Barry DeLozier

Another Feast in the Midst of Famine

2011-11-23T07:32:00.000-08:00

I'm a major foodie, a food adventurist. I plan vacations around culinary experiences. An hour's detour to savor an exquisite risotto? Worth it. I pretend the only openings in my calendar are during the lunch hour so I can mix business with pleasure. "There's a new place we need to try downtown." Of course, Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, or at least tied with Christmas (if there's a standing rib roast) or the Fourth of July (if the spare ribs are tender and caramelized on top). While I savor all the flavors of God's creation, someone nearby is hungry today, someone who has only more of the same to eat, day after day after day.

Time to clear a shelf in the pantry, to take some groceries to a shelter. I've heard the expression, "Nothing tastes as good as thin feels," all my life, in my vain, appearance-obsessed culture. But truly, "Nothing tastes as good as sharing food with someone hungry."

Thank you God for a whole day set aside to say "Thanks." Don't let me stuff myself so full I can't see the people around me who need something to eat.

Remembering Granny

2011-08-23T06:54:00.000-07:00

My maternal grandmother, Gladys Lowery Shows, passed away this past Sunday at the age of 93. Her funeral is tomorrow in a rural Mississippi cemetery. This is what I plan to share ...

We spend our lives searching for evidence of God. Surely unconditional love is proof here on earth. Granny felt that love for her family. Unconditional love does not mean unaccountable; she held me to a high standard because she believed in me – but I also knew no matter how far I fell, she would love me. Guaranteed.

Her love was obvious, evident in everything she did. The door to her home, like the door to her heart, was always open. I could not get out of my car before she was there at that door to greet me. She had been watching for me. Visits from family were like Christmas to a child for Granny. Remember the let-down you felt when Christmas was over? Granny felt that when the time came for me to leave. She was at that door again, lingering. How many times I wanted to turn around and drive back up that street and go inside her house and tell her, “I think I’ll stay one more day.” I never did. The world was waiting – work, and all the noisy distractions. Somehow everything seemed suspended when I crossed her threshold – life was slower at her house, spent mostly at the breakfast table, sharing.

I could go and on about her many characteristics I loved, especially her phenomenal cooking that flavors so many of my childhood memories, but I’ll share just two experiences. The first is when I was eight or nine and on crutches – which was my normal – and I managed to get locked inside the tiny pink tile bathroom on Lillian Highway. Granny was the only one home with me and she stood there in the hall by that pink flamingo picture and jiggled the door and stuck her face by the knob and coached me from having a full-blown panic attack. “If I have to break the window I will, Barry,” she said. And I knew she would, and that calmed me. Somehow she managed to jiggle that lock open from the outside.

The second experience was after my Papa’s funeral here in Bryant Cemetery. We went back to Aunt Imogene’s to eat and there was a huge crowd and it was the typical paper-plate-on-your-knees buffet with folks sitting all over the house and yard. I managed to spill my iced tea but before I could get out of the chair Granny was on her hands and knees cleaning it up. She was the new widow – the one I should have been waiting on. Anyone who knew Granny knew she had a servant’s heart. Her eye was always on the sparrows of her family.

And that is evidence of God’s Unconditional Love, all the evidence I need. Thank you Granny, for being His faithful servant messenger in my life. You’re the best.

The Tastiest Treat in Hershey, Pennsylvania: A Generous American Spirit

2011-07-19T19:40:00.000-07:00

We spent this past weekend in Hershey, Pennsylvania, at a lacrosse tournament for our fourteen-year-old son Joe (sixteen-year-old David is in Piedra Negros, Mexico, on a mission trip with our church). The tournament provided a spectacular “Field of Dreams” setting in the middle of a cornfield surrounded by rolling hills, stone farmhouses, red barns and white silos against a vivid blue sky. What a great place for a chocolate factory (I guess there’s no bad place for a chocolate factory). But the tastiest treat in Hershey? Learning of Milton Hershey’s philanthropic spirit. The man supported five local churches during tough economic times and invested his fortune in a school for orphans that has gone on to create industry leaders for more than 100 years. What a sweet legacy. I will enjoy my next Hershey bar even more than usual.

Though our record was 2w/3l for the tournament, we tied two of those losses and went down in “Braveheart” face-offs against great opponents from Maryland and Pennsylvania, states where lacrosse is part of the high school program (it is still considered ‘emerging’ in Alabama). We received a warm welcome everywhere we went. Southerners do not hold an exclusive on hospitality. Sunday evening and most of Monday we tooled around Old City Philadelphia. I must admit I expected this to be a “tourist” check-list, perhaps benefitting Joe’s up-coming freshman high school American history class.

Thanks to an engaging guide at Independence Hall, I became the history student inspired by stories of our founding fathers and the courage it took to create our nation. Please excuse any lingering Fourth of July sentimentality, but pulling off a revolution isn’t easy. Their stories deserve more attention than I’ve given them since I was a high school freshman. I fly my flag proudly on holidays, sing The Star Spangled Banner at ballgames (louder than my kids would prefer) and even sport a flag tie when the Fourth falls on a Sunday as it did this year. But I let all these great stories fade from memory.

Today I read a blog post comment by Gail Hyatt (http://gailbhyatt.wordpress.com/) recommending HBO’s video series on John Adams. I confess I have David McCullough’s epic biography neatly tucked on a shelf in my library but I haven’t read it. This afternoon, I’m looking for these videos to share with my family. Some of our favorite nights in front of a television were spent watching Band of Brothers. So now it’s on to founding fathers.

Who in American history most inspires you?

Who do you ask to read your writing?

2011-07-10T12:27:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, for our Saturday date night, my wife asked to see Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris, a visually beautiful film that fell flat for me, though I felt strong connections to aspects of the story. After my first trip to Paris years ago, I returned home intent on quitting my job, selling my house and moving to the City of Light to become a sidewalk painter by day and a smoky-bar-jazz-pianist by night, and to write great novels in between (I actually had a woman come to my door two days after I got home to ask if I would consider selling my house – talk about ignoring a sign from God).

I probably own this film's entire soundtrack on CDs of 1920s French jazz. Most of all, as a writer struggling with how to gain feedback on my first novel, I can relate to the protagonist Gil Pender’s dilemma: Whose critical opinion of my manuscript should I trust? Ernest Hemingway tells Pender (paraphrasing), “Never let another writer read your work. If it’s bad, they’ll enjoy telling you it’s bad. If it’s good, they’ll be jealous and tell you it’s bad. Writer’s are very competitive. All writers.” I’m afraid it’s true that I’m competitive in other aspects of life, but in writing, I like to think I'm different. Isn’t there room for all voices?

Who do you ask to read your work? That's my wife who reads everythinmg I write with a red pen in hand (I do the same for her). Is it fair to ask friends for critiques? How do they say "no," even if they don't want to read something? Worse, how do they tell a friend they hate something they wrote? Is this a dilemma for anyone else?

Summer Thyme Saturdays

2011-07-09T05:47:00.000-07:00

My wife and I enjoy a Saturday morning tradition of shopping at a wonderful Farmer’s Market at Pepper Place in downtown Birmingham (Alabama). It’s quite the scene, with jazz musicians and a virtual Westminster Dog Show (some weeks there are more breeds on display than vegetables). I’m a notorious grazer, circling and sampling cheeses and sausages and, well, anything someone puts on a tray alongside the aisle (I actually once mistook a bowl of coffee beans for Raisenets and nearly chipped a tooth). This gathering at a marketplace is an ancient practice that builds a strong sense of community. We see friends and make new ones, fascinating salt-of-the-earth people across the table, purveyors of pepper jellies and pickle relishes and mustards and birdfeeders. Meandering between tents, I’m keenly aware how much I value that spicy variety of life. Such bounty, so many flavors painted in vibrant colors, pungent smells mixed with laughter and conversation, all here for the sampling, all free, every Saturday morning.

What Saturday morning traditions do you enjoy?

Call Security!

2011-07-06T05:14:00.000-07:00

We humans think we're the evolved species, connecting with each other through social media, building platforms by blogging and tweeting traffic reports, all in search of an elusive sense of security. What truly brings us "peace" and "rest" and "security?" Does chasing it push it farther out of reach? Other creatures in God's kingdom live in the moment, forever aware something nearby may, "eat me for lunch so I might as well enjoy the grass I'm eating right now (and keep an eye peeled on the bushes)." Does a false sense of security (in a dead-end job, a broken relationship) prevent us from fulfilling our dreams? I radically changed my life three years ago and went into business for myself and I must admit it's an emotional roller coaster ride. Sometimes I want to shut my eyes. Other times I want to hold my hands in the air. But the joy I get in pursuing my passions, though not always as profitable as my former career, far outweighs any security I perceived from salaries and group health insurance.

What do you do to call security's bluff?

Midgets in the Mist

2011-06-19T05:56:00.000-07:00

At an Internet marketing seminar, I bumped into an old friend (literally), someone I worked with twenty-five years ago. Our conversation included a fond memory from the fall of 1987 when we made a trip from Birmingham, Alabama, to Marin County just north of San Francisco, to learn how to draw on what was one of the most sophisticated computer graphics systems in the world at that time. Exciting work.

On our first morning, the hotel fire alarm went off around 6 a.m. I staggered about, hopping into jeans and pulling on a tee-shirt and then made my way out into the hall barefoot where a dozen midgets were blazing a trail to the exit door. I blinked and rubbed my eyes. In the parking lot - where there were at least another dozen midgets milling about - I looked around for my friend, who should have been pretty easy to spot in this crowd. When I found her, she was standing next to Ron Howard, a.k.a. Opie Taylor and Richie Cunningham (or as Eddie Murphy might say, Opie Cunningham).

I rubbed my eyes again. I blinked. After making his acquaintance, I learned Mr. Howard was directing a film called "Willow" that was shooting in nearby Muir Woods. Before 6:05 a.m. on my first day in California, I stood in an asphalt jungle with midgets in the mist, experiencing a California film-world fantasy. It was a wonderful, spontaneous prologue for a day of high-speed training on high-tech computer graphics. Now, it's a memory I laugh about with my kids, a memory I almost filed too far back in the file drawer.

Do you have a funny memory you can share with someone today?

Your Most Embarassing Memory

2011-06-17T06:32:00.000-07:00

In a group setting, I was recently asked about my most embarassing moment. I have a LOT to pick from, but this was the first thing that came to mind:

My gypsy family moved from Baton Rouge, Louisiana to Hollywood, Florida when I was eleven. We quickly bought a house, enrolled in middle school and found a new church. Prospects at Sheridan Hills Baptist made their way down a long aisle during the benediction to stand below the pulpit. The preacher made this an important part of the service by introducing each individual and saying something personal about them. When it was time for the DeLoziers to be presented, the reverend turned his back to the congregation and moved down the line in front us, shaking hands and speaking. “Welcome Fred,” I heard him tell my father. “God bless you, Joyce,” he told my mother. “Jim, son, we’re glad to have you,” he told my brother. When he stood in front of me, he said, “Barry, your fly is unzipped. I'll stand here while you fix it." Sure enough, while the congregation sang "Just As I Am," I stood there just as I was, shirttail hanging out.

What's your most embarassing memory?

Pressure Sensitive Synchronicity

2011-06-15T12:01:00.000-07:00

Ever feel in sync with time? You know, you glance at the clock throughout the day and it's on the hour exactly? Happens to me often. I have no problems sleeping through the night, but if I wake it's always at 3:33 a.m.

I tend to be more of a "word" than a "numbers" guy, but I track a lot of figures for my business ventures. Sometimes numbers tell stories better than words. I recently had two mathematical improbabilities jump off the synchronicity meter.

The first happened driving between appointments, making a mental list of tasks to accomplish before leaving town. "Time to change the oil in my car," I thought, glancing at the sticker pressed to the windshield. My mechanic calculated my next oil change should occur at 48,327 miles. Odometer read 48,327 miles. I pulled to the curb to make sure I wasn't transposing a number. Spot on.

The second "coincidence" occurred a few weeks later as I unwrapped a single-cup coffee maker we received as a gift. My family - the wife, two kids and even the dog - were all in the kitchen as I set up the appliance. Like my windshield, the coffee maker had a pressure-sensitive sticker, this one over an LCD display window. As I peeled it off, I asked my oldest son what time it was, which he determined by reading the clock on our stove: 10:53. Printed on the sticker, to demonstrate the display, was the time 10:53. I'm connecting with pressure-sensitive stickers.

Do you ever feel a sense of order with numbers?

The Great Lima Bean Lie

2011-06-06T06:50:00.000-07:00

My innaugural lesson on the art of manipulation came at the end of my first day in kindergarten. My brother was the teacher. After Mom picked me up from church school, she drove to the carpool line at Henderson Mill Elementary where we waited for Jim. As kids filed out along the sidewalk, I saw my big brother (11-months older) ending his first day of first grade. He approached our car with something the color of school bus yellow smeared down his jeans, like a Playdo explosion. When he hopped in the car, he announced he had a present for Mom: Lima beans from lunch. He "thought of her" when he saw them (he knew she liked Lima beans) so he wrapped them in a napkin and stuck them in his pocket.

Even to a five-year-old in the backseat this didn't sound believable. I had watched Jim in countless face-offs at the dinner table refusing to eat vegetables, any shape, color or size. Mom had a "you're not leaving the table until your plate is clean" approach to child-rearing. In this regard (maybe only in this regard) I was easy. I eat everything. Not Jim. He tried his best to swallow vegetables whole. I heard him gulp heaps of anything green (the tiniest peas caused the biggest gags). Jim probably thought he couldn't leave the cafeteria without cleaning his plate. The great Lima bean lie seemed to work; Mom reached across the bench seat of our Buick and gave him a big hug.

What's your earliest memory of someone telling a white lie?

When Running Away is Right

2011-06-01T04:47:00.000-07:00

Overwhelmed by bad news on the economy? Anxious if you can’t find your cell phone? Can a rude driver in the next lane or a slow clerk at the grocery store cause a reaction in you that seems out of balance? You may be doing a respectable job juggling your calendar and multiple priorities at work, even your family and the dog may feel your devotion; but chances are you’ve neglected to make time and space for something very important: a personal retreat.

In modern language, “retreat” is often used to describe a quiet weekend at the beach or a tiny cabin tucked in the mountains; but the word originated as a military term – one that has nothing to do with throwing in the towel or admitting defeat. An army’s “retreat” is often the best strategy to rebuild strength, regain momentum and ultimately taste victory. That’s a lot to accomplish from what can look like a cowardly act of running away.

“Retreat in its truest sense means stop, evaluate, sharpen your saw if necessary,” says ad agency account executive Ruth Bean, a professed spiritual retreat junkie. “It means go away, think, reflect and then come back another day, better prepared to face this challenge.” Bean should know. She’s been on six spiritual retreats in the past two years, some for only a day, some for a weekend, and some for a week. “My family recognizes how much this benefits all of us,” says Bean. “I’m better equipped to deal with the constant stress of our active lifestyle when I make time to withdraw.”

Anxiety often intensifies from our unwillingness to participate in the act of retreat. “We can’t or won’t tune out the noise around us long enough to recognize our own symptoms,” says Rev. Lucy Turner, a pastor at Independent Presbyterian Church in Birmingham. “When things go wrong, too often we run faster, try harder, add layers to a life already filled with distractions. The antidote is simply to get away – not for some organized vacation, which can actually add stress, but to a simple lifestyle that has deliberate times for silence.”

In a world experiencing stress from failing economies, retreats are being rediscovered as an important spiritual discipline, part of the process of discerning God’s will and finding peace in the midst of uncertainty. Retired banker Alan Head says the effort made to withdraw pays big dividends. “The times when you feel you absolutely can’t get away, that you have too many important projects that need your oversight, that’s exactly when you need a retreat the most.” With six friends from his protestant church, Head ventured to the Monastery of the Holy Spirit in Conyers, Georgia, where he ate meals in silence, spent time in Bible study with Trappist monks, and attended mass, including 4 a.m. vigils. “I discovered a beautiful rhythm to life at this monastery, the way the monks stop for prayer every few hours. It’s a healing experience.”

For a scriptural basis, you only have to look as far as the Gospels and Christ’s own example of retreat to the wilderness, where, at the very onset of his ministry, he found strength to withstand the fiercest temptations.
Throughout history, spiritual writers have extolled the virtues of solitude and silence. Twentieth century Catholic Priest and writer Henri Nouwen highlights the contrasts necessary to enjoy an abundant life: “Somewhere we know that without silence words lose their meaning, that without listening, speaking no longer heals, that without distance closeness cannot cure.”

If you absolutely cannot make room for a trip (and you absolutely should), at least make time in your day for devotions. In the sixteenth century, Martin Luther wrote, “Whenever I happen to be prevented by the press of duties from observing my hour of prayer, the entire day is bad for me.” Four hundred years later, Norman Vincent Peale wrote this: "Part of the happiness of life consists not in fighting battles, but in avoiding them. A masterly retreat is in itself a victory.”

The benefits of retreat are many, including a more productive, inspiring life. Carl Sandburg believed it was essential to his work. “One of the greatest necessities in America," he said, "is to discover creative solitude.”

“When from our better selves we have too long

Been parted by the hurrying world and droop,

Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired,

How gracious, how benign is Solitude.”

William Wordsworth

The Art and Science of Shopping for a Home

2011-05-31T04:39:00.000-07:00

People often describe finding a new home like falling in love: “I knew this was the one the minute I … pulled up to the curb … opened the front door … stood at the kitchen sink and looked out at the backyard.” Fill in the blank.

It’s likely to be the biggest purchase you’ll make, one that requires an understanding of amortization schedules and an ability to work through drama. Homes are emotional connections and investments; few transactions require us to exercise both sides of our brain so intensely.

The good news is you don’t have to start from scratch. Quite a few homes have been bought and sold before, and there is a logical approach to the process of shopping that starts with “big picture” questions and narrows into choosing “the one.”

The East is east and the West is west
Your first priority involves a geography lesson: which direction on the compass do you want to live? Unless you’re relocating to a new city, you probably have an impression which way – north, south, east or west – suits you. This may be based on proximity to work or to grandma, on the caliber of schools or the home prices and property taxes. Most likely, it’s a blending of factors that impact your life. Priorities change. For your first home, price may be the magnet pulling the compass in one direction. When you’re ready to retire, the ability to walk to restaurants, shopping and healthcare may help pinpoint a spot on the map. If you find yourself without bearings when you’re ready to shop, you have homework to do. This is time well spent before you get in a car. Find answers to questions like:
· Can I afford a home in this area?
· Is this town close enough to the places I go often (work, school, church, family, friends)?
· Do I feel good about the future of this community (its leaders, schools, property values)?

Name that NeighborhoodYour next step involves art. Within a municipality, determine what neighborhoods appeal to you. Are you attracted to a small yard and a front porch, or a spacious lawn and a private backyard? What neighborhoods offer these choices, and are they in your price range? These questions move beyond science into more emotional triggers of style, status and identity. Certainly, there are trends in new neighborhoods based on our society’s collective priorities. Almost universally, we prefer sidewalks, green space, a sense of security and adequate parking. Take time to answer these questions:
· Can I afford a home in this neighborhood?
· Do I identify with the type and style of homes here?
· Are there amenities I will actually use (swimming pool, sidewalks, parks, playgrounds)? If they are included but you won’t use them, you may be paying a premium.

The Dating GameSelecting a house seems like the next logical step, but before you fall in love with a front porch or granite counters, there’s more science involved: research to see if this is a building company you trust. Since you’re going through the effort of shopping for a home, chances are you plan to be here at least a little while. Beautiful architecture and trendy colors are great only if they stand the test of time. Ask others in the neighborhood about their experience with this company. Ask the company if they get referrals and repeat customers. Ask the Realtor if friends or business associates live in a home built by this builder. Every home – even one that’s brand new – will have some service issues. The important thing is to have confidence in the builder to correct any problems.
· Can I afford the homes this builder has for sale?
· What type of warranty is offered? One of the biggest benefits to buying brand new is to have a warranty period. Not all warranties are the same.
· What is the company’s reputation with customers and Realtors?

Amazing SpaceThe last step is a true blend of art and science: finding the right house for you. Typically, this involves answering easier questions. Are there enough bedrooms? Can I maintain this yard? Does the kitchen suit my interests in cooking? Will my truck fit in the garage? Is there a wall for Mee-Maw’s hutch? Some compromises make sense (like paint colors and light fixtures) while others are significant (don’t give up on finding homework space for your kids or a one-level home for your rheumatoid arthritis). Each home shopper will have a personal list of questions to ask, but remember these important tests:
· Can I afford this home?
· Can I resell this home if I had to?
· Would I be content to stay here if I had to?

The Common ThreadAt each stage, you’ve probably noticed a recurring question: “Can I afford this home?” Today, we don’t have to look far for examples of people – not just home shoppers but bankers, mortgage brokers and Realtors, too – who forgot to ask this important question at each step along the journey. Your quality of life is not influenced as much by square footage or zip code as it is by the joy you feel just being at home.

Parade Brings Traffic Back to New Communities

2010-04-23T05:10:00.000-07:00

Despite competition from Alabama and Auburn A-Day games and tours of an infamous owner’s Decorator’s Showhouse, the 2010 Parade of Homes drew crowds in communities all across the Birmingham area during its first weekend. Beautiful weather and an impending expiration date for federal tax credits played a role in helping spark interest in the local housing market.

“We had about ten times the number of visitors than we would on a normal weekend in Brooke’s Crossing in Trussville,” said Judy Beaton, with ReMax First Choice. “The best part was that most of the individuals were true homebuyers looking to buy in our community.” For builders like Chip Street of Camerlane, Llc, who builds in the neighborhood, that qualification is significant. “It’s great to have people out looking at new home designs,” says Street, “but our goal is to attract people with a real interest in buying a home.”

Throughout 17 villages and more than 100 homes on tour, there was a buzz of activity. “I think this is what recovery looks like,” said Bud Canter, Parade Chairman for the Greater Birmingham Association of Home Builders, the trade association that produces the Parade. “People are clearly ready to get out and look at new houses. That’s the first step toward buying one.” Several contracts were written during the weekend, and a number of builders report strong prospects.

Builder Rusty Fowler of Fowler Custom Homes felt encouraged with the Parade’s results. “Our house at The Preserve was never empty during the first two days of the Parade,” said Fowler. “It is nice to see excitement back in the housing market. I even had a couple of people make return trips to the house. The Parade of Homes has been a huge success.”

Typically, the peak selling season for new homes is between Memorial Day and the Fourth of July. Some of that demand is cresting early, fueled by government tax credits that provide up to $8000 to first-time home buyers and up to $6500 to existing homeowners who have lived in their home five years. In order to qualify, purchasers must have a home under contract by April 30, and close by June 30. “There may never be a better time to buy a new home,” said Bobby Smith, current president of the association.

Parade homes are open April 16th – April 25th, Monday through Saturday from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. and Sundays from 1 p.m. to 6 p.m. A full listing of homes in the Parade as well as directions is online at http://www.birminghambuilder.com/. Parade maps are also available at any BBVA-Compass bank location.

The 2010 Parade of Homes

2010-04-15T04:34:00.000-07:00

In the midst of a significant, two-year national slump in housing, Birmingham area home builders are optimistic enough about the 2010 buying season to revive the popular Parade of Homes event. Low interest rate mortgages, up to $8,000 in tax credits and an abundance of environmentally-friendly home features are just a few of the reasons to showcase our area’s new homes for sale. More than 100 homes are included in this year’s tour.

“People may delay the decision to move,” says Bobby Smith, president of the Greater Birmingham Association of Home Builders, “but they still have dreams about the home they’d like to own. A free event like the Parade of Homes gives them an opportunity to get out and see what great values there are today. That keeps those dreams alive. Fortunately, some of them will need to make a move this year, and this event can help connect their needs with builders who have the perfect home for them.”

Though the Parade of Homes has been an annual tradition in Birmingham since 1965, there was not enough confidence in the housing market in 2009 to justify the effort of putting on the multi-week event. This year is different. “Our event is perfectly timed to coincide with the $8,000 tax credit’s expiration,” says Bud Cantor, this year’s chairman of the Parade of Homes. “We’ll kick off the Parade on Friday, April 16th and host open houses and educational seminars through Sunday, April 25th. In order to qualify for the credit, a home has to be under contract by April 30th. That creates a sense of urgency.”

The tax credit has made a difference in driving sales in recent months, according to Bart Fletcher, executive vice president of the local association. “First-time homebuyers are eligible for up to $8,000, which is an incredible opportunity,” says Fletcher. “New households are forming all the time and these young working professionals have the good fortune of being in the market when conditions are extraordinarily in their favor.” The tax credit also applies to current homeowners who, if they’ve lived in their present home for five consecutive years, “are eligible for up to $6,500 in tax credits,” says Fletcher. “That’s a huge difference in how many people can benefit from the credit. This type of government incentive to buy has never been seen before, and may never be available again.”

There will be many new features and innovative upgrades to see in this year’s Parade. “We’re showcasing green home benefits,” says Mike Wedgworth, builder and developer of the Viridian community in Vestavia where the Parade will host Green Home University. “People often think green building means they’ll have to spend more money, but that’s not necessarily the case,” says Wedgworth, who will have three homes in the parade. “The way our homes are built to Level Two Energy Key Standards, our customer will pay about the same for the house but save money every year and stay more comfortable.”

In addition to providing tours of energy-efficient homes, Green Home University will include educational seminars hosted by a variety of companies and manufacturers. “People who want to make their current home more comfortable and economical can see the best products available,” says Wedgworth. One such product is a tankless natural gas water heater. According to Amy Dunavant, manager of Residential Marketing for Alagasco, the presenting sponsor of the Parade, “This technology saves tremendously on energy bills because there’s no tank sitting, waiting for someone to use hot water. It also saves space, which in turn saves money in construction.”

Seminars at Green Home University will be free to the public on Saturday, April 17th and Saturday, April 24th and will be hosted in the Ideal Home at Viridian off Tyler Road in Vestavia. Homes on tour in the Parade will be open Saturdays from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m., Sundays from 1 p.m. to 6 p.m., and during the week from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. The association’s website, http://www.birminghambuilder.com/, includes floor plans, photographs, company profiles and maps to help home shoppers plan their Parade route.

Birmingham Builder Bucks Trend

2010-03-03T05:21:00.000-08:00

While the housing industry continues to search for signals that a recovery is on the horizon, one Birmingham homebuilder has seen enough evidence to launch a new 20-home sector aimed at attracting first-time homebuyers. Price Hightower, founder and owner of Tower Development, Inc., is opening Bell Tower Cottages at Oxmoor Ridge to capitalize on the spring 2010 buying season which includes tax incentives set to expire April 30.

“It’s a challenge to convince move-up or downsizing home buyers to act right now,” says Hightower, who has been building homes in the area eighteen years. “But I believe the right home, in the right location, at the right price will always sell in Birmingham. Children of the baby-boomers are in the prime home-buying ages between 25 and 44. They are fortunate to be coming into the housing market when there are so many great reasons to buy.” Low interest rates for mortgages, as well as Federal Housing Administration (FHA) loans with low down payment requirements, and lower building costs resulting in lower priced homes are just a few of the many incentives to act now.

Another obvious reason to move this buying season is an $8,000 tax credit for first time homebuyers who write a contract by April 30, 2010. “The home does not have to close until June 30, 2010, so home shoppers have an opportunity to buy a home under construction – which allows them to add their own personal touches – and still get the tax credit,” Hightower says. “We are actively building homes that qualify for the credit and will be available in time.” A $6,500 tax credit is available for home shoppers who already own a home and have lived there at least five years.

Bell Tower Cottages at Oxmoor Ridge will be built in the style of old Birmingham neighborhoods with vintage architecture and efficient floor plans. “Our cottage homes offer three bedrooms and two baths in about 1,200 square feet and will be priced from the $150s. That sounds like a vintage price, too,” Hightower says. “Fortunately, the features people love about a new home, like open plans, roomy closets and efficient appliances, are here to complement the architecture.” The community, located off West Lakeshore between I-65 and the Ross Bridge resort, will have access to the existing Oxmoor Ridge Community Park and playground.

2010-02-28T05:37:00.000-08:00

Signs of Spring 2010: We've endured a bitter winter in the southeast, but our old trees are budding and the scraggly Forsythia shrubs in the yard are blooming. Amazing, how life reappears from a dormant state.Economic seasons change too, you know. Despite the dismal U.S. economy, some of our more tenacious clients are reinventing their companies, products and services. It's not easy to re-think everything you do, but in such market conditions, it's necessary. It is always, always about what you make or do. You can't simply rewrite the "pitch" anymore. Is your product or service relevant? If so, is it remarkable, so obviously better than your competitors? Is there a spark of creativity in the way you tell your story? If you'll make or do something truly remarkable, we promise to create an exciting vocabulary to help you sell it.

When a Man Cooks for a Woman

2010-01-22T05:23:00.000-08:00

The familiar adage “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach” may have one ingredient wrong: gender. While many a guy has certainly been snagged by the culinary talents of a pretty date, the reality is women are much more impressed when a guy cooks for them. Why? It has nothing to do with the quality of food but everything to do with acts of service. The bottom line is women don’t expect men to cook.

“During the dating game, if a man offers to fix dinner, it can be a point of differentiation,” says author and sociologist Liz Elliott. “Guys gravitate to the receiving end on things like cooking, cleaning and socializing. They’re content to let the primary woman in their life manage these functions. Preparing a meal means he’s willing to take on all three. That can be very attractive, if it’s genuine.”

And it certainly can be genuine: a lot of guys really like to cook. Britain’s popular online magazine “Daily Mail” recently coined the phrase “gastrosexuals” to replace “foodies,” specifically to describe men who consider cooking more of a hobby than a chore. A quick remote control cruise through the lineup on Food TV reveals a plethora of successful guys who cook, not only on a barbecue grill.

Men tend to approach cooking competitively. Women are more likely to describe themselves as ‘simple cooks’ who know the basics. Men are more likely to try elaborate, international dishes and to describe their cooking as ‘gourmet.’

“There’s an element of status when a man cooks, as evidenced by the popularity of professional chefs,” says Elliott. “When a man cooks, he’s a chef. When a woman cooks, she’s a cook.
For new relationships, the important thing to understand is if this is truly an act of love and service and a genuine interest in cooking. Is it sustainable? Or, is it smoke and mirrors with a particular dessert in mind?

“For families, we’ve seen a shift in sharing responsibilities,” says Elliott. “But the reality is men are not doing the cooking as much as they are helping be a parent, playing with the kids or directing recreational activities. Even in homes where both parents work, research does not indicate that men are doing the meal planning or grocery shopping.”

Boyfriends wanting to stir a girlfriend’s emotions or husbands wanting to electrify their marriage would do well to make acts of service – like cooking – truly authentic. “Offer to grocery shop or clear the table and wash the dishes,” says Elliott.

So what if you really like the creative aspect of preparing a meal, but you’re new to cooking and your mother wasn’t a Cordon Bleu graduate who taught you everything she knows? The key to success is to, “start simple,” says professional chef Clayton Sherrod, “with an uncomplicated menu. Roasted meats – chicken, pork or beef – make an ideal entree because they go in an oven hours before the meal, fill the home with a wonderful aroma then require little effort to serve.”
For a balanced meal, you only need two accompaniments: a starch (like rice, pasta or potatoes) and a vegetable (like green beans or a salad). “Use your vegetable to add color,” says Sherrod, who started cooking in the kitchen of a country club where he worked as a golf caddy. “A meal should involve all the senses: taste, touch, smell, sight and even sounds,” says Sherrod. “Make the other details easy on yourself. Bread and dessert can be bought ready-to-serve at a grocery store, as simple as a French loaf and a bowl of ice cream.”

Whatever you do, keep the kitchen tidy (or off limits) and never expect your date to help clean up. “Talk about spoiling the mood,” says Sherrod. “She might as well go home and do laundry if you ask her to help scrape the pans.”

5 Key Ingredients for the Rookie Chef:
· Know your date’s or mate’s preferences and allergies (nothing ruins a meal like a surprise trip to the emergency room). If you don’t know, ask.
· Keep the menu simple: one snack for an appetizer, a roasted meat, a starch, a vegetable or salad, bread and dessert.
· If she asks to help, let her, but no dirty jobs. Let her pour the wine or light the candles. Her only assignment after the meal is to relax (you carry her plate back to the kitchen).
· Don’t let details of cooking or serving destroy the main course: great dinner conversation. Ask her about favorite restaurants or family food traditions. For your chance of success, this is more important than salt.
· Have a backup plan. If something catches on fire, know where the fire extinguisher is. Have a frozen pizza just in case. By all means, if something does disintegrate at the last minute, laugh about it.

“Nothing would be more tiresome than eating or drinking if God had not made them a pleasure as well as a necessity.” Voltaire

Remembering a Man's Life of Service

2010-01-09T14:56:00.000-08:00

There is no way to make sense of the tragedy when a young man like Pelham police officer Philip Davis is killed in the line of duty, leaving behind a beautiful family and a bright future. We cannot understand why his life ended abruptly at age 33, but we can celebrate how he lived and who he was. This senseless shooting during a routine traffic stop brought to light the life of two men: one always running to help others, one obviously running from despair. The City of Pelham was blessed by the man who ran to help.

What can you say about a man who devotes his life’s work to protecting others? Clearly, such an individual values people’s lives enough to put his own life at risk every day. We all deal with frustrations at work; few are called to step out and stand up boldly for strangers, freedom and justice. Philip Davis accepted this challenge every time he put his uniform on. Throughout his eleven-year law enforcement career in Tuscaloosa, Calera and Pelham, Philip demonstrated the best of his profession. The gathering of hundreds of officers from across the nation for his memorial service at The Church at Brook Hills was a testimony to his life’s work.

What can you say about a man who pursues higher education while working hard to provide for his family? Philip Davis was a man with vision, determined to make a better life for the people he loved. He was willing to work multiple jobs, study, teach a college course on criminal justice and train women in self-defense. He earned an undergraduate and a Master’s Degree and was considering a Doctorate. Such great effort is the result of a man’s imagination about a future filled with possibilities.

What can you say about a man who builds a sense of community wherever he goes? Philip Davis was not a spectator when it came to helping others make connections. He was a teacher, a mentor, a colleague and friend. Since his death, students have posted memories of how he got them engaged in class; how he made them feel important, part of something bigger. Philip got involved with his church, his community, and his friend’s lives. He was part of a brotherhood of Pelham police officers that understood his values and the choices he made to better his life.

What can you say about a man who loves his family so much, he wants to show the world? Philip Davis was proud to post pictures of his wife Paula, his young daughter Sarah and his infant son John on his Facebook page. You don’t have to be a psychologist to recognize the love shared between the people in these pictures; the smiles, the tilt of a head and the tuck of an arm are evidence of a closeness we all hope to share within our family. In this regard, Philip Davis was obviously blessed.

What can you say about the kind of faith that sustains us through such a tragedy? You can say this is the kind of faith in God, service, community and family that Philip Davis demonstrated every day of his life. For the people of Pelham – the community that meant so much to Philip – it’s important to say a lot about a man like Officer Davis, so that his influence survives for a long, long time. (As appearing in Pelham Magazine, January 2010)

The Process of Winning

2010-01-08T07:05:00.000-08:00

Alabama Takes Tinsletown: Last night, while snow flurries danced outside, our family huddled in the living room to watch my alma mater win the BCS National Championship in sunny southern California. The Texas Longhorns appeared brittle facing the sturdy tusks of Alabama's Crimson Tide. I wanted to be in Pasadena with my brother, my nephew and scores of friends, but work and school commitments prevented us from going this year. It felt almost as exciting (almost) to dance around the coffee table with my kids, waving red and white shakers and beating my chest while my wife laughed on the sofa.

Coach Nick Saban inspires the best in his team. In me too. I woke this morning thinking about something he's said in nearly every interview leading up to this game: "There's a process to winning," to doing things in life that propel you forward, to the summit of the mountain. Process. I know that. What does it look like in my diverse, random, often routine-less world of creating, consulting, writing and reflecting? Here at the outset of 2010, I'm determined to better define and refine my processes.

I'm also motivated by the tenacity both teams demonstrated. Texas back-up quarterback and true freshman Garrett Gilbert deserves a trophy for stepping out of obscurity into a blinding national spotlight on a moment's notice. I enjoyed watching his teammates encourage him along the sidelines and then seeing him respond with a better-and-better effort, though I was greatly relieved it was not too good to recapture the lead. My team had to step up to the plate to prevent that, and they did, with their own relatively obscure player: Eryk Anders. He's been in the big shadows of Mount Cody and Rolando McClain all season, but at this critical time, he made the exact play we needed to solidify a victory. He knows the process.

Something else I've heard Coach Saban often say is, "We just have to be ourselves." In the world of collegiate football, for Alabama players, that means "Be a winner." This isn't to say, "Revel in the Bear Bryant glory days" - which were my own years in Tuscaloosa - but rather, recognize who we are today and live up to that potential. It's great to have such a glorious, storied history, but as Henry Ford once said, "The only history worth a tinker's damn is the history we make today." Work the process.

It's nice to celebrate ebbs and flows in life, like the Tide: we were great once, we hit a long dry spell, and well, now, we're great again. That's encouraging. In an article I read this morning, Heisman Trophy winner and Offensive MVP Mark Ingram summed it up beautifully in six letters: "We back." I like his brevity. I back too.

Christmas Miracles 2009

2009-12-11T14:19:00.000-08:00

Saturday morning, December 5, we awoke to a dusting of snow on our mountain, one day after my wife draped our front door with wreaths and garland. It's the first time either of us can remember having decked the walls in time to capture the "White Christmas" photo for our annual card. Such instincts, such impeccable timing comes with old age, I guess. I wandered the yard at sunrise, playing Ansel Adams. By noon the snow was gone except in roof-valleys and shady parts of the lawn. No matter. It was a blockbuster day for college football. Boys camped out in our basement to watch the SEC Championship game, not necessarily rooting for the same team. With Mom in her kerchief and I in my cap (of the baseball variety), we settled in our living room, fireside, to watch with glee as the Alabama Crimson Tide made reindeer mush of the Florida Gators. You should have heard the "Hallelujah Chorus" we sang to the tune of Rammer-Jammer here on our mountain. I love celebrating this Season of Miracles.

Distance Cousins

2009-11-28T05:47:00.000-08:00

Gathered at my parent's Thanksgiving table this year were members of four families, nineteen in all, down from twenty-three last year, but still delightfully chaotic. Rabid Alabama, Florida and Auburn fans acted cordial as they passed rolls and gravy.

My nieces drove more than 800-miles from northern Virginia to visit our mountain in Alabama, kids in tow with sippy cups and pacifiers. It was too brief a reunion - only hours - and bittersweet at times; my 91-year-old grandmother couldn't leave the nursing home. We took a journey across town to fill her small room with great-great-grandchildren, five generations of hugs and how-do-you-dos.

There was a traditional feast, of course, topped off with pecan, lemon chess and pumpkin pies, caramel and German chocolate cakes; afterwards we waddled around the mountain and threw the football, sang a few hymns by a brassy old Baldwin, then sprawled across the furniture and watched a little football on television. It was all wonderfully familiar.

As the day wound down, my brother's family piled into vans and SUVs to head east, to head home to Atlanta with belt loops loosened and baby-eyes drooping. My eight-year-old great-nephew gave me a hug and said, "See you in two years, Uncle Barry."

"Two years?" I said. "Why so long?"

He wrinkled his brow. "Okay, one year," he said, snapping his seat belt. "Deal?" He gave me a fist bump.
"Deal." I watched them drive off the mountain, grateful for even just a few hours to connect with such magnificent exuberance. Families are strengthened by the quality of time they spend together, not quantity, right? I'm trying hard to convince myself of this with so much distance between cousins.

Only in America (and Canada)

2009-11-26T04:10:00.000-08:00

Americans have a well-earned reputation for always being in a hurry. We go to Europe and snap our fingers for the dinner check or tap our feet while the museum guide drones on about the nuances in Renaissance art. Back home, we invent drive-through restaurants and fast food, ATMs and instant messaging. But our uniquely American "Thanksgiving" tradition is really a national "pause" button, time to quiet the mind, time for reflection on how blessed we are, how many opportunities we have to rush around and do so many things - even some that matter. What a wonderful contradiction, this favorite holiday of frenzied Americans, this stop sign on the sweeping American autobahn of life.

In music, the "rest," a fleeting moment of silence, is the secret to majesty and drama. Without it, melodies would collapse, sounds would run together in a breathless fury. Insert a rhythm of silence, and magic happens, a tune emerges.

We think our 21st-century calendars are crammed but those Pilgrims had quite a bit on their plates, too, more than just turkey and cranberries. Things like uprooting from the familiar, founding a nation, laying foundations for democracy, fighting for religious freedoms, forging a wildly new and fresh way of life and thinking. Till the soil, plant the seed, build the farm. Stop. Say thanks.

We have a lot to be thankful for, including our tradition of remembering we have a lot to be thankful for.

When the Spirit Moves You

2009-11-22T05:38:00.000-08:00

I was recently asked to teach one session of a Sunday school class for a diverse, intellectual group at our Presbyterian church, a weekly gathering of deep-thinkers, people much further along on their faith journeys than I am. I'm not easily intimidated, but this was outside my comfort zone. The class is engaged in an academic study of the Holy Spirit. I was asked to explore ways in which the Spirit is revealed through relationships. No text. "Make your own curriculum," I was told.

Okay. I like blank sheets of paper.

The date I was assigned was November 15, and while I reflected on the subject for weeks, I didn't gather resources until ... hmn ... November 13. Time to get busy, to pull 50-minutes of material together. We have a library in our home filled with books on theology and philosophy, so I wasn't worried about having adequate resources, but, "Where to start?"

Our family has a tradition of reading Daily Guideposts at the breakfast table before the kids go off to school. When I teach, I rarely use such devotional books, certainly not for deep, theological explorations; but for some reason, last week I went first to the breakfast room and not the library. I scanned the Guideposts index for "Holy Spirit" and found one entry out of 365 devotionals. Page 318. When I flipped to page 318, it was an entry written by Debbie Macomber for Sunday, November 15.

Purple Baptized

2009-08-03T15:11:00.000-07:00

I was communion captain yesterday, responsible for telling who to go where with wafers and grape juice. We're a "high" Presbyterian church very into protocol so this is all taken seriously, as it should be. The problem is, I get tickled easily, which is completely inappropriate in this setting. This time there was a minor snag serving the choir - they chose to sing just as I climbed the creaky narrow stairs to serve them. I pictured myself waiting for a sustained note, then tossing wafers into open mouths. Instead, I opted to punt serving the choir all together (fortunately, a buddy serving the organist waited for the appropriate time and served them all).

Earlier this year, as I was serving my eleven year old son sitting alone at the end of a pew, I accidentally bumped his elbow and doused him with grape juice. He looked stunned and then asked me in a whisper, "Did you do that on purpose?" I'm something of a grown-boy-who-cries-wolf, always the practical joker, so his question wasn't odd. Still, it made me laugh. I jiggled my tray all the way to the back. For the remainder of the service - marching down the aisle then sitting on the front row, I bit my lip and blushed, remembering his expression upon being unexpectedly purple baptized by his father. (Photo courtesy of John Higgins)

Sweet Sixteen

2009-07-31T19:10:00.000-07:00

Cathy and I returned to the scene of the crime tonight to celebrate our sixteenth wedding anniversary: Lovoy's, the windowless, kitschy Italian restaurant with red and white tablecloths where we went on our first date. Nothing - not one detail - has changed about this place since 1992 (maybe much longer than that - that's just my earliest reference point). The waitresses sport the same ponytails. The menu is identical (I believe I saw my own greasy fingerprint from my last visit, probably six years ago).

You've seen this kind of place, stuck in a time warp, straddling the curb of a four-lane highway; backing out of our parking spot tonight was nearly the last thing we ever did as husband and wife. Half the building is a restaurant, the other half a lounge. Narrow arches are strung with baskets of fake plants. Dark rooms are sheathed in fake wood paneling. Iron sconces glow orange from bulbs pretending to provide candlelight. Lots of imitation ambiance going on here, but not in the kitchen - it's completely authentic. The food was excellent, better than I remembered or expected. I sopped up every sauce and dressing that came anywhere close to our table, with garlic bread, of course.

Far and away the best part of the meal was the dinner conversation. It's hard to believe that same beautiful blond with sparkly eyes is still there across the checkered tablecloth, smiling, sharing, listening. I'm one lucky guy. I blink often.

We went home to watch our wedding video (now on DVD) with our teenage sons. Amazing how many loved ones have passed on since that happy occasion. How priceless to share it with our children, making new memories to sop up on future anniversaries.

The Importance of Scale

2009-07-30T05:19:00.000-07:00

How many times have I used an architect's scale to check perspectives? Thousands. When designing a structure, I constantly ask myself questions like, "What is this relationship of height to width to depth? How does that relate to the human form? Will a person be overwhelmed by this space and feel small or insignificant, or be cocooned by it, feeling supported, sheltered, safe and important?"

I'm by the ocean again, stunned by God's sense of scale. It's early morning and I see several people on the beach sitting alone, their knees tucked to their chest, staring off into the blue horizon. Something about this placement - sitting beside God's architect scale - begs us to ask all the big questions, the ones we never stop to ask in our hurried, rush-around lives.

What is my relationship to the width of God's creation? How deep am I willing to go to find truth? How tall are the hurdles I'm facing? How might they ultimately help me understand scale and perspective, life's ebbs and flows? There are such beautiful rhythms and echoes to life, if I will only use the right Ruler to measure myself.

Let Freedom Chirp

2009-07-05T09:54:00.000-07:00

Friends came to our house last night to watch Birmingham's 4th of July fireworks. We've been able to walk across the street to see the celebration since moving to a mountain-top two years ago. For fifteen years before that, we had to load up the car and drive to a different part of town. In the "old days," with a car nearby, we would listen to a local radio station's simulcast of patriotic songs. Last year, we realized this soundtrack was missing from our new, convenient vantage point; so this year, we went to WalMart to buy a boom box (the only place left that sells portable radios, as dead as an 8-track tape since the advent of MP3 players). Freshly loaded with batteries, the box worked great in the kitchen, but resting beside us on a blanket on the side of the mountain, it produced only static. We pulled out Iphones and Ipods to tune in something to accompany the bursts of color on the next mountain. Nothing worked. Then a friend pointed out how nice it was to listen to the chirping crickets and croaking frogs, which, in our paradigm, we were trying to drown out.

Seeing Beyond Boundaries

2009-05-16T05:21:00.000-07:00

My 91-year-old grandmother recently fell and broke her hip, almost one year to the day she fell and broke her other hip. It appears to be the final struggle for this Mississippi farm girl who has dealt with many challenges in her lifetime. Still a beautiful woman with olive skin and a square jaw, Granny has always been a faithful servant, forever in the background, cooking and mending, farming and tending to details for everyone but herself. Unlike me and much of her kinfolk, she's never sought the limelight, not once. Recently she told me how depressing it is to stop doing for others. "I lost my purpose," she whispered.

In the hospital the morning she broke her hip, while my parents and wife were tending to doctor consultations and surgery schedules, I did nothing more than stand beside her bed. Like a scene straight from William P. Young's The Shack, she told me I had the most beautiful colors glowing around me with a bright, blue stream flowing through the middle. "And, look!" Her eyes would dart around the space above my shoulders. "Isn't she beautiful?" she asked, smiling wide-eyed. "Who, Granny?" I responded. "My mother," she said. "See? All of my ancestors are here." I've never had such goosebumps staring at a blank wall.

Since that day, between long periods of anxiety and hallucinations and in the most feeble of whispers, she has shared some profound spiritual truths with this grandson. How appropriate that this dear woman - who all her life has served up plates of fried chicken and field peas with a pot-liquor better than any gumbo - would now provide such eternal food for the soul. I love you, Granny.

What makes you feel grateful?

2009-03-23T20:27:00.000-07:00

Traipsing through narrow streets in Tangier last week, I was bombarded by toothless street vendors holding wooden camels and tin bracelets in my face, all with prices dropping faster than my stock portfolio. “No thanks,” I said, smiling and shaking my head, looking away at rooftops and stray cats. Then I saw him at the entrance to our restaurant – a young man blind in one eye, selling an accordion postcard with images of Morocco. My mind jumped to a scene in the film Slumdog Millionaire, the one where the young, blind beggar knows Ben Franklin’s mug is printed on a U.S. one-hundred dollar bill. “No thanks,” I repeated as I passed this boy and ducked inside to eat couscous and drink mint tea and watch belly dancers. He was still there when I came out, smiling, trying to sell his postcard. I gave him coins to equal the modest asking price, but though I didn’t take the postcard, I left with a permanent image fixed in my mind, one that makes me grateful for films like Slumdog Millionaire and blind boys with the courage to smile at strangers.

Fake Rock and Styrofoam Chimneys: Casualties of a Recession

2009-03-04T05:15:00.000-08:00

I’ve been involved in real estate development for 25 years, climbing a perpetual mountain, selling the American dream. Of course, in the last 18-months, I discovered the mountain has a sheer side. Oops. Don’t go that way …

This market “correction” is painful, like sliding down a razor blade into a vinegar salt bath, like bungee jumping with a cord that’s 10-feet too long. All this pain will eventually lead to gain, right? But what have we learned? What will the stabilized housing market look like? What will new houses look like?

Personally, I hope homes become real again, authentic places where our chimneys stay intact in a strong wind and our stone doesn’t fade to gray as our hair does. A few years ago, I was involved in a project in Louisiana where we attempted to make affordable townhomes look like mansions. Isn’t that providing a service to the common homebuyer, making the house they really can’t afford look like a house they really can’t afford? Doesn’t everyone want to come home to Tara, and shouldn’t Tara have twin chimneys?

It looked good on paper, but I wasn’t buying the architect’s suggestion that we place Styrofoam cubes on the roofs, smear them with stucco, cap them with galvanized aluminum and call them chimneys. This is the coastal south, where we have hurricanes. I had to step out of the room, laughing so hard, visualizing chimneys impaled by limbs. “Honey, I thought we had a chimney …” I joked, impersonating a homeowner, “or did I just dream that?”

We caved to the “aesthetic and classical symmetry” the architect was selling and stuck twenty or so of these faux chimneys around the project. Then a little thing happened called Hurricane Katrina, and some of those chimneys morphed into packing peanuts.

When I start building houses again (and eventually I will), I hope my homes will be at least as strong and solid as the bank that holds the mortgage. Something tells me both will look very different.

On the Menu for Ash Wednesday: Recession-proof Gumbo Salad Dressing

2009-02-25T13:30:00.000-08:00

This year for Lent, rather than give something up, I’m going to do something new each day. Why not? We’re in a recession and I’ve already given up every indulgence. Isn’t this a good year to flip the abstinence thing upside down?

White tablecloth restaurants are suffering. Grocers report a sharp decline in the sale of seafood and steaks. I’m from the coastal south where, to stretch the food budget, we throw everything in a stockpot and call it “gumbo.” Don’t ask what’s in there. If you make a good, dark roux to begin with, everything works.

Couldn't “gumbo” philosophy work in other areas of life? Are there ingredients I love (friends, family, hobbies, books) that I've left out of the soup too long? I’ll spend the Lenten season exploring the back shelves of my life's pantry.

Enough philosophy. Here's a practical suggestion from a professional chef buddy: when you get to the bottom of condiments (mustard, mayonnaise, 1000 Island, whatever), add a ¼ cup of white vinegar to the container, put the top back and swish it around. Shake it hard, to get every last drop of what you paid good money for but can't reach with a knife, and then use this as a tangy dressing for a salad or sandwich. Even better, start a house dressing jar you keep in the refrigerator, combining various flavors. The only downside is you may reach salad dressing Nirvana, only to realize you don’t know how you got there.

Who says we can’t eat well in a recession? Or, live well, for that matter.

War and Recession

2009-02-24T11:23:00.000-08:00

You've heard the story that Mother Teresa refused to attend an anti-war rally. "Hold a peace rally," she said, "and I'll be there." So what can you do when the world declares "war" on recession and you can't escape the gloomy news?

Be creative. Yeah, yeah, I know. Everyone has told you to look for the silver lining, but the lining is frayed. So how can we have fun with this? Why don't we create a network of tweets with imaginative ways to stretch a budget?

Here's an example: eat your pantry/cupboard/refrigerator bare before you grocery shop again. Be honest. You have a can of something at the back of a shelf older than you want to admit. I recently heard of a friend who found a can in his kitchen of LeSeur Peas dated 1986. He had moved it to a new shelf in a new pantry in a new home five times.

Make it a game. Pair things in inventive ways. Share outrageous recipes. See how long it takes you to reach bare naked shelves. Anyone up for this challenge?

Why a happily-married, middle-aged man needs a social media life

2009-02-23T08:28:00.000-08:00

I've been on the periphery of social media networking for awhile, watching my adolescent sons explore "Myspace" and "Facebook." Not much seemed relevant for my businesses, all the sharing of songs, YouTube links or jokes. This past weekend, I jumped headfirst into the social media pool on twitter.com. Confusing at first, even boring, I continued treading water, reading tweets and following links posted by people with similar interests.

Hours later, I was not only hooked, I was enlightened. My dive into social media had introduced me to a number of provocative thinkers. I can't wait to see who I'll meet today and what technology is the next hot topic ... I could ask my kids when they get home from school, but then I wouldn't grow my own social network. No fun in that.

Sunday night, gathered in our living room to watch the Oscars, it was nice to have my kids come look over my shoulder at the laptop, curious about this new website Dad discovered, a medium that looked suspiciously like something they should have found first.

First Impressions

2009-02-12T07:44:00.000-08:00

The week I started my first job out of college, I spent an afternoon creating appliance ads for the Gas Company, crawling around on a vintage 1950's metal desk in a tiny office (labeled a storage closet on the "You Are Here" emergency escape map by the elevator).

This was before the rise of electronic publishing, so I used press type (letters you rub off with a stick), tracing paper and border tape. Of course, I didn't intend to stay an "Advertising Assistant" for long, so, like all the other up-and-coming-twenty-somethings, I wore a dark suit, starched dress shirt and tie to work. At the end of the day, I rolled my sleeves down, put on my coat and tucked paperwork in my leather briefcase (a graduation present), shut the door to my office and joined a crowd waiting for an elevator. Thinking I looked very junior-executive-like, I nodded and spoke to everyone. People looked at me funny.

With a dozen co-workers, I made the trek through the lobby, out onto the sidewalk, across the street and over a block to the parking garage where everyone from the Gas Company parked, still getting a cold shoulder. Oh well, I was young and green and perhaps unaware that junior-executives just didn't talk much in transit. I tossed my briefcase in the back and slid into the driver's seat. When I glanced in the rear view mirror, smack dab in the middle of my forehead was the capital letter "A" coming along for the ride, a stray piece of press type. No wonder I got such funny looks. I'd made the A-list, after just one week on the job.

There's a New Town in Kid

2009-02-08T05:12:00.000-08:00

Every few years growing up, my family moved to a new state. Caravans with Mayflower moving vans and backseat pillow fights were family traditions. My brother and I developed a routine for telling our room good-bye: we'd stand in the doorway, spit on our palms, rub them in the carpet and then jump backwards out of the room. Pretty ridiculous, I know, but somehow cathartic for two boys with such shallow roots. There were "friends" I would have liked to spit on and jump backwards over, too, but that was not allowed.

The painful move came during Jim's junior and my sophomore year in high school. We moved from Hollywood, Florida, a land of sunny beaches and Art Deco hotels, to Wilderness, Virginia, to attend Spotsylvania High School. Pulling off I-95 between Richmond and D.C. at Fredericksburg, we saw a red barn by a silo. "That's the nicest hotel in town," Dad said. It was a Sheraton ingeniously built to blend with the pastoral setting. I sank low in the backseat. There was not a stick of chrome or a sheet of glass in sight.

Northern Virginia was a beautiful place, steeped in history. As we drove through the Revolutionary village, the Eagles' hit song "New Kid in Town" came over the radio; it was our theme song. Jim and I made a pact to talk less about where we came from, more about where we'd landed. Living in transient places like Atlanta and Hollywood, we'd heard our share of sob stories from homesick kids. I quickly grew to love those rolling hills, old farmhouses and the dirt roads of Virginia, as much as any sandy beach or palm tree. I also learned not to judge a hotel by its silo.

The Rhythm of Rest

2009-02-05T05:05:00.000-08:00

Recently, I rediscovered the benefit of having a rhythm to rest. I tend to push rest down my priority list, behind random emergencies, work and family, community and church. Sometimes, I push it so far down, it falls off the list. Last weekend, I “got off the carousel” to go to the Monastery of the Holy Spirit in Conyers, Georgia, with two friends from Independent Presbyterian Church in Birmingham, Alabama. We’re part of a Spiritual Formation Group searching for ways to help our congregation move beyond intellectual study and "experience" God.

We went to five services a day, starting at 4 a.m. (appropriately called "vigils") and ending with the "great silence" around 8 p.m. (none of my friends believe I'm capable of great silence except while eating). There was something meaningful and authentic about setting these specific times aside for God, something reminiscent of a bell chiming the hour or waves crashing against the shore.