someone were to tell me differently and had a convincing argument, I would have to believe them and change my thinking.
This is because above all sentiment and feeling we should seek the truth, even if it is among the debris of our memory. We’ve been told we shall know the truth and the truth shall set us free.
Because this is the Fourth of July and our freedom is what we are celebrating.
But the drum is still beating. It’s hot. And I think it’s going to get worse before it gets better.
But I think it will get better.
For what it’s worth.
Bobby Winters, a native of Harden City, Oklahoma, blogs at redneckmath.blogspot.com and okieinexile.blogspot.com. He invites you to “like” the National Association of Lawn Mowers on Facebook. )
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