ORANGEHOUSE

We Tree Kings

2012-01-22T19:55:00.000-06:00

The tree trimming company that works for our electric utility put a note on our door telling us they would soon be in our neighborhood. I called them and asked for a special favor. I had two trees that were all tangled up in the electric service lines that ran from the power pole to the back of my house. (I have learned this is called your home's "service entrance" by the way.) The owner of the company came to the house to take a look and agreed that we had a problem, and a few days later his entire entourage showed up at my house at 7:30 AM on December 23rd. They had two chipper trucks and two cherry pickers lined up down my street, and all of the men started buzzing around my yard preparing to take down the trees. I was half expecting more guys to rappel down out of a helicopter saying "hut hut hut", but that never happened.

(Some of you may be mourning my trees and mentally calculating the extra CO2 that will be in the atmosphere as a result of this, but these two were so tangled up in my power lines that it was causing a problem. If a big wind were to one day blow one of the trees down, and that actually happens here, it would yank all the electricity lines and meters off the back of my house, and my neighbor's too. It could even start a fire. And I was unable to trim the tree myself because of it being tangled up in the power lines. This tree needed pros.)

[At one point there were 13 men in our backyard.]

Almost all of the dialog between these men was in Spanish. I could only make out a little bit of it, but I'm pretty sure they kept calling the guy up in the tree "Pokemon" for reasons known only to tree pros. To me it sounded like "Spanish Spanish Spanish tree Spanish Spanish him Spanish Pokemon".

I was so happy to have this tree removed I decided to make them some coffee. It was cold and early, and they drank about three pots between them. One of them noticed the bumper sticker on my car that says "Yo <3 Los Frijoles, Honduras" and asked me about it. I got to tell him (in Spanish) that I travel down there with students every summer to work on projects and eat beans. I'm not really sure he understood my Spanish, but we all went away happy and caffeinated.

[Before]

[After]

Desk Job

2012-01-22T00:24:00.000-06:00

My grandfather's name was Olan Cleo Thomas. He preferred the initials "O.C." and perhaps I can't blame him. When I was a kid I often overheard his friends call him "Tom". This was short for his last name, "Thomas", but I didn't realize this. I actually thought his name was Tom Thomas for a while. I just called him Granddaddy.

My granddaddy was a farmer, a school principal, and for a season, the postmaster at the small-town post office in Ralls, Texas. By the time I met him, however, he had retired from all of these careers except the farming, and that had downshifted into gardening, really. He taught me how to drive a car, shoot a gun, and took me to play golf with him many times.

In his bedroom he had an old wooden desk. Years after his death in 1989 (I think) the desk eventually made it's way to my house, Orangehouse, where it sat in my back room cluttered with toys and the computer printer and miscellaneous back room stuff that polite people put in their back rooms so visitors get the impression they're more organized than they are.

Over the Christmas break The M and I decided to sand it down, clean it up, and move it into David's room for him to use to do his homework. For this task I donned my new Christmas overalls and a little "mousey" sander - the overt manliness of the former being balanced by the toy-like quality of the later.

[A Mouse sander doesn't quite qualify as a "power tool" - it's more like an electric toothbrush with attitude.]

[After sanding it down, I used a leaf blower to blow the sanding dust out of the cracks. This worked remarkably well. Maybe it was the overalls, or maybe it was the leaf blower, but I had the urge to play the Lynyrd Skynyrd CD I bought at Cracker Barrel in a celebration of my redneckedness.]

[Four generations later, the desk has returned to a bedroom, this time my son's.]

Cycles of Success

2011-12-18T13:23:00.000-06:00

Dear readers, I'm sorry I have not written in a couple of months; I have been locked in the basement by a small group of protesters who call themselves Occupy Orangehouse, or "oh-oh" for short.

My last post was an essay by my 15 year-old son, David, in response to a book he read in school called "The Other Wes Moore" by Wes Moore. The ninth graders at his school were assigned to read it and write an essay. David's chosen theme was the relationship between education, poverty, and community. His teacher liked it enough to enter it into a county-wide essay contest and, remarkably, he was one of six winners! He was able to attend a steak dinner with the author of the book, which was his primary motivation: steak, the proverbial carrot.

His grandmother, full of pride and the desire to encourage his academic achievement, bought him his first real suit for the occasion. He looked handsome and professional. He was concerned, at first, that he would be overdressed, but after everyone arrived he relaxed and had a fun night. I was enormously proud of him.

[David outside the steakhouse wearing his new threads.]

[Author Wes Moore and David pretend to be conjoined twins.]

At this point in the post I was going to make some insightful observations about role models, and how they, like education and community, are important for all of us to have, but as I am way behind in blogging, I'll have to cut it short.

An Essay by David

2011-10-04T20:20:00.002-05:00

Cyclesof Poverty and Success

Poverty,education, and community are all part of a cyclical pattern. Poverty

is amplified from a lack ofeducation, and the impoverished typically live in communities with a lowstandard of expectations. Because ofwide spread academic neglect, these expectations are put on each generation astime moves on. For example, if someone is impoverished because of a badeducation, then they won’t have enough money to send their kids to a goodschool. Living in a community where noone is well educated, there are no role models to follow, and the patterncontinues.

In“The Other Wes Moore” by Wes Moore, these ideas are supported by each Wes’ life. Both the narrator and the “other Wes Moore”led similar lives in their early childhood. Both grew up in similarcircumstances, in the same neighborhoods, in fatherless homes, and of course,in a world greatly influenced by drugs. However, the narrator was only a spectator of the “drug game”. The “other Wes Moore” was a player in this“game”. (Moore 73)

Thecyclical pattern of poverty was continued in this way by the “other Wes Moore”,but it was broken by the narrator. Thenarrator’s mother played a large part in this. She sent him to military school which broke the poverty cycle in twoways. First, this gave him a very goodeducation, second it got him away from a community of drugs and peers withlittle respect for their own schooling. The “other Wes Moore” wasn’t so fortunate. He chose to make his money from illegalactivities and to drop out of high school. (Moore89)

InMcClennan County there are many opportunitiessimilar to the narrator’s. Rapoport Academy, for example, is a greatcombination of a hard working community, excellent education, and littlecost. District superintendent Dr. NancyGrayson said, “We all have a shared vision, everyone wants to work together forthe sense of community,” in an interview with Focus Magazine of BaylorUniversity. These key characteristics are the same as the narrator’s militaryschool with two exceptions, at Rapoport Academy there is no costto attend. Also, places like Rapoport Academy provide a positive communityonly during school hours; whereas the narrator’s military school provided ittwenty four hours a day. Attitudes inone’s community can subtly influence one’s attitude towards education. It is for this reason that one’s home lifemust be supportive and positive. Evenwith an excellent school, the absence of a role model can cripple one’s abilityto appreciate the value of a good education. Additionally a positive support group made of close friends and familyis important in deciding one’s future. This is also shown throughout the story of the Wes Moores. On one hand, the narrator’s mother andsisters were very supportive and pushed Wes to do well even when he didn’t wantto. On the other hand, the “other WesMoore’s” mom smoked weed and his brother sold drugs. (Moore 73)

Quality educations and supportive communitiesare helping people move out of poverty in McClennan County. This is embodied by a sign at Rapoport Academy which says, “If you thinkeducation is expensive, try ignorance!” Just as a poor education and negative community cultivate a cyclicalpattern of poverty, a good education and positive community cultivate acyclical pattern of success.

Hope "Falls" Eternal

2011-09-10T14:11:00.000-05:00

I have a new level of hope in my life. Not that I have had any deeply spiritual experiences or read something profound to give me this hope. I haven't seen an inspirational movie or been to a motivational conference. It's much more shallow than that. It's merely circumstantial, but yet it's there. I can't deny it.

Here in Central Texas we have been a prisoner of war, and the war is almost over. It seems that the jail cell of Summer has cracked, and Fall has entered like an unlikely hero. "I'm Luke Skywalker and I'm here to rescue you." And I am like Princes Leah, except with twice the body mass and cooler hair.

This year we smashed the record for the highest number of days above 100 F in a year: a total of 87 days. I'm sure Al Gore is to blame, somehow. The previous record was only 63 days, set back in 1980. It's been oppressive and seemingly unending. It drains hope. But in the last few weeks it has finally cooled off so I've been spending more time outside, buoyed by a new hope.

And what have I been doing outside? Good things.

Today I finished the decking of an overly large, dangerously tall, and questionably safe tree-house in my backyard. I'm embarrassed that it took me this long to get this far - so embarrassed that I am not even going to tell you how long it took. And that's saying something. I like to make fun of myself in an attempt at entertaining you, the reader, but this is a sore subject for me.

At any rate, here are some photos:

[Jono sits on the deck, waiting for adventure. The flag of Quebec flies proudly because... well, because it's the only flag we own that can take the rain. Oh wait, I don't mean rain, I mean the water from my sprinklers, because it hasn't rained in a long time. On the ground you can see my tools and an empty coffee cup, the icon of a good Saturday morning.]

[We haven't built any walls or rails yet, so you have to be cautious near the edges. It's a little spooky.]

[This is the view of my house, ORANGEHOUSE, as seen from the tree-house. It's not really orange anymore. It used to be, but we got a new roof. When we bought the house, the roof was a burnt orange color, just like the bricks and the shutters and the garage door and the trim and every paintable surface. In fact, it looked like someone spray painted the whole house one color, orange, so we called it "Orangehouse".]

[This is what it looks like up on the deck.]

[I used steel cables and turnbuckles to support the frame, just because they're cool. The other ends of the cables are mounted in the trunk of the tree with really big screws, also cool.]

[There is a cool branch that comes up through a cool hole in the floor.]

I have been told that people who live in cold climates get excited when winter finally cracks and spring starts to arrive. In fact, there's a great scene like that in "The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe." But for me, it's the reverse. Summer has finally passed. The back of the oppressor has been broken, and new hope has arrived.

What brings you hope?

African Palm Trees - A Real Power Plant

2011-08-20T17:04:00.001-05:00

This post is for engineers, techies, farmers, and renewable energy enthusiasts. Think of it as a Discovery Channel program on your computer. Except no commercials. And well, lower quality. But more jokes. And short "sentences". Like this.

But in this post I want to tell you about something hopeful (for a change) going on in Honduras. I want to tell you about something widespread, metaphorically and literally green, and economically beneficial on a large scale. I want to tell you about something that will make you feel good on account of it being so clever. Think of it as the feel-good hit of the summer, or at least as you're good as you're going to feel reading this blog.

OK, here we go.

The African Palm industry is the second largest industry in the country of Honduras. African Palms are a class of trees known as "oil palms", and they produce "palm oil" which is, of course, a type of vegetable oil. Palmolive: softens hands while you do the dishes. The main use for palm oil is cooking, and Honduras is exporting it to the tune of $350,000,000 to $450,000,000 per year. Only coffee can claim higher numbers.

It's funny, because oil palms produce palm oil. It's like an agricultural palindrome. Except it's the words that are reversed, not the letters. I suppose it would be closer to being a real palindrome if oil palms produced smlap lio, but they don't, so that's as close as we're going to get. But you already understand that, so let's move on.

[a truck collects palm fruit on an access road in a plantation of African Palms]

As you drive around the bread basket of Honduras, the Sula Valle, you will see miles and miles (kilometers and kilometers) of these palms in giant plantations. You will see them in different stages of development, since they live for more than 30 years. Those that are less than five or ten years old are only bushy adolescents and don't produce much fruit yet, but as they age they get taller and start producing large clusters of palm fruit that are chopped from the tops of the trees by men with long sleeves and longer poles, the ends of which have a curved saw like a tree trimmer's tool. In the mornings and afternoons, you will see them riding their bikes back and forth to work with their 20 foot pole saws balanced on their shoulders. Other workers gather these clusters and throw them into trucks with pitch forks.

The fruit comes in clusters like giant grapes that remind me of the story of Joshua and Caleb coming back from spying out the promised land. The clusters are called "raquis" pronounced rah-keys. Kinda like Iraqis without the I. They weigh up to 50 pounds - the raquis that is, not Iraqis. Can you imagine what a commotion they make when the come falling down from the tops of the trees? Stand aside, Clyde, or be killed by a falling vegetable. The raquis of fruit sell for between $1000-$1100 per ton.

[These are raquis, or clusters, of palm fruit. On the right are a few big ones in a wheel barrow.]

The fruit itself is a woody date-like thing about the size of an oblong golf ball. There are over 100 "palmas", or fruits, in a raqui. I don't know how many are in Iraqi. I asked some experts what they were called. It wen't like this:

Me: What is the name of the actual fruit part?

Expert: It's called a "palma".

Me: I thought "palma" was what they called the whole tree?

Expert: It is. The tree is called a palma and so is the fruit. Palmas arboles y palmas frutas.

Me: I understand it softens hands while you do the dishes?

[a palma in the palma is worth two in the bush]

[When you slice open a palma, you can see three distinct parts. The orange outer part is called the pulp (pulpa) and is 21% oil. The oil that comes from this part is called crude (crudo) oil and is the type used for cooking. The brown ring that surrounds the white part is a hard nut (nuez) and the inside is known as the almond (almendra). The almond is only 1% oil. This tiny bit of oil is called kernel (palmiste) oil and is also extracted and used for soaps and cosmetics. Both types of oils are exported to Europe, the USA, and Mexico.]

I had the honor of getting to tour an excellent plant that extracts the oils from the fruit. The name of the plant was Palcasa. Perhaps "Palcasa" is a contraction of palma casa, or house of palms, sorta? "Palm House... in the middle of our street."

At any rate, this plant is one of a dozen large plants in Honduras and produces about 10% of the country's output. This particular plant has won environmental awards because of the way they use their waste streams to produce energy, and that is why I am writing about it.

[The Palcasa plant for extracting oil from African Palms]

[You can see small, medium, and large trucks unloading raquis of palmas into large reddish brown piles. The processing plant is owned by over 1000 farmers in a coop and it processes about 60 tons per hour.]

[The first step to extracting the palm oil: Raquis are queued up in giant hoppers and get dispensed into carts mounted on railroad tracks.]

[The carts are rolled into steaming chambers where the fruit becomes sterilized. The steam also helps separate or loosen the fruits (palmas) from the raquis.]

At this point something clever happens. The fruit is separated from the raquis and goes onto further processing. The wasted biomass material left over from the raquis goes to a giant furnace where it is burned. From this they produce the steam used at the plant in addition to generating electricity with a steam turbine. They produce 3.4 MW of power this way (equals 34,000 one hundred Watt light bulbs). The plant uses a lot of this power, and they sell the rest to the national electrical grid. If they had to purchase this electricity it would cost them over $8000 per day!!

The nut is removed from the pulp and the two parts go their separate ways, never to be reunited. There is some crying at this point, and hugging, and taking of pictures with cell phones. But eventually the pulp goes to have its oil extracted and the nut goes on for further processing. The oil that comes out is a mirky orange substance about the color of a pumpkin. It's called crude oil at this point, and goes on to get filtered and sold. After the oil extraction, the leftover solid wastes join their raquis brethren in the furnace to be burned.

[The crude oil is stored in these tanks. The hill on the right has a young plantation that is probably not yet producing fruit. The trees are planted in rows and columns 10 meters apart so that when they are fully grown their canopies will not crowd each other.]

[The nuts after being separated from the pulp]

At this point the nuts are opened and the almonds are removed and crushed to remove the high value palmiste oil. I'm not sure how this is done; I think he said something about an army of ballerinas and Tchiakovsky at Christmas, but I may have missed something in the translation. After the oil is removed from the almond, what remains is a meal sold as feed for chickens and other livestock. The shell from the nut goes to the furnace. Everything is used in one way or another.

[bags of chicken feed being loaded on a truck]

At this point in the process, every bit of the raquis has either been converted into a useful product for sale, or has been sent to the furnace to help generate electricity. But I haven't mentioned one other thing: the liquid wastes. What can be done with the liquid wastes? You guessed it! Make biogas! My favorite subject.

Each ton of fruit combines with water and produces one ton of "mud" which would, normally, be a waste product. But the mud is allowed to cool and sent to one of four underground concrete tanks, each about the size of a football field. They are covered with an air tight, flexible cover which inflates with methane as hosts of methane-producing bacteria digest the amino acids in the "mud".

[a vat of liquid waste "mud" from one of the extraction processes]

[These are the flexible membranes that collect the methane. Although I didn't see any signs, I'm guessing this is a no smoking area.]

[The furnace that burns the solid wastes is about 30 feet tall.]

[Some of the char that comes out of the furnace is reused in the biogas process to help remove unwanted chemicals, specifically H2S and CO2.]

The presence of CO2 in the biogas dilutes the energy content of it, so it's good if it can be removed. The presence of H2S, however, is more sinister. It will mix with water to produce sulfuric acid, a nasty substance you don't want floating around inside your machines because it corrodes their internal parts. After removing these gases, the biogas is largely methane (CH4) and can be burned in generators to produce still more electricity. This is also sold to the national electrical grid. Furthermore, since their electricity production is so green, they earn carbon credits that are sold to Dutch companies who are required (by the Kyoto treaty, I think) to purchase them to offset their own greenhouse gas emissions. Cha-ching in Spanish is cha-chinga. OK, not really.

The Palcasa plant is doing an amazing job at using every scrap of the African Palm to produce renewable energy, multiple useful products, and tons of jobs for the country of Honduras. Other large processors in Honduras are following their example and converting their plants to operate similarly. It's one of the most successful things I have ever seen in Honduras, and it's worthy of emulation and adulation. Oh yes, and it softens hands while you do the dishes.

Miscellaneous Images from Honduras

2011-08-18T22:13:00.001-05:00

I spent a total of six weeks in Honduras this summer. My Spanish improved noticeably and I received my first and only complement on it by a Honduran national. Then again, I only think he was complementing me. I find it harder to understand than to mistakenly imagine I'm being understood.

I got tiger-stripe tan lines on my feet from wearing my Keens and working outdoors. I even developed a little heat tolerance and have been able to endure the Texas heat much better since I returned (it's been 105 regularly whereas it was a cool 95 in Honduras). I used to think that the idea of building up a tolerance to heat was a myth perpetrated by people who wanted to make me feel bad for using air conditioning. Well, maybe it is, but I have become a believer in the myth and in doing so received the unexpected benefit of being OK with the heat. Of course, I lost about 30 pounds too, so that may have something to do with feeling cooler.

Here are some miscellaneous images from my time in Honduras. None of them, by themselves, is adequate visual anchoring for a blog post of their own but together they weave a mismatched tapestry reminiscent of an engineer trying to dress himself...

[This is the biggest black plastic tank I could find. They are made for drinking water storage, but we use them for other projects too. Our biodigester uses a 1,700 liter tank, but this Mother Ship is a 22,000 liter tank. "Maybe I could use it one day," he says to himself with a dreamy tone of voice. I like this picture because it makes me look thinner by comparison.]

[I took this picture while I was waiting for the students to complete their white water rafting experience. I was laying in a shady hammock on the banks of the Congreal river when I took it. The shoes are the Keens I mentioned from which I got my tiger stripes.]

[This is a toucan that lives at the Jungle River lodge and, apparently, likes lemonade.]

[I made a deal with one of my students: if I would go out into the (presumably) snake-infested gully to retrieve his misthrown Frisbee, then he would make my peanut butter sandwich. It turned out to have been a good deal, although I suspect I would have a different opinion if I would have had to use the machete in my hand to defend myself against like, a cobra or something.]

[We bought a dump truck load of rocks to form the base of our solar hot water heater. It was kinda cool when they were delivered.]

[This is just about the last picture I took. It's the sunset from Sambo Creek on the north coast of Honduras.]

Loma de Luz

2011-08-12T13:55:00.000-05:00

During our most recent four week trip to Honduras, we visited a mercy hospital on the north coast called Loma de Luz (hill of light). Our hosts were Brad and Trish Ward, who showed us great hospital-ality and brainstormed with us about future projects we could undertake together. I was refreshed by this visit; I found kindred spirits, especially in Brad. He and I spent a couple of nights talking late into the night about US culture vs. Latin American culture, about doing projects vs. building relationships, and about the sometimes unclear boundaries between capitalism, socialism, mercy, and kindness. More on this discussion in another post coming soon to a theater near you.

[In the view from the top of the water tower at Loma de Luz you can see the Cayos Cochinos islands.]

[We toured the hospital that treats folks from all around the area.]

[Their facilities were nice and included a couple of operating rooms. They didn't let us operate on anyone.]

[The small (orange!) houses are for families with children needing extended treatments; think Ronald McDonald house. The larger white house is a more permanent children's home that shelters vulnerable people like abused children, orphans, and women in crisis.]

[the front door to one of the little orange houses]

[This is Brad's "barn" and greenhouse. He's making his own blend of fertilizer from manure, machette-cut hay, and biochar (like charcoal) for use with the acres of African palms you can see planted behind these structures. In the greenhouse he plans to build a system of hydroponics married with tilapia production.]

[Brad is experimenting with different chicken breeds. The meaty breed used by McDonalds get so breast-heavy they can't even stand up. I feel like that sometimes. He also has tougher free ranging chickens but they tend to smoke cigarettes and cuss a lot. Maybe he can cross breed a happy medium?]

[Brad discusses his plans to use sheep to keep the grass down around the African palms, and to use free ranging chickens to keep the parasites down (they eat them out of the goat poop, mmm!). I tried to get a picture of Brad that was in focus but my camera kept focusing on the background, sorry.]

Promise Home Orphanage: Part 3, Biogas Generator

2011-08-02T22:26:00.001-05:00

As I mentioned in my last post, the Promise Home orphanage endeavors to raise large quantities of tilapia to fund its operations. Tilapia is big business here in Honduras (where I have been for the last 3+ weeks). In fact, today we had lunch a little restaurant called "La Rocca" where they pull a tilapia out of the tank for you, whack it on the head with a wooden mallet, and then fry it up! Lunch with entertainment! You get the head, fins, tail, and a side of plantains. It's not Tex-Mex, but I like it anyway.

At any rate, if you have a tilapia business you either need to drain the tank a few times per year to shovel out the poop (somebody call Mike Rowe), or build a self flushing type of tank as they did at Promise Home. Our project is to build a biogas generator to convert the fish poop into methane gas which can be used to heat water, cook, or generate electricity, for example. After the tanks are "flushed" the contents go to a sediment tank. The idea is to slow down the velocity of the water so that the "solids" sink to the bottom. That's where we come in. And I mean literally come in.

[William dons the waders in preparation to enter the sediment tank. His matching hat was not planned, just a nice coincidence.]

[He's using a sump pump to vacuum the fish poop off the bottom of the sediment tank. The water is not clear enough to see through, so you have to step around to feel where you have vacuumed and where you have not. Squishy stuff underfoot = need to vacuum.]

[The green hose was 2" in diameter which made it pretty heavy and hard to manage when it was full. We switched to a 1" black polyducto hose like the one in the foreground.]

[This is one of my favorite pictures, mostly for the gross-out factor. This is where the sump pump empties into a 600 gallon tank. It's a fountain of renewable energy! The tank is manufactured for use in collecting drinking water, and we cut the top off with a circular saw. If the tank was square, we would use a square saw. Ba dump bump. The black tank in the picture behind Tim will be inserted, upside down, onto the "fountain" and will fill up with sludge. Being inverted it will be able to collect the gas produced without leaking. It must all be kept in an oxygen-free environment on account of that's the way the bacteria like it.]

[We turned the pump off after about 500 gallons. Later we added a little lime water to control the pH levels and a triple dose of Rid-X Septic Tank treatment to try and jump start the bacterial growth. Make my coffee a Rid-X triple shot low fat mocha with calcium carbonate sprinkles, por favor.]

Here's how it works. First, a class of bacteria called Acid Forming bacteria break down the complex organic molecules into fatty acids. Then a second class of bacteria called Methane Forming bacterial eat these acids and produce methane gas (CH4) as a byproduct. This is the same gas that we commonly refer to as "natural gas" and it can be burned in any of the same appliances such as burners, electric generators, etc.. For the last week or so, we have been monitoring the gas output, but it hasn't been the mother load of biogas that we had hoped for. In fact, it's been just a trickle. We're not sure what's wrong, but we know sometimes it can take weeks to get stabilized. Stay tuned for more news on the fish-poop-to-renewable-energy project of the century! Cue fish poop music in your mind.

Promise Home Orphanage: Part 2, Solar Hot Water Heater

2011-08-01T23:54:00.005-05:00

In Part 1 of this post, I mentioned the motivation and desperate need for adequately funded facilities for orphans in Honduras. Promise Home, located in Toyos, Honduras, endeavors to be a financially self-sustaining orphanage that also provides both education and vocational training to their children, so that the young adults leaving their care are prepared to enter the Honduran culture, not the culture of North America. To fund this monumental project, they have planted lots of fruit trees, a plantation of African Palms, and a fish farm to grow thousands of tilapia. African palms may be the largest industry in Honduras, I'm not sure, but it's huge. And lots of folks are growing tilapia too, so these two revenue streams for the orphanage will also serve as the vocational "classrooms".

Why financially self-sustaining you ask? Because there are lots of examples of orphanages that operate on donations that start off strong, but later the donor base erodes away and then they are underfunded and under utilized. So at Promise Home, the idea is to generate a business using the transient donations, and use the ongoing revenues of that business to run the orphanage in the long term.

One of our projects to support them is to design and build an inexpensive solar hot water heater. This post shows photos from our work. The tilapia grow better in warm water, so this could be a big help to them. To date, we have 24 black "polyducto" tubes, each 150 feet long. They lay on a bed of gravel and are irradiated by the intense sunshine as water is pumped through them. We are able to heat a 600 gallon tank in a few hours and have a peak power level of over 10 kW.

[closeup of pipes on the ground]

[high tech pipe holder]

[Sarah pulling pipes]

[each roll is 200 ft long and costs 200 Lempiras, or $10]

[we bought 2,477,316 rocks, each individually wrapped]

[Sarah checking the level of things]

[view from Promise Home]

[Tim built a giant potato gun. You can see the 600 gallon black storage tank on the left. This is where the circulated water is stored and gets hotter and hotter. I call it the jacuzzi.]

[20 foot lengths of 3 inch PVC pipes, loaded in the nearby town and driven to the site Honduran style]

[day one of surveying, I loaded my photos in reverse order...duh]

[If you've read this far, you're either a techie or a blood relative and feel obligated to do so. At any rate, here is the performance data. The circulating water coming out of the black tubes is the red curve, and the 600 gallon storage tank temperature is the blue curve. You can see about 1:30 PM we had a rain storm and the device actually started cooling the water, instead of heating it!! We will have to build a regulating mechanism to keep our system from acting like this: a gigantic automobile radiator!]

So I realize now that I am at the end of this post and I don't have a picture of the final product. Blogging for Dummies would be very critical of me. Oh well. It's not like you're paying to read this. Who am I kidding, it's not like you're even reading it!

Promise Home Orphanage: Part 1, Nueva Esparansa

2011-08-01T00:40:00.004-05:00

I am with a team of engineering students serving the Promise Home orphanage in Toyos, Honduras. Toyos is a little town an hour and a half from San Pedro Sula, the second largest city in Honduras and the home of the state-run Nueva Esparansa (New Hope) center for children. Nueva Esparansa is where children of the city are taken when they are taken away from their parents. This might be because they are abused, orphaned, abandoned, or simply can't be afforded anymore on account of Papa ran off and now Mama can't feed the whole flock. It's where the children of drug addicts sometimes are taken, and it's where children with special needs are taken to never return. It's insultingly underfunded (less than $0.75 per child per day) and devoid of hope, despite its name.

But we are assisting a new private orphanage called Promise Home with infrastructure projects as they prepare a place that can receive kids like these. My next few posts will be about our work at Promise Home.

[these kids were taking naps on the ceramic tile floor, cool but hard]

[We spent a lot of time in the baby room holding the little ones and giving them some love. Lucy's arms were sore the next day from so much holding.]

[childrens' beds]

I want to make jokes about the name Nueva Esparansa, and how it's the same as episode IV, "A New Hope", otherwise known as the original Star Wars. But this place isn't in a galaxy far far away. It's here in the real world. And it's almost hopeless. So it's not very funny. But I make jokes anyway, because it was so upsetting that jokes help me cope. I must have issues.

To get to Nueva Esparansa we had to drive through a very poor neighborhood with lots of "squatters" living in make shift housing on par with the ones I have seen Nairobi, though fewer in number. As we approached the site, we saw a 15 foot concrete wall in which a huge steel door opened for us to drive through. It was reminiscent of the Black Gate of Mordor, but that's yet another movie. The building was rather new and clean and the workers inside were pleasant and professional.

We were given the tour of the play areas, classrooms, and sleeping quarters, and while the supplies were meager, the thing that really upset me was not the facilities but the fact that this place was needed at all. In one room we held babies, sometimes two at a time, so they could receive a little more attention than their caretakers could give. There was a boy with a condition (perhaps muscular dystrophy?) that could not speak. He seemed to spend most of his days sitting on a pad on the floor. He seemed about 12 years old, and my guess is that he is a permanent resident. He laughed at the funny things the babies did and liked it when I made funny sounds with my mouth. There were also two boys, each 10 years old, that had some type of mental retardation. They were left in baby cribs almost all of the time. Their diapers were changed while I was there. They are given no training or education, and will also likely never leave. The special care they require is too expensive, and their chances for adoption are very small. They have been thrown away. These boys, more than anything else I saw that day, broke my heart.

My team of students was also touched by their time at Nueva Esparansa, and everyone was remotivated to work hard on our projects for Promise Home. The next few posts will describe these projects, but this post is meant to illustrate the need of it.

Danger Firework Fallout Area

2011-07-15T06:42:00.002-05:00

About 4:00 PM on July 4th, David says to me "When are we going downtown to watch fireworks?"

My first response was going to be "Next year" but I could tell he and Jono really wanted to go. The M and I were reluctant to get out in the heat, the bugs, the crowds, excuses excuses. Isn't there a burn ban in place because of the drought? Mightn't we catch fire ourselves by merely going outside in this heat? Can't we just stay home and watch So You Think You Can Dance?

Perhaps a little begrudgingly we packed the folding chairs and cooler into the van and headed to downtown Waco on the Brazos river. We parked at the Alico building and began walking to the river with our summer outing accouterments strung over our shoulders or pulled behind us on little plastic wheels. After a few blocks, we stopped and asked a policeman about the fireworks launching site, and shortly after that we spotted an open field. As we walked across acres of crunchy dead grass, long starved of water, we came to a temporary chain link fence with a sign on it that told us in no uncertain terms that we had found the ultimate firework viewing area!

[read "Welcome to fireworks viewing heaven"]

[Jono, eager to have the ultimate experience, took his chair right up to the mouth of the dragon.]

[You can see there were "plenty of available seats in the theater".]

After getting our spot staked out, we sat and talked a while and drank Coke Zeros. I would like to see a Coke One someday, just for the binary humor in it. All this drinking had its predictable effect and soon the boys and I were headed to the portable toilets over near the bridges that cross the Brazos river. There were lots of people (this is where the crowds were) and lots of food. The Fabulous Thunderbirds were playing on an outdoor stage.

[This is the famous Waco Suspension Bridge, circa 1870, as seen from the less famous Washington Street Bridge, circa 1920. This is me, spinning in circas. Or perhaps this is me running off to join the circa.]

[Folks on the bridge, waiting for the fireworks to begin]

The boys and I made it back to our seats and soon the fireworks began. We were not disappointed. They were big as the sky and feel-them-in-your-chest loud. They were so loud it made you laugh a little just from surprise. It was one of the most enjoyable fireworks shows I have ever seen. I kept thanking David for making us get off the couch and come watch it.

[We were about 150 yards from the launching site. You can see one taking off from the ground in this picture.]

[The light in this picture is from the fireworks themselves!]

As I looked over at my family, I could see them appear and disappear in the rockets' red glare. One time they would appear shrouded in green, the next time red. It was reminiscent of the way a Texas thunder storm can light up the night sky with lightning as bright as the sun, except without the fear of being killed by 100,000 volts. We all had a really super time and plan to come back to the Firework Fallout Area again next year; we have begun a new family tradition.

Of Ferry Boats and Cosmic Justice

2011-07-11T09:56:00.001-05:00

Today is a day of waiting. My team of engineering students arrived in Honduras yesterday, all but one. Because of his military obligations, Billy had to come a day late. So today, the team is hanging out at the beach-side hotel we know as Jack's Place while I return to Roatan to retrieve Billy. This means I ride the ferry to Roatan, then a taxi to the airport. After I get Billy, we return by the same route. This means most of my day is spent waiting around. I'm glad I brought my book.

This morning I had to do something I have not done before. I had to figure out a way to park my car for the day at the ferry. It took a lot of questions, the answers to which I only understood about 10% of. A half an hour later I had my parking permit and a little less respect of the kind folks with whom I conversed. When I am out and about without a translator I feel a little vulnerable. But it makes me sympathetic to non-English speakers back in the US.

I mentioned that I brought a book. I'm excited about it. It's called "The Quest for Cosmic Justice" by Thomas Sowell. He is a conservative economist from Stanford (I didn't know anything conservative came out of Stanford). It's a critique of social justice programs that fail to take into account the larger costs of their activity to society as a whole. Here's a quote:

"Cosmic justice is not about the rules of the game. It's about putting particular segments of society in the position that they would have been in but for some undeserved misfortune. This conception of fairnes requires that third parties must weild the power to control outcomes, overriding rules, standards, or the preferences of other people."

and later he says

"Implicit in much discussion of a need to rectify social inequities is the notion that some segments of society, through no fault of their own, lack things which others receive as windfall gains, through no virture of their own."

I am looking forward to spending some time reading more today.

Father's Day Pupusas

2011-07-06T19:59:00.000-05:00

The family wanted to take me out for dinner for Father's Day. They asked me where I wanted to go, and after a minute I remembered the perfect place. There's a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant called Rinconcito Salvadoreño (which means Salvadoran Corner) that makes a characteristically Savladoran dish called "pupusas". I have been in love with pupusas since I first had them in Honduras in 2007. Sometimes I wonder why they haven't caught on at more restaurants in the US. Why aren't there Tex-Mex pupusas? Why aren't there ninety nine cent pupusas on the Taco Bell value menu? But then I remember that their name sounds like poopoo. That's a marketing problem in need of a solution.

The place reminded me of Honduras in so many ways. I had to break out the camera and snap a few pictures.

[We were the only people there at 5:00 PM so we got the one table in the shade! The mixed chair styles and plates were characteristically Central American. Notice the plastic chairs and Jono's leather office chair!]

[They put the good sign toward the oncoming traffic, but I like this one best.]

[The menu, as if you would want anything besides pupusas.]

[And this is a pupusa! Wikipedia says that a pupusa is "made of thick, hand-made corn tortilla that is usually filled with a blend of the following: queso (cheese), frijoles (beans), and chicharrón. Pupusas are typically served with curtido (lightly fermented cabbage slaw with red chilies and vinegar) and a watery tomato salsa."]

[This is my half-eaten pupusa, along with a healthy helping of curtido and a watery tomato salsa. Delicioso!]

[The thermostat in the car said it was 107 that day.]

[The owner, a Salvadoran man, decided to make me a complementary bananas foster for us with Bacardi rum and Sunny D, of course. It was exciting. There was fire.]

A soccer (fútbol) game blared loudly on the television. It was El Salvador vs. Panama. In addition to this, there was music playing, also loudly. The whole experience was a ton of fun and reminded me of being in Honduras. We all had lots of laughs and good food, even if it did sound like poopoo.

The Goat Man of Camp Tahuaya

2011-07-06T13:49:00.001-05:00

Last week Jono and I attended four days of Webelos summer camp in Central Texas. I actually sweated out one of my kidneys.

[This path was part of the old Chisholm Trail. You could see wagon tracks carved into the limestone.]

His involvement with Cub Scouts has been on and off over the years. A year with this pack, a year off, a year with another pack, a year off. He's getting the binary number merit badge based solely on his membership history. Ba dump bump. But for the last year he has been with a good Webelos group and, after this camp, is quite close to getting the highest Cub Scout award possible: The Arrow of Light.

There were lots of fun activities and the boys were able to advance by earning lots of pins, the Webelos equivalent to merit badges in Boy Scouts. Here are some highlights of his fun:

[Canoeing was one of his favorite activities. One day I took my own canoe out solo and, despite being an Eagle Scout myself, with the Canoeing merit badge no less, I managed to capsize it. Pride comes before the fall. Fortunately, the digital camera in my pocket was in a zip lock bag.]

[This cave is where the Goat Man of Camp Tahuaya is rumored to live. We didn't actually see him, but we're pretty sure he rummaged through our gear and ate our snack bars. There were cigarette buts and goat hoof tracks in the dirt.]

[He was pretty upset when his first five shots missed the targets all together, but by the end of the week he was nailing the targets and even shot a bull's eye. He asked me why it was called a "bull's eye" anyway. I mumbled something about Greek mythology and the agro-economy of the nineteenth century until the archery instructor told me to be quiet.]

[They got to roast marshmallows on a fire that was so hot he had to crouch down to minimize his exposure. This in spite of the drought-induced burn ban in place. The camp staff said it's OK though, on account of special permission from firemen.]

[Eating smores]

[Sleeping canoes]

[a cool bridge that clomped loudly when you walked across it]

[shooting BB guns]

[a lifeguard shortage meant Jono didn't get to swim nearly as much as he wanted to]

[Learning how to throw a life saver]

[ahh, the simple joys of playing Uno to the light of a propane lantern - watch out for June bugs]

Jono was quite content to hang out with me most of the time. He didn't know the other boys who attended very well. He didn't share their boy tents, but instead shared mine. We had matching cots and plastic trunks for our gear. As we walked along the paths that separated the camp stations, he would tell me he was glad I was there, or that he loved me. At night we would review the favorite parts of our day and look at the stars while speculating about black holes and galaxies and such. We did almost everything together for four days, and our relationship grew tremendously. It was definitely worth the kidney.

Basketball Goals the Locust Had Eaten

2011-07-04T17:50:00.003-05:00

Yesterday my street cred went up with David, and all I had to do was stay up past 3:00 AM and dish out $300 at Academy. I redeemed a haunting memory from my past; the years that the locust had eaten were restored. And I got some blog fodder.

Back in 2005, The M's father bought David a basketball goal. But eight year old David didn't use it very much, and it was in the way of the lawn mower, and one day I needed to borrow it to build a (you guessed it) wind turbine. You see, I was working on a project that used a small wind turbine, and I needed a temporary, mobile mounting platform that was fairly tall and the basketball goal was just the ticket. I removed the backboard and had to cut part of the steel pole to be able to mount the wind turbine, but it worked. My plan was that after we tested it I could put it back together and weld the steel where it had been cut. I figured David wouldn't mind if his basketball goal was missing for a month or two... or six years.

Writing this now, it really seems absurd. Abusive almost. What if he tells a therapist about it someday? I'll look like an idiot.

But you know how these things go. Repairing the goal got put on the back burner, and after a while some pieces got lost, and eventually parts got thrown away. Still, this wasn't a big deal in my mind, because David didn't really like basketball anyway. He was all Pokemon and Legos back then. Every once in a while he would causally mention it to his friends, but in my mind, it was in the past.

David: "Hey dude, want to hang out or something?"
David's Friend: "Yeah, how about we play some basketball?"
David: "Oh sorry, my dad turned my basketball goal into a wind turbine."
David's Friend: "I have no response to that."

[My innovative, if not dangerous, basketball-goal-turned-wind-turbine experiment with Amy and Sarah, 2005. The blades were turning so fast they would easily injure us if we got too close.]

Fast forward to January 2011. David changes schools to the small charter school Rapoport Academy which, having no football team, heralds its basketball players as the most exalted athletes on campus. David enrolls for the spring semester, right in the middle of basketball season - and he's 6' 2" in the eighth grade. He's the tallest kid in the middle school, and taller than most of the adults who work there too. The coach gets all excited and invites him to join the basketball team.

Coach: "Can you play basketball son?"
David: "Well, sorta. I used to have a basketball goal, but my dad converted it into a..."
Me: "Never mind that! David will be happy to play on your team!"

During the last six months he has become very interested in basketball, indeed. He played on the school team, and even got invited to play in a summer league for the high school. He still has a lot to learn, but he is constantly improving. If only he could practice...

Oh sure, he can, and does, go down to the elementary school nearby and use their basketball goals. And sometimes he plays pick up games with characters of questionable reputation down at the YMCA. But he has been asking for a new basketball goal at the house for months.

So yesterday, we went to Academy Sports and Outdoors. I needed some clothes for my upcoming trip to Honduras. Jono needed some water shoes for summer camp. But the big ticket item was the basketball goal we bought for our teenage Dirk Nowitzki. After all, I've got to be thinking about college scholarships. It's an investment, really.

He and I began to assemble it about 10:00 PM in the garage. It was a bit like building a ship in a bottle, and then trying to get it out of the bottle. He and I had a good time putting all the pieces together and I could tell he was excited. As the construction progressed, so did his enthusiasm. I loved that we were connecting over this project, so I kept pushing later and later. Around 2:00 AM we moved the construction into the driveway so we could set up the ladder and make some adjustments. We rolled it to the curb and set the basket height to 10 feet. Then we shot baskets by the headlights of the car until after 3:00 AM. He is happy. I am filled up to overflowing with the gratitude of the redeemed. Two points!

[shooting hoops at 3:00 AM using the car's headlights]

[one of the last touches, putting on the net]

Consejo de Cabezas Calvas (Counsel of Bald Heads)

2011-07-02T04:14:00.004-05:00

For our last night out in Honduras we ate at one of my favorite restaurants, La Ponderosa in La Ceiba. Several friends from the area joined our team to eat lots of grilled beef, chicken, chorizo, plantains, and of course, the best refried beans on the planet. They mix in little bits of sausage and serve them in a "bean pot" over burning charcoals. Thinking about it makes me all misty eyed. Be still my angioplasty.

I found my soul refreshed somehow, being with a couple of gringos my age. Don't get me wrong, I love being with the students, but a conversation with my peers was just what I needed that night. Let me introduce you to a couple of great families. On your left is Mike Pettengill. He and his wife Erin are missionaries in La Ceiba. Erin is a nurse, and they do medical care in impoverished neighborhoods, care for street children, and church planting. It's intense. See Erin's blog. On your right is Brad Ward. He and his wife Trish are also missionaries in Honduras, managing a farm that provides income to a rural mercy hospital. See family webpage.

So you see, I am in the presence of greatness. Erin and Trish are also qualify as "greatness", but they weren't bald so they didn't make the picture. (Technically, I'm not bald either, but rather an uber-hip head shaver.) Our conversation that night filled me with new confidence and erased any doubt that taking engineering students on short term discipline-specific mission trips is what I need to be doing.

You see, last summer I read a book that was simultaneously inspirational and challenging to my core. The authors were somewhat critical of short term missions (STMs) and claimed that when done the wrong way, which is often, STMs can do more harm than good. The book made me think long and hard about how and why I keep doing these trips every year. It made me a better trip taker and trip leader. It made me a better follower of Jesus Christ. But it also worried me a little that this activity I have poured so much physical and emotional energy into might be out of step with what is effective in the long-term and, frankly, what it is that God wants me to be doing.

I wanted to get these missionaries' opinions about the value of STMs to their long-term work. I was pleased to find out that both of them had read the book more thoroughly than myself, and thought it was a bit too critical of STMs. Both of them had well thought out opinions that gave me much counsel, wisdom, and reassurance that STMs, at least the way we are doing them, are effective, wanted, and transformative to both the participants and the nationals served.

["When Helping Hurts" = the book that both moved me to tears repeatedly, and simultaneously scared the refried beans out of me]

And if our conversation over grilled meat and pots of refried beans wasn't enough to nourish my soul for like, at least a decade, when I returned to the US I received some more encouragement in the form of a comment on this very blog from a former student, Mr. Brian Ballard.

Brian went with me on a trip to Kenya way back in 2006. He is now married, gainfully employed, and expecting his first child at any day. He said "Please know what an impact traveling with you as a student had on my life...even 6 years later. I take pride in knowing that (through you) I've had a peek at what using engineering for the greater good looks like. I'm still trying to figure out how it will look for me long term."

Be still my angioplasty.

Mixed Emotions

2011-05-28T02:24:00.001-05:00

Tomorrow is our last day in Honduras, and I have mixed emotions about it. In the last two weeks, we have accomplished much, and even finished our goals ahead of schedule. I have eaten lots of refried beans and plantains, and drank more than a few good cups of coffee. I have enjoyed driving here, and listening to the students gasp at the Honduran driving styles and laugh out loud as they are tossed out of their seats on the bumpy roads. Our team has bonded and drawn closer to each other and to God as we shared our life stories, prayed for each other, and worshiped with both our songs and designs. I don't want to "break up the party" by going home. I remember feeling this way at the end of summer camp as a kid. The extra-ordinary must again yield to the ordinary. It's time to awaken from the dream. Can I press snooze? And yet, at the same time, I miss my family. I miss reliable power and water, and I miss my own bed. I even miss my dog. So in another sense, I am ready to go.

I find that it is often the case that significant things (projects, relationships, or experiences) come with bitter sweetness. Any married person will tell you that. Any parent will too. There is no perfect job or vacation. But there are Good ones. The genuine love for an imperfect family, or even a job, can be eternal and righteous anyway. On this trip to Honduras, I have gained the satisfaction of making our projects work; of keeping all the students alive and happy, in that order; of (perhaps just a little) inspiring them to think differently about how us nerdy engineers can do something of cosmic importance to build the very Kingdom of God; and I have made new friendships and strengthened others with half a dozen extremely talented students half my age and twice my IQ.

And yet, I find that it hurts a little. I know it will never be the same for this particular group. Even in reunions, it can never quite be recaptured. The life and community we have shared is like the sparkly stuff of fireworks: beautiful, yes, but short-lived. It is not insignificant, but it is ephemeral.

---------------

When I first started coming to Honduras, I would experience a very specific emotion at least once each trip. I would find myself feeling like a pretender. I would ask myself "What were you thinking? Who are you kidding to think you should even be here?" I haven't felt that way in the last couple of years. But instead a new tormenter has come. I have been feeling like a bad father and husband. Perhaps I have too much fun on these trips, and it seems wrong to ask my family to function without me while I go "play" for a while. It's hard on me when I know my family needs me, and there is nothing I can do about it because I am so far away. At any rate, I can't seem to shake these darker emotions just under the surface when I am here.

Perhaps these are the "sufferings" in which we get to partake? Paul said we get to share in the sufferings of Christ. Can't there be another way? The tensions of family separation, of financial strain, of the heat and humidity and bugs and electricity blackouts and water shortages, and even the bitter sweet emotions of the end of a special trip - perhaps these are my share of His sufferings for now. This knowledge helps it not to hurt so much.

Hermanos Y Hermanas

2011-05-23T07:07:00.000-05:00

I find it remarkable that from time to time I meet brothers and sisters that I never knew I had. Today was one of those days. The Promise Home orphanage in Honduras where we have been working this week is also the meeting place of a new church in the community. If the church has a name, I never quite got what it was. Maybe it doesn't even have a name. When I'm in Honduras I get used to not always knowing what's going on around me. Who am I kiddng? I never know what's going on around me.

We went to both the morning and evening church services today. There isn't a middle-of-the-afternoon service because the hymnals tend to burst into flames on account of it being so freakin' hot. Of course, I'm kidding, they are way too poor to be able to afford hymnals.

The pastor was an intelligent, passionate, and kind man about my age. I liked him immediately. Despite the language barrier between us, I felt that we were kindred spirits. He was patient with me when I spoke, and reworded his own sentences when I couldn't understand something he said. With him, he brought his wife, six of seven children, and a guitar which he played beautifully.

(the pastor warming up before the service)

As is the custom, I was invited to address the congregation. I spoke without a translator (gulp) and told them (I think) that I taught in Texas, and that these others were my students, and that we had come to work on projects for Promise Home such as "hot water" and "electricity". Then I told them that since we all had the same Father, that we were family. They liked that part and said "amen" and other words I didn't know. Perhaps they were just glad I was going to stop talking.

We sang some songs with melodies I recognized. Soon we were singing the same songs in Spanish and English simultaneously. It was another moment of connection despite the language barrier between us. It was as if we were two prisoners, ears pressed to the cell wall, tapping out messages of hope with our crude implements; we established a significant relational link and the very thing that kept us apart had became a conduit for celebrating our unity.

(Aimie, the pastor, and his wife continued the connection after church. Aimie's voice often makes me cry, but I thought this time was particularly poignant. After shooting this video I went off by myself to wipe my eyes and catch my breath.)

Packing for Honduras

2011-05-14T00:06:00.000-05:00

It's the eleventh hour, literally, and I am nearly ready for our trip to Honduras. The day or two before one of my trips is always the hardest part for me. It's hard to leave my wife and boys. I'm even going to miss the cat I recently dropped $500 to repair at the vet. That's like, 9,500 Honduran Lempiras. It sounds even more expensive that way. Good old Henry the cat. I thought about taking him with me, or perhaps Maggie the Cocker Spaniel. But she would bark at people on the plane...

"Sir, you're going to need to control your animal. This barking is unacceptable and in violation of TSA regulations."

"Sorry, she just has to go to the bathroom. Can we open the door and let her out for a minute?"

"Sir, we're at an altitude of thirty thousand feet."

"If I could just hold her rear end out the door..."

Right now, tumbling in the drier, are the lightweight quick-dry clothes that I always take with me. They can get wet (from rain, rivers, and sweat) and dry overnight. My routine is to wear them right into the shower, wash them with a bar of soap, hang them up on a bungee clothes line. They're ready to wear by morning.

On the kitchen counter are the following items, in no particular order:

1) knee high rubber boots, size 13
2) two tool bags with hand tools, a soldering iron, a volt meter, and a laser tachometer
3) a bottle of Benadryl for allergic reactions
4) doses of both Imodium and ex-lax: the ones and zeros of engineering trips abroad. I can't pack them next to each other because they would cancel each other out, leaving only empty containers and the fear of untreatable gastrointestinal distress.
4) the following books: "When Helping Hurts", and "Solar Engineering of Thermal Processes"
5) several thermocouples and a temperature-measuring data logger with a USB connector (check it out)
6) a very worn out baseball cap that has accompanied me on ever trip I have taken since 2006

After I got back from Kenya in 2006, I refused to put my ball cap in the laundry; how could I wash Africa down the drain? A few years later, however, working in the heat and humidity of Honduras, my sweat soaked through the cap and mixed with this Kenyan souvenir. The muddy stain was gross, so I abandoned sentimentality in favor of hygiene.

By now, it is nearly midnight. I have procrastinated packing another hour by writing this blog post. I'm thinking about going to Wal-mart to buy some sunscreen and travel snacks. I'm too excited to sleep.

New Project in Honduras

2011-05-10T22:53:00.000-05:00

In five days I leave for Honduras again. Six engineering students and I will be at the Promise Home orphanage working on infrastructure projects. This year we will be doing some electrical wiring for security lights as well as designing and testing a solar hot water heater. They need a lot of hot water. An outrageous amount.

As part of their plan to be financially self-sustaining before they start taking in orphans, they have constructed several large concrete tanks in which to raise tilapia (the fish) to sell. And it seems that the tilapia don't like cold water. They grow much more slowly in cooler water.

"Hey mister, turn up the heat already. I'm freezin' in here!"

In fact, they grow about 10% slower for every 2 degrees F cooler than the optimal temperature, which is about 82 F. And since this supposed to be is a money-making gig, not just an over sized aquarium, slow growing fish translates to less money.

Every day, they add fresh water to the tanks. This water comes from a local river and has a temperature about 10 F below what the fish like. So we are trying to help them slightly warm the temperature of this fresh water. Sound easy?

The hard part is they need to warm 60,000 gallons a day! That's the equivalent of an Olympic sized swimming pool every day and a half!

So we got together and started brainstorming about how to do this. We tossed around ideas like using a small fusion reactor, or buying 2000 hot water heaters from Home Depot and packing them in our luggage. Nothing seemed practical.

But in Honduras they have an abundance of sunshine and humidity. We can't use the humidity, but I think we can build a prototype solar hot water heater like one that might be used to heat a swimming pool. But we can't build it all at once. Our plan is to build a prototype unit that can be replicated, perhaps many times, in order to get it big enough to heat the 60,000 gallons needed per day.

That's the goal. We have two weeks to do it. More tomorrow.

This Chaos Production

2011-05-03T23:58:00.001-05:00

Anxious, I lie awake
Tsunamis of troubles
My glacier is melting
On burst housing bubbles

I am quite powerless
Forced out of indifference
By what news men show me
Ads tell me my preference

Our oceans are plastic
Unnoticed malaria
Clean water in shortage
Islamic mania

Our systems are fallen
Erected by broken
Billionaires in Hummers
And junkies crack smokin'

My own heart divided
To eat snakes or salmon?
Do hungers control me
In spiritual famine?

Sweet Jesus have mercy!
This chaos production
Let your Kingdom come soon
Undo the destruction!

a poem by the Middle Aged Fat Guy

A Poem That Touched Me

2011-04-14T09:38:00.001-05:00

What I Know

by Lee Robinson

What I know for sure is less and less:
that a hot bath won't cure loneliness.

That bacon is the best bad thing to chew
and what you love may kill you.

The odd connection between perfection
and foolishness, like the pelican
diving for his fish.

How silly sex is.
How, having it, we glimpse
our holiness.

What I know is less and less.
What I want is more and more:

you against me—
your ferocious tenderness—

love like a star,
once small and far,
now huge, now near.

"What I Know" by Lee Robinson, from Hearsay. © Fordham University Press, 2004

Wind Turbine Project: Part 16, The Final Chapter

2011-04-09T19:17:00.002-05:00

Last Tuesday the winds were gusting up to 35 miles per hour in Central Texas. I was excited because I had my data logger connected to our Engineers with a Mission wind turbine and I couldn't wait to see how much power we could generate in the high winds. The tower of the wind turbine was mounted on a large hinge, so that it could be lowered by pivoting for purposes of maintenance. The thought crossed my mind that we should lower it because of the high winds, but I decided not to in order to see how much power we could harvest. I also wanted to test the "self furling" mechanism which was designed to turn the blades out of the wind under high winds.

Late in the afternoon I got an email from someone at the World Hunger Relief farm saying "the turbine was down". I didn't know what that meant. It could mean anything as simple as the tail fell off, to the tower had collapsed. Unfortunately, it was the later. When I arrived, I could tell at a glance that it was bad.

The top half of the tower and the turbine itself were upside down in the dirt, hanging, like an almost-severed limb, by a tendon of guy wire cables.

The hand-carved wooden blades were shattered, the tail stalk was severely bent, and the box with the electronics in it had a crushed lid. Some of the steel parts were bent and the guy wires were laying all over the place.

The culprit, the weak link in our system, I think, were the turnbuckles in two of the guy wires. These are the parts I am holding in the picture above. They have female threads in each end that be used to tighten the cables. They seem to have come unscrewed from the threaded eyes to which they were connected. Or perhaps the threads themselves were pulled out by a strong gust of wind and a swaying tower. Once they failed, the weak point in the tower gave way and the turbine came crashing down. At least that's what I think happened.

We are all rather disappointed in this. It took three years to get everything built and erected, but only a month for it to fall down. It's a little embarrassing. And discouraging. But also, just a little bit funny.

I discussed it with the students and with the folks at World Hunger Relief, and we have decided not to rebuild it. Nonetheless, it was a good experience. I have no regrets (except, perhaps, getting some stronger turnbuckles.)

Wind Turbine Project: Part 15

2011-04-02T20:23:00.002-05:00

We had a fire at the wind turbine! I was running some tests at the base of the tower; all the electricity made by the turbine was dumped into some large resistors, so it was essentially an electric heater. I had them sitting on a board, and apparently, they got so hot that they caught the 2x4 on fire. The fire was big enough to melt the insulation off my wires and even unsolder some of the connections!

These are the charred wires.

The 2x4 that burned.

More melty wires.

I took all the burned up parts back to the lab. Jono came with me and helped me cut off the old wires and unsolder the connections. He liked using the soldering iron. Then I taught him how to measure the electrical resistance of the components and he felt very important. Remarkably, all of the resistors still work fine, despite being immersed in flames! So Jono and I rebuilt the resistor bank and got some new insulated wires to reconnect it to the wind turbine.

Jono measures the resistance.

Our rebuilt (if slightly charred) resistor bank.

Disapointment Part 3

2011-03-21T20:58:00.000-05:00

I think the worst is past, but then again, maybe I am in the eye of the hurricane. I am no longer discouraged about not being selected for the Faculty-in-Residence position. One reason why is I realized that I made a strategic error in the interview process. It's hard to be mad when you realize it's your fault. I overestimated the leeway I would have in this position. I sold myself as X, but they wanted X+Y. I told them I was a comfortable chair and a great radio, and they said "fine, but we want a car that actually drives". There are reasons I had this misunderstanding, but I won't go into that anymore.

There is, however, another reason I am no longer discouraged. And this reason is a more dangerous reason. I am more likely to feel the sting of rejection again by pursuing this Reason Number Two, but I am pursuing it anyway, because I feel called and compelled to do so. Reason number two is...

I have applied for a second Faculty-in-Residence position that is not affiliated with the engineering dorm! Today I had the interview and I think it went well, although there are many applicants for this spot because it is open to faculty from any department all over the university. I know what you're saying. What is he thinking?!?! Didn't he he just get through moaning and complaining about not getting the first position? Yes, yes I did. Maybe I am crazy. Or maybe I am some other adjective that I can't think of at the moment.

Is this some kind of rebound dating phenomenon? Am I grasping at straws, you ask? I don't think so. I really like this "girl". We have a lot in common. I think we could be an item, you might say. And while I'm not comfortable giving you any details yet, I think this second Faculty-in-Residence position may be even better suited to our family than the first one. It is an opportunity to enjoy community life, be surrogate parents to 350 college students, reach out to the struggling and hurting, and maybe, just maybe, spend even more time overseas during the summer months helping to bring about the Kingdom of God.

A Stranger in My House!

2011-03-19T13:42:00.001-05:00

I awoke at 4:00 AM to the whimpering of my cocker spaniel, Maggie, that sleeps in our bed. We keep her on a leash to avoid midnight mischief, but I released her because I thought she needed to go outside to do her doggy business. She ran off down the hall as I slowly rose from my slumber. Before I had taken two steps, I heard the sound of unhappy pets: barking dog, hissing cats, and the sound of paws scampering and sliding all over our hardwood floors like a riot on ice skates.

I stumbled down the hall and turned on the light in the living room just as they ran passed me in a blur of fur, hissing, and speed. As this animal stampede entered my bedroom, I was able to see well enough to realize that one of those animals was not mine! I ran down the hall yelling at the animals and warning The M that "there's a strange cat in the house!" just as it came blasting back out of the bedroom. As it passed Gracie, our ill-tempered black cat, she gave the stranger a rapid-fire swatting with her claws extended: a faster-than-human kung fu, reminiscent of The Matrix.

I managed to shut our pets inside the bedroom and close the doors of the boys' bedrooms to keep the wildcat from running in and clawing their eyes out, and I opened the front door in hopes that it would run out. I left it in the front of the house, somewhere, and I went and put on blue jeans and shoes to protect myself from any claws or bites from this now-terrified strange cat. It was then I remembered how my own cats had recently started using a special "cat door", made by my son David with a soccer ball: a broken window. It dawned on me that this strange cat must have come in the same way.

It was meow-moaning in a disturbing way behind the couch in the front of the house. It pooped on the floor, presumably in fear, and I could smell it. I peered at it with a flashlight from a safe distance, and saw that it had a collar on. I think it was the neighbor's cat. I pulled up the shades to expose the broken window and found a broom with which to shoo it out. After a while it came out and jumped up on The M's desk, and then out the window.

Whew. I felt like I had put out a fire. I covered the window with a board and duct tape, something I should have done a few days ago. The weather has been so nice lately, and I have been enjoying the fresh air, but it was not worth tonight's adrenalin. After cleaning up the mess, it took me an hour to get back to sleep. But eventually, I rested peacefully, knowing that I had a story for the blog.

Disapointment Part II

2011-03-17T11:44:00.001-05:00

The exiting Faculty-in-Residence offered to have The M and I over to the apartment to answer questions we might have and see the place. I set it up, though The M was still thinking there was no way we would apply for this position. But the day we went to the apartment, she became envisioned. She caught it. Now she understood why I thought this was perfect for us.

The exiting FIR was so kind and answered all our questions. She told us they were looking for someone who would have a ministry with the students, and that was the most important thing. That resonated with us very much, as we enjoy being with students and getting to know them on a deep level. We love to encourage them when they are down, and simply walking through life with them.

Furthermore, The M and I both have a history of clinical depression, and she has also struggled with an anxiety disorder. This opportunity to taste a little suffering of our own has been used by God to cultivate a deep compassion in us for the hurting. It's a compassion I didn't have ten years ago. I wouldn't have chosen to get it this way, but he really does find ways to use the bad in our lives to bring about good.

And we also know that there is a higher-than-average incidence of mental illness among intellectually gifted young people like the ones in the engineering dorm. It's our empirical observation and we believe it is true, but it's not widely known outside of mental health circles. So The M and I were particularly excited to reach out to those struggling with depression, anxiety, eating disorders, and so on. I didn't plan to start "seeing patients" or making diagnoses, but I do have "eyes to see" the symptoms and help students get the professional help they need.

(These reasons do not adequately explain the multi-faceted way that we saw ourselves not only being a blessing to the students in this role, but also being blessed ourselves by it. My description here is one-dimensional in comparison to reality, but it's more detail than you want to read or I want to share in so public a venue.)

To make a long story short, we applied, were interviewed, but did not get the position. I think that our interpretation of the position was not exactly what they were actually looking for. I think they were looking for more of a leader and an organizer, and less of a shepherd and a nurturer. Perhaps I was in love with the idea in my own mind, and not the "real" position, in the same way young couples love the person they think they are with, but who, eventually, prove to be someone else altogether.

It's been nearly two weeks and I am still deeply disappointed. I have not wanted something so badly, and had it denied, in a long time. The only other sense of disappointment that I can remember on this level was not getting into the Master's program I wanted back in 1990. And this time, my entire family wanted it with me, especially The M. So I feel extra disappointment for letting her down. And I feel extra rejection, because she was rejected with me.

I know I am going through the stages of grief. I am passed "Shock and Denial" and somewhere between "Pain and Guilt" and "Anger and Bargaining". Inside my own mind, I am second guessing everything I said in the interview (guilt) and angry with everyone involved in the decision and the other applicant that got the job (anger)! I know it's not rational. In my head, I know my pain is not their fault nor my own. But in my heart I am reeling.

Wind Turbine Project: Part 14 (really)

2011-03-15T22:26:00.011-05:00

For the last few years, our Engineers with a Mission chapter has been trying to build a small wind turbine on a farm near our university. It's been so long since we started it, that there is only one student left who has not graduated (and he's only here because he's working on an MBA).

Drum roll please... it is now working!! We built it from scratch using only a set of plans, and that wasn't even very clear. The tower had to be designed without even a plan, and then built. So now it sits at the World Hunger Relief farm spinning in the breeze, making electricity. Right now we have the electricity being dissipated in a set of high-power resistors (turned into heat) analogous to flaring natural gas.

Disappointment, Part 1

2011-03-04T22:57:00.016-06:00

I have had a big fish on the line for the last couple of months. I wanted to blog about it, but I felt it wise to wait to see if I would get it in the boat or it would get away. It seems it got away. My line has snapped. Fishie go bye bye.

Now, instead of writing about the new chapter in my life, the new transition, the new adventure, instead I am going to write about the disappointment, the frustration, and the confusion I find myself experiencing. Instead of writing to interest my readers with an unusual story, now I am writing to purge my own soul of a toxic reality.

-------------------------------Part I----------------------------------------

At the university where I teach engineering, there is a large apartment-style dorm that is dedicated to engineering students. A lot of the students that are in my classes live there, and I have been there many times for various events. It's a beautiful building and the university is rightfully proud of it. The goal of this concentrated cluster of engineers is to cultivate a sense of identity in the students, to provide a place where they are surrounded and supported by their own kind, and where life-long friendships are forged in the furnace of Fourier transforms and some other thing that starts with f.

Living in the midst of the students, right in the dorm, is the family of an engineering faculty member, called the Faculty in Residence. And as the former FIR was stepping down, the opening for a new one was announced last November. I came home one day to discuss with my wife the idea of applying for it. Surely, I thought, The M would be open to this. Surely she would, like I did, immediately see how we were perfect for this role. Surely she would see the vision I had for it and for our family and agree that this was the greatest idea in the history of good ideas.

"What? Sell the house and move into a college dorm? Are you crazy?" What about the boys' school? They were both thriving in their schools. It's not a good time to sell the house. "Maybe in ten years" she said. I listened for a while, but I was not convinced that her cons outweighed my pros. Nonetheless, after so many years of marriage I have learned when to push now and when to wait and push later. It was time to push later.

A Day At The Beach

2011-01-06T19:10:00.005-06:00

Today we set a new record for the dirtiest dog in the history of the universe.

On our second day of vacation in Galveston we went to the beach with the boys and the dog. The weather was nice, although the water was a little cool, being January. We had the entire beach to ourselves and we let Maggie the dog run free like the wild thing she is. Her inner gazelle came out and she ran up and down the beach chasing sea gulls.

The beach is reached from the clubhouse via this gigantic boardwalk. It was seriously about 40 miles long. Maggie, in fact, had to stop and poop in the middle of it. Just like in the Rogers building at work. Bad doggie.

Jono was wearing a turtle neck with his swim trunks. He had a blast but had to retreat to the hot tub a couple of times to warm up.

David stood in one place for a while until he sunk into the sand. Then he couldn't get those size 16's back out!

"What are you lookin' at, hooman?"

She didn't catch any gulls, but she did have a blast. We all did. I'm so glad we pushed through and came here. It's been a great time of family closeness.

Christmas Musical Chuckles

2010-12-16T22:49:00.008-06:00

Tonight was the third grade Christmas musical performance which was, as usual, very cute. My son Jono, however, is not too fond of stage performing; every year he does his best to minimize being seen on stage. This year, he and a few others stood off to the side of the choral risers and he just about disappeared altogether.

I had to go around to the far side of the stage to be able to see him (see the red arrow). The audience is to my left in this picture. But at first, for a minute or so after the curtain went up, we couldn't find him at all. David, The M, and I were sitting in the seats scanning through the kids, trying to find him. Then I saw him. Correction, I saw the top of his head.

He was barely visible behind this prop. I felt a twinge of pride that I was able to recognize him by just his hair and forehead. Such stage presence with that one!

Contrast this to David's Christmas orchestra concert about a week earlier. He's in the upper orchestra for 7th and 8th graders (watch out Yo-yo Ma). He enjoyed playing and it was good to see him perform in this arena of his life. I like this picture because it shows the swirl of the cello and the swirl of his hair - which is like his mama's.

After his songs, then the high school orchestras came out (both upper and lower orchestras) and performed. I must say the top orchestra was really quite good. Then it was time for the big finale; all the strings (violins, violas, cellos, and bases) from all the orchestras (7th through 12th grade) came out on stage together. The stage was packed! Actually, there wasn't room for them all.

As you can see, they were so full they actually had to put the bases down in front of the stage just to have room for everyone. You may also notice that David is standing near the center of stage in this picture. That's because they needed volunteers to play "non-traditional" instruments in this song, and David was eager to ham it up.

So David had a solo in front of a huge crowd... playing a duck call. Makes a fella proud. I guess children's musical performances aren't all they're quacked up to be. Ba dum bum.

Virtual Exhibitionism of the Soul

2010-12-04T21:38:00.007-06:00

Perhaps you have wondered if I have been hit by a bus. What else could explain such an extended period without new blog posts? Maybe I really have been posting but the Google servers have been erased by the Stuxnet worm. Maybe I forgot my password and couldn't log on or was trapped underneath something heavy... for three months. Three months is enough time for the earth to sweep out a quarter of its annual circuit. That's like a gigantic piece of pecan pie with asteroid pecans. At any rate, has nothing blog-worthy occurred in that time? Where have I been?

I've been busy repairing my Christmas tree - no time for blogging.

I know what you've been thinking. "He's given up blogging. He's let ORANGEHOUSE die like so many other hobbies. This is the latest in a long line of atrophied fade-to-black beginnings without end. Gourmet cooking, check. Amateur astronomy, check. Playing guitar, check. Surely blogging is next."

Or has the novelty of blogging, this virtual exhibitionism of the soul, become so ho-hum, passe, and bourgeois that it no longer thrills me to display my vocabulary, my word smithery, to the bloggosphere? Have I lost the desire to pretend to be a writer, or to vent to the world my semi-anonymous DIY op-eds, or to string together cumbersome and often gyroscopic sentences with over abundances of hyphens, acronyms, and some other third things I can't remember at the moment?

Frankly, I think that which impels me to write has been short circuited by facebook.

Yes, I created a facebook account last summer and have been spending my blog time doing that instead. I admit it. But I regret it. Well, sort of regret it. It's kinda fun, but it's like junk food. It satisfies the stomach without giving any sustenance. It's a gummy worm, or perhaps a Pringles. Plastic food. Facebook let's you remind the world that you are still there, without saying anything of significance, or without actually relating to another person. Who cares if you're getting coffee, really? No one. But it feels good to shout it to your 375 (and counting!) virtual friends, "Hey everybody, I'm still alive!"

So I think my appetite for blogging has been ruined by the pre-meal snacks I've been munching on facebook. The appetite, the deep human desire, is the need to connect with people, to shout to the universe "I AM HERE AND THIS IS WHO I AM", and then to subtly whisper "do you Like me?" This appetite for approval and acceptance fuels bloggers and facebook users alike. Ultimately, it comes from the fact that we are persons (made by a Person). We have personality. We are personal. And we long from our deepest selves for the meat and potatoes of connecting with other persons out there who will remind us we are not alone in this thing called life.

"Alone and yet together like two passing ships" - Neil Peart

Students Do Everything

2010-09-01T23:38:00.004-05:00

This May, I had the honor of travelling to Honduras again with several Engineers with a Mission students. As part of their trip, they performed a skit to communicate something about the love of Jesus. One day we were able to perform it in a rural village near the orphanage where we worked. Another day we were on the verge of doing it in a town square (in La Ceiba) but Diana accidentally got a face full of cigarette smoke which set off a severe asthma attack. Of course, she actually lost consciousness and had to be rushed to the hospital, but that's another story for another day...

(the team in Honduras preparing to do their skit)

Yesterday the Baylor School of Engineering and Computer Science held its annual Beach Bash party complete with volleyball, barbecue, snow cones, and donut eating contests. There was a dunking booth and students got to dunk their professors. At the party, our team was able to perform the skit again - this time the target audience was their "Jerusalem", their peer group. (As opposed to their first audience = their "ends of the earth" audience in Honduras.) In the Baylor version of the skit, the temptation of gossip was replaced with the temptation for bulimia - something that is much too common on most college campuses, especially after donut eating contests.

I was proud to be a part of it, if only to encourage them to do it for their peers, because I know there are lots of students that really struggle with some heavy issues like bulimia.

Before you watch the video, I need to apologize for the goofy guy in the behind the students during much of the skit. I was dressed crazily for my duty in the dunking booth and didn't realize I would be in the background! Here's the skit.

More Biogas Production

2010-08-06T19:30:00.001-05:00

I have been making biogas (methane) in a barrel in my backyard. Tonight I lit it up with a flame and it burned in a fantastic way! See 1:30 into the clip.

Bradley: American African

2010-07-06T21:26:00.006-05:00

When I first met Bradley it was the fall of 2005 and he was a freshman in my Introduction to Engineering class at Baylor. I liked him from the beginning. As I have told him on several occasions, he has a maturity beyond his years. Perhaps it was this "like", or perhaps it was Providence, or perhaps those two cannot be meaningfully separated. At any rate, I decided he would be a good member of a student team I was assembling to go to Kenya in May, 2006.

Brad later wrote to me, "...I have been asked frequently how I was drawn to travel to Kenya my freshman year... I look back and always immediately recall a cold December afternoon in 2005 when you chased me down as I was leaving Rogers to urge me to go to Kenya. I was so touched by that and would later come to realize that God was transforming my life through you by that simple personal invitation."

(Bradley with Rwandan gorillas, stolen from his facebook page and brazenly used without permission!)

He did go to Kenya in 2006, and then he went to Rwanda twice in 2009 and 2010. He now considers "missions... especially in Africa, to be a passion that I hope to pursue long into the future..." Each time he went he was engaged in some service project, usually for children, and usually involving giving them access to clean water, so he really is giving a cup of cold water to the least of these. In all those times, however, I never got to travel with him as his team leader. Even when we were in Kenya at the same time, he was on a different team, unfortunately for me.

Brad has the unusual gift of being an encouraging person. At least to me, he always has an uplifting word or two for my soul, and this makes me want to keep investing in the lives of students. The returns are tremendous. It makes me want to pour myself out on their behalf. His words, and others like them from different students, confirm to me that I am where God has placed me, and that feels great.

Thanks Brad.

Now That I Can Finally Spell "Entrepreneur"...

2010-07-03T20:00:00.000-05:00

After a half dozen trips into the developing world to implement small scale energy projects for impoverished people, one of my students (Ryan) and I decided the best way to increase our impact both in numbers of people and lifetime of the project was to turn our efforts into creating a financially self-sustaining social venture. That makes us social entrepreneurs. We are launching small energy companies in remote rural villages where people live without any power (and not much hope).

Regular readers (hi Mom) will recall that last November we entered and won a contest sponsored by the Inter-American Development Bank to bring energy access to those without it in rural parts of Latin America. Over 1000 groups entered the contest and yet, somehow, we won one of the 21 prizes for $200,000!! The only problem is, we can't use the money to pay salaries for expatriates or to buy a vehicle. These are two things we need with some urgency.

Along the way we picked up Brent, also a Baylor graduate and entrepreneur, as he came back from a two-year stint with the Peace Corps in Peru. In February, Ryan and Brent moved to La Ceiba, Honduras to start the Honduran company Energía Para Aldeas (which means Energy for Villages).

When I was in Honduras in May with another team of students, I got to meet with Brent and Ryan and also Sergio, our only full-time Honduran employee and good friend. In the pictures above: I'm the old guy, Brent is the good-looking one, Sergio is the brownest, and Ryan is the one who has gone native and now wears the Central American style hat and never shaves!

So where are we? We are struggling and a little bit discouraged. We are finding that, despite our experience working in Honduras, everything still takes longer than we expected. Everything. It's worse because the guys have to use the bus/taxi system to get around; we still haven't had adequate donations/investments to purchase a vehicle. They guys are renting a house that also serves as their office, and neither has air conditioning. When they need to get to a village they ride the bus out to the nearest point along the highway. Then they get off and walk the rocky roads up into the hills to where the villages are. Sergio has lost 40 pounds working with us! But they always have to watch the clock so that they leave in time to walk back and catch the last bus to the city. Either that or they have to come prepared to spend the night.

No one said this was going to be easy. And we aren't giving up. But we may have to make some changes soon. Stay tuned...

Dad Life

2010-06-30T16:50:00.002-05:00

Dad Life from Church on the Move on Vimeo.

Dreamcar

2010-06-24T11:00:00.000-05:00

The other day we were driving around town and Jonathan was staring out the window. Suddenly he spoke up and said,

"If I could have one type of car in the world, it would be... a fork lift."

That's my special boy.

A Hilltop Experience

2010-06-22T22:10:00.005-05:00

Tonight I spoke to The M who is in Haiti with our boys. This is the story she told me.

Yesterday, some of the team found a village up the hill near the hotel. Several of them met a "man of peace" as described in Luke 10:6 and had some great conversations about God with several of the villagers there. Two of the women there decided to become followers of Christ that day, and the team promised to come back and follow up.

The M was not present for this, however, because she was sick yesterday. She stayed in bed eating antibiotics and making "runs" for the bathroom. But today, gratefully, she was better and was able to join the team as they returned to the little mountain village.

They walked from the hotel up the rocky road that rose and rose up the hillside. The M said that today she saw the beauty of Haiti as she took in more and more of the countryside as they climbed. At last they reached the village at the top where the hill forms a little plateau covered with carpet-like grass. The M, the team leader Vincent, and a translator found the two newly-Christian women and sat down to talk with them in the shade for a while. They had some written material to guide them in the basics of Christianity - think of Vacation Bible School for adults in French Creole - if you can think of that.

As they read over concepts like creation, separation from God (a.k.a. the results of sin), God's love and forgiveness, she could tell that their level of literacy was not allowing them to fully understand. So true to her form, just like I have seen her do before, she pantomimed, effervesced, and smiled her way into their hearts, going over the concepts with patience. She pressed her open Bible against her chest to illustrate God's words to us soaking into our hearts and transforming our minds. She probably called them "sugar" and touched them a lot, I don't know. In the end, the ladies decided they wanted to be baptized.

The "man of peace" (MOP) had been receiving some training of his own about being a shepherd to other believers. At least I think that's what she said (I'm a little fuzzy on the details). He and the team gathered at the carpet of grass on the hilltop. Since no bodies of water were available, the MOP produced a couple of plastic milk jugs filled with water for the baptism! The team formed a circle as the first lady knelt in the center and the MOP performed the holy sacrament.

"I baptize you in the name of the Father... glug glug glug... and the Son... glug glug glug... and the Holy Spirit" he said as he poured the water over her head. It ran over her head between the rows of braided hair and cascaded down her smiling face filled with the peace that passes understanding. What a beautiful, beautiful thing. The team celebrated her with applause and prayers for her blessing. The second lady followed after that. It was an awesome day.

Intensity in the Tent City

2010-06-21T18:30:00.000-05:00

Jono went with the Haiti team to a tent city yesterday. It didn't go very well.

He is the youngest, and possibly the lightest-skinned, person in their group. And apparently his white skin was something the children at the tent city had never seen before. (All the white people they see are adults, perhaps?) They all crowded around him and wanted to touch him, which he didn't like very much. He was with our friend, Vincent, who is a huge African American man with muscles that don't seem to have diminished since he played football for Baylor back in the day. Jono got a little scared and buried his head in Vincent's stomach for protection.

Seeing how Jono was frightened, and how the Haitian kids were not deterred by this, Vincent took him to the van for refuge. David went with him and The M showed up as well because she was feeling nauseated from something she ate. So sick mama and scared son sat in the hot van for three hours while the rest of the team met with people in the tent city.

The M said she had never seen such squalor: grown women bathing naked in a river in plain sight, sewage and mud everywhere, hopelessness, and voodoo, etc.. She met a 15 year old girl who lost her mother in the earthquake. She doesn't know where her father is, so now she is raising her younger sister alone in the tent city.

Later that night The M started running a fever. (She has since started an antibiotic called Cipro that will nuke all the bacteria in her GI tract. I'm glad I recommended she get that prescription filled before she left.)

Between the fever and the squalor and the knowledge that her son had a scary experience, she was emotionally exhausted. With one of the other lady's from the team, she cried in her hotel room for a long time Sunday night. I wish I was there to comfort her. I feel out of control, but perhaps that was part of the plan...

(All photos copyright by Tiffany Bonow, used with permission)

Isaac

2010-06-18T22:00:00.003-05:00

This is one of my favorite photographs from my recent trip to Honduras. Isaac just completed his freshman year in the engineering program at Baylor, and has been eager to come on a discipline-specific mission trip since he first heard about them (which was before coming to Baylor). He says that he is at Baylor because of the existence of our group, Engineers with a Mission. It fits him.

Things you might not expect about Isaac from looking at him covered in sweat, dirt, and whiskers are: he is a well-read intellectual, a devout follower of Jesus Christ, and a surprisingly good dancer! The later we found out after attending a quinceañera which we had the honor of attending.

a hard hard entrance into Haiti...

2010-06-17T19:41:00.009-05:00

The M, David, and Jono departed for Haiti this morning at 4:00 AM. They are working in support of a long-term rebuilding and transformation project that our church has undertaken in the town of Leogane, near the epicenter. Sometime this afternoon they arrived in Port-au-Prince and this evening, about 13 hours after they left town, I got the following text message:

"...We are here. I miss you. It was a hard hard entrance into the country. I am afraid about our first night. Please please pray for my peace. I am really upset, but holding it together..."

That's all I know.

What does she mean by "hard hard entrance into the country" you might ask? I'm not certain, but if I know my wife it means the poverty and destruction and hopelessness they have seen has been emotionally taxing. She is one of the deepest feeling people I have ever met, and seeing people suffering causes her real suffering too. That is probably the "hard hard entrance". Either that or they had to jump out of the plane without a parachute. Thump.

This incredible photograph was taken by a friend, Tiffany Bonow, in a recent trip to Haiti. What does it have to do with The M's text? Not much. But isn't it stunning? I mean come on Tiffany! It also serves as a break in the middle of the post. It needs a break.

You see, after I wrote the first half, I tried to call The M again - and this time I got through. My suspicions about her response to the devastation were correct, and even underestimated. She is truly overwhelmed by it. It's not just the ruined homes everywhere and mile after mile of buildings reduced to piles of rocks, but it's the people. From the beggars to the overzealous baggage guys at the airport who literally pulled David's bag out of his hand to carry it - and therefore get a tip - the people are desperate and hopeless and more than enough to shake you up. And therefore my dear wife whose name is not really "The M" is awash in sorrow and compassion. I wish I was there to hold her, but I know she is experiencing the heart of God right now, and in this I take comfort.

Jonathan gets Baptized

2010-06-14T13:30:00.003-05:00

Last week we found out that some of our friends were going to be baptized in Lake Waco. This brought to mind an opportunity. My little Jonathan (Jono) had resisted being baptized because he didn't want to be up in front of the whole church with two thousand eyes watching him. Because the group at the lake would be much smaller, I brought it up to him last Friday.

He thought that was a good idea and was excited and nervous all weekend. Sunday evening we went to the lake with our friends and I had the great honor of baptizing him. After he came out of the water (the video stops there) Martha prayed for him with lots of tears. Jonathan turned around to comfort her, true to his normally compassionate self.

For the friends and family that didn't get to witness this but wanted to, I apologize. And for those who don't share our theological perspective, we believe that baptism is an outward symbol of an inner change. The change is authored by God and we respond by accepting his offer of forgiveness and new life, made possible by Jesus's death in place of our own. As Jono goes into the water, it symbolizes the death of the old self and Christ's death for us, and as he comes out of the water it symbolizes our new life in him and Christ rising from the dead after three days!

Mono y Mano

2010-06-01T11:32:00.003-05:00

Expect the unexpected they said. As a leader of a student team to Honduras, Baylor University gave me lots of training for all kinds of emergencies. I was prepared for an earthquake, a coup d'état, armed robbery, or malaria. But who would have thought...

Lance and I spent several days together working on the mechanical design for the hydro turbine. One day we went to a machine shop in the city of El Progresso, near our hotel. The owner had a pet monkey, and Lance went over to take some pictures. The monkey was fascinated by his shorts, presumably because most Honduran men wear long pants instead. In the end, something spooked the monkey and he bit Lance in the hand, breaking the skin! Remarkably, Lance shot video of the whole thing!

Honduran machine shop monkey bites: I couldn't find that tab in my leader's book. I improvised with do-it-yourself lobotomy and a bucket of antibiotics. In the end, Lance was fine, despite a fang-shaped scar and a strange craving for bananas. Ooo ooo aahh aahh.

Diana and the Children

2010-05-28T20:28:00.007-05:00

Diana has a gift with children. She is so enthusiastic, animated, and encouraging that kids are drawn to her like a magnet. While we were in Honduras, her favorite days were the ones when she got to play with the children.

When we were working we were sometimes inside a security fence which, unfortunately, kept us from the village kids. Diana hated the fence because it kept her separated from them - both physically and metaphorically.

One particular family adopted Diana. Four sisters and a little brother lived nearby and invited her into their home. She bought them all gifts and gave them to them on the last day: a car for the boy and dolls for the girls. They had no other dolls and had been wanting one a long time. They all named their dolls "Diana".

Diana, you inspire me. You reflect the love of Christ as you interact with these children, with our team, and with me. Your spiritual maturity and sensitivity was highly valued on this trip, as was your willingness to do any task, however mundane. I will miss you.

(Diana begins her Master's degree in Biomedical Engineering at Cornell next Fall.)

Lawyer Advocates for Orphans

2010-05-23T18:27:00.004-05:00

Friday night we had dinner with Hector and Maria Aguilar. Both of them are Honduran lawyers (abogado y abogada) and Hector was the police judge for the city of El Progresso for four years. During this time, he relates that he "touched misery with both hands" as he heard case after case of child abuse, prostitution, and alcohol addiction. He and his wife have committed their careers to serving the "least of these" by assisting orphanages with their legal requirements and many other tasks. His English is the best I have heard in Honduras, and we sat captivated as we listened to his story about how he is using his gifts, experiences, and opportunities to build the Kingdom of God. I was glad my students got to hear it.

Hector's daughters crawled up on him as he spoke to us about his work, his calling, and the plight of the orphans and abandoned children in Honduras. His girls are named Ixchelle and Mia, both Myan names.

Coincidentally, it was Hector and Maria's eleventh anniversary, so we sang to them when someone else produced a cake from nowhere. I like it more than the beef tail I had for dinner. :|

Working Wednesday

2010-05-20T19:14:00.004-05:00

Our team of Engineers with a Mission students has been working very hard to design and construct a small hydro electric generator for the Promise Home orphanage in Honduras. For the last three days we have been chopping, grinding, and welding steel to build the framework for our generator. Promise Home has an exciting array of power tools to help us in the process.

This photo shows the notes from a brainstorming session I had with Lance, Renee, and Diana. I like this picture because it shows my cool boots.

I love the smell of fresh-cut steel in the morning!

This is Ben. When he and I got to fire up this gasoline powered chop saw we nearly had a testosterone overdose.

Diana was the first person to learn how to weld using the arc welder. Go female engineers with power tools! Be empowered!

And here is Rachel welding! She was a natural at the task, but even though she and Diana and I were all welding, we were all very slow because we lacked experience. In the end, we hired a Honduran welder for the day to help us get caught up. But he wasn't as cool as us.

This little sugar pie is Cindi. She is five. I like her.

Lance is grinding some metal parts from which is building a framework for our hydro turbine. Later, he and I went to a local machine shop to have some work done on them. I like having the students take ownership of a sub-project.

William is having a great time and styling in his bandanna. His project for the day is to design and build a steel frame to hold two large drainpipes that will be installed into the dam.

Not shown is the work being done at the river. More pictures of that soon. Oh yes, and we took Renee and Isaac to the hospital with a insect bite infection and upper respiratory infection, respectively. No problema.

Team Building in Honduras

2010-05-18T18:44:00.005-05:00

On our first full day in Honduras, the Engineers with a Mission team went to Rio Congrejal for (mild) white water rafting and team building! I took this picture of a Macaw, the national bird of Honduras, that lives at the Jungle River Lodge on the river near La Ceiba.

Our team consists of John, Lance, Aimie, Rachel, William, Jon, and Isaac (on the back row) and Diana, Renée, Kathleen, and Ben (on the front row). Everyone was excited but a little nervous before the three hour trek in the world famous river. Sic 'Em Bears.

Every body lived and was wet, tired, and hungry afterwards. More importantly, the team came together significantly through the event, which was part of my plan! Later that day, on the way to El Progresso, our bus broke down. The U joint in the drive shaft failed, but we were able to get to a mechanic. We were on the road in about an hour and a half more, but in the meantime we played games on the side of the road and continued to come together as a team. Things are going well so far.

Poetry Recital

2010-05-13T22:41:00.004-05:00

The second grade poetry recital at Jono's school was hilarious. One after another the kids got up on stage and read a poem of their choice to a crowd of about 150 parents, teachers, and peers. Jono's poem was called "Point of View" by Shel Silverstein. I made his prop, the "turkey feathers" the night before.

Thanksgiving dinner's sad and thankless

Christmas dinner's dark and blue

When you stop and try to see it

From the turkey's point of view.

Sunday dinner isn't sunny

Easter feasts are just bad luck

When you see it from the viewpoint

Of a chicken or a duck.

Oh how I once loved tuna salad

Pork and lobsters, lamb chops too

'Til I stopped and looked at dinner

From the dinner's point of view.

Climb On

2010-05-11T14:07:00.005-05:00

I teach a junior-level engineering class on the subject of Engineering Design with another professor, Dr. N., who is a mechanical engineer (I am an electrical engineer). Still reading? Every semester we dream up a gizmo, a thingy, or a widget that the students have to design. This semester it was a rope-climbing robot.

The robot had to start at the base of an eight-foot-long rope and climb to the top. When it encountered the "ceiling" it was to stop on its own and, if applicable, retract itself to within one foot of the ceiling. They could not use wheels to climb, they had to use a grasping motion like a climber. The video shows our testing and some spontaneous racing that occurred on test day! Their designs were great and I must say that I'm proud of them!

Austin Swimming

2010-05-11T10:33:00.004-05:00

A couple of weekends ago our family went to Austin for a big swim meet. The University of Texas has a world-class swimming pool and the kids enjoyed themselves. This picture is from David's 100 m butterfly race.

Outside of the swimming complex is an antique oil well, the first one on the campus of a Texas college. Jono and I wandered over to take a look at it. He is naturally attracted to machines; it makes me laugh.

Not much else to say about this. Witty comments and funny stories next time...

Honduras Bound

2010-05-10T09:14:00.005-05:00

I am leading a new team of 10 engineering students and one faculty colleague back to Honduras next week. Lord willing, we will be installing a hydro electric generator in a new orphanage called Promise Home, near El Progresso. (See http://promisehome.org/ from where I borrowed the very cool logo. The white part in the hand is in the shape of Honduras, and the five stars are in Honduran flag.)

They already have a long section of PVC pipe (called a penstock) that brings water in from the nearby river. They also have already built a power house for our generating equipment. Below you see the inside of the power house. There are three pipes coming in from the river. The one on the left is 6" in diameter, the other two are 8". For the next year or two, we will only use the smaller one. After the water flows through the generator, it exits the power house via the concrete "bathtub" in the floor. There are two large drain pipes there that bring the water back to the river, downstream from our inlet.

This is the outside of the power house. You can see the 6" pipe running off to the river. The last image is a model of our "Pelton Runner" which is the water wheel gizmo that serves as the interface between our generator and the actual jets of water. Lance did a good job on this.

Return to the Blogosphere!

2010-05-01T18:26:00.004-05:00

Hello people! The rumors that I no longer blog but only Twitter and update my Facebook page are vicious lies from those bent on discrediting the fine name of Orangehouse. You may be wondering where I have been. More likely, you haven't noticed that I have been gone. More likely still, no one is ever going to read this. I can only say that I have been busy and that when I do sit down to write, I end up staring at the blank page and thinking about all the things I should be doing...

Here's a story about our family trip to Cameron Park last weekend. We played soccer and baseball and David and I rode our bikes on some of the trails that run beside the confluence of the Bosque and Brazos rivers. We have been talking about doing this for a year or so, and last weekend the weather was perfect. As we rode on the beautiful trail we noticed the river level was up from the recent rains. After about two miles, the trail dipped down and was covered by a swollen inlet from the river.

It didn't look very deep, so I suggested that David ride across first to test the waters. He easily powered across the inlet; the water was only about a foot deep. He got his shoes a little wet, but had no problem getting across. After reaching the other side he saw a sign that warned of falling rocks. Since I didn't really want to get my feet wet, I called him back across the inlet. "Let's go back" I said, as I started to pull my phone/camera.

Suddenly, his entire front tire plunged into the water and he flew over the handlebars into the river!

The above photo is about two seconds after he went in head first. He scrambled out of the water and left his bike. You can see the back tire sticking up in the next picture. It looks like a floating log or a piece of debris.
So it turns out the inlet was deeper than we thought. Soon we deduced that the first time David rode across (without a problem) HE RODE ON A SUBMERGED BRIDGE! Coming back across he wasn't so lucky and rode off the side of the bridge. Surprise!

Happy for the adventure, and soaking wet, I made him pose for another picture where the two rivers meet. Hoop dee doo.

Restorer of the Streets in Which to Dwell

2010-02-27T13:23:00.005-06:00

A couple of Saturdays ago my 13 year old son David and I volunteered with a group from our church as part of a community cleanup day. Our church meets in an old grocery store that sat vacant for years in a run down part of town. The leadership chose the location in an attempt to "be where the need is" and, consequently, has attracted a diverse body of urban minorities, white suburbanites, and college students, most of whom recognize their own spiritual needs and are willing to help others shoulder their burdens. This unexpected composite is an imperfect image of a transcendent beauty which, prayerfully, reflects well on our common denominator: Jesus Christ.

The aim of this program is not only to help those in need to repair, clean, and beautify their neighborhood, but also to spark a sense of community, a sense of ownership and responsibility, and to impart hope through a helping hand. It's not just a hand out, it's a hand up.

My friend Mark was there leading out. That day we were cleaning a corner and power washing a house in need of paint. You can see the flecks of white paint on his face, but what you can't see is the water droplets in his hair, or the water-soaked gloves that made his hands numb on this windy winter day. You can't see (or can you?) his compassion and selflessness, or his humility. Neither do you see the coaching, support, and entrepreneurial insight he gave Ryan and I as we began our business, or the countless other ways he has served in our church. What do I see?

I see a man that fulfills what the ancient prophet Isaiah wrote of 2700 years ago:

"And those from among you will rebuild the ancient ruins; you will raise up the age-old foundations; and you will be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of the streets in which to dwell." - Isaiah 58:12

The Hole

2010-02-14T20:10:00.005-06:00

I have been reading Richard Stearns's "The Hole in our Gospel". The hole to which the title refers is our responsibility as Christians to care for the weak, the poor, and the defenseless. I have been challenged.

Mr. Stearns is the president of World Vision, a huge non-profit organization that does all kinds of good for all kinds of people in need all over the world. For example, they help AIDS orphans in Africa with schools, food, and other care. When I first heard about the book I though it would be an encouragement to me. Perhaps I would receive kudos and encouragement for the work I do in Honduras. Yea for me, that kind of thing.

But this book has been "in my face" and "in my business" more than I expected! It's challenging. As a taste, let me quote a bit of it here. As if the story of the sheep and the goats (Matthew 25) wasn't challenging enough, Mr. Stearns has paraphrased it taking aim at the modern American church (and me):

"For I was hungry, while you had all you needed. I was thirsty, but you drank bottled water. I was a stranger, and you wanted me deported. I needed clothes, but you needed more clothes. I was sick, and you pointed out the behaviors that led to my sickness. I was in prison, and you said I was getting what I deserved."

Ouch.

On Honduran Television

2010-02-14T20:00:00.003-06:00

Ryan and Brent have been in Honduras for ten days now. They have had an eventful time (though there were no earthquakes or changes of government like last summer). They spent several days in Tegucigalpa, the capital city and home to our collaborative organization, AHPPER, a non-profit organization to promote the use of renewable energy sources in Honduras.

They also performed a repair on the hydro generator system in Danta Uno, bringing the system back online after one of our employees performed a "quick disconnect" of the generator to remove it from the river during a storm. Instead of disconnecting normally, he cut the wires. Apparently he was risking life and limb to do even this.

But after the storm, when the generator was put back in the river, the wires got crossed! This blew a circuit breaker (and perhaps something else - my data is a bit vague here) and they guys were left unsure of what to do next. Fortunately, Ryan was able to fix it in an afternoon. The reason this is fortunate is because the next day a television crew came to the village. AHPPER and other groups came and filmed a promotional piece that was shown on Honduran television a few days later! If we can get a copy we will post it.

Ryan and Brent Move to Honduras

2010-02-07T22:25:00.001-06:00

As of Thursday, February 4, 2010, Ryan and Brent have relocated to La Ceiba, Honduras to launch our business operations there as Energía Para Aldeas, which means Energy for Villages. The first task was to prepare for a meeting with a Honduran non-profit organization, AHPPER, with whom we applied for and won a large grant from the Inter-American Development Bank and GVEP International. Saturday night they met with AHPPER and went to one of our village systems, Danta Uno. A television crew came along and took video for use by the granting agency, GVEP International. In the evening they went back to our favorite restaurant in La Ceiba, a place called La Ponderosa. Our favorite waiter, Jorge, took care of them.

The plan for Sunday is for them to travel to Tegucigalpa, the capital of Honduras, to work with the AHPPER attorneys to get Energía Para Aldeas (EPA) legally incorporated and begin the process of getting residency for the guys.

The Domino Car

2010-01-25T22:14:00.004-06:00

Last Saturday was the Cub Scout Pinewood Derby. I think this was my sixth one as a parent. Jono wanted to make a domino car this year. We cut it down using the band saw in the machine shop (we wore our safety glasses). Then he sanded it and spray painted it black. He used a paint pen to draw the dots. To help the paint dry he took a deep breath and blew on it. I caught him in mid-breath in this picture!

He got a medal that said "Judges Favorite" on the back. He is very proud of it and has been wearing it around the house for days. He slept with it the first night!

The weight limit is 5 ounces so we weighed it at home with a food scale. Apparently the scale isn't very accurate because at the official weigh-in we were very light. So in a burst of improvisation, I glued two house keys to the sides to bring it up nearer the weight limit. Jono thought it looked cool. What can I say?

He raced four races. On three of them he got second place, and on one he got first place. He didn't get to move on to the finals, however. The video below is of the race in which he got first place. As he was reading the time for each car, he slowly realizes he won. He was so excited! It makes me happy to watch him celebrate! You can hear him say "I got first! I got first!".

Jono's Gymnastical Party

2010-01-23T18:28:00.007-06:00

This year we broke our family tradition that all birthday cakes are made by me. Jono wanted to help me, and it didn't seem right to say "no, you can't help me decorate your own birthday cake" despite my desire to be in control of the creative process. Perhaps out of a desire for global unity, he wanted a cake with the Olympic rings and to have a party at the local gymnastics school. (Never mind that it's the Winter Olympics coming up next month! There aren't a lot of bobsled courses in Central Texas.)

Here's what the cake looked like in the end. It was lemon cake with some kind of yummy icing I can't remember now. Can you hear the Olympics theme song playing? Daaa daaa da da da da da...

He seemed pleased when eveyone sang "Happy Birthday".

The kids got to play on the trampolines, the giant "cheese pit", and this cool ring on a rope swing thing. The video shows why this was a favorite!

Chinese Checkers was an appreciated gift. We had to pay a foriegn exchange student to translate the instructions from Mandarin. Of course, it was still difficult because the Chinese government censored most of the rules.

I just like this picture because of his smile. :)

Mystery Reader

2010-01-23T18:12:00.002-06:00

My son Jono's second grade class has a "mystery reader" program: parents or other significant folks in the kid's lives show up once a week to read the class a story, but nobody knows who it will be until they show up at the class (except, of course, the teacher and the mystery reader themselves). My wife, The M, was supposed to be the reader the other day, but just for fun I took her place at the last minute. I read a story about a snowman in the woods and the reactions of the wild animals to this stranger in their midst. I read with different voices for the birds, squirrels, and deer and showed the pictures to everyone as I read from page to page. In the story, the doe took the snowman's carrot nose to eat it, so I held my nose and spoke with a nasal voice when I delivered the snowman's ad-libbed response. Everyone laughed. I suppose it wasn't very different than the engineering classes I teach at Baylor. Except there was a little less math and the tuition was cheaper. Read on.

(Red) Laces

2010-01-02T23:11:00.003-06:00

The M got me a pair of (Red) laces for my shoes as a Christmas present. They are produced by Nike as part of the (Red) campaign to combat AIDS in Africa. All the profits go towards the cause, and I look pretty cool.

It's one small step in my master plan to become Bono.

You can buy your own here.

Maggie the Dog

2010-01-02T23:04:00.002-06:00

This is Maggie the dog. She joined our family back in September. She needs a haircut, but she's sweet. She follows The M around all day and sleeps with us at night. She's pretty cute, I know, but her house training has some room for improvement.

David's Basketball Game

2009-12-18T16:00:00.000-06:00

We won.

What A Day!

2009-12-17T22:11:00.003-06:00

Today was a great day. I got all my grades finalized and entered into the computer, so I am officially on vacation! And we received word of a very generous donation towards our work in Honduras! And I ate dinner at the new Chewy's restaurant in town! And I got to play "free style pool" with Jono at the YMCA! And then The M and the boys and I finished decorating the Christmas tree! And then The M and I watched the season finale of "So You Think You Can Dance" which we like very much. My cup runneth over.

When Worlds Collide

2009-12-16T09:46:00.008-06:00

How many sorority girls does it take to change a light bulb? Just one, but she has to call Daddy.

No, seriously, how many sorority girls does it take to change a light bulb? Two. One to change the bulb, and one to make a T-shirt.

OK, just having a little fun. No offence intended. In fact, I'm writing today to brag a little about one of my students, Teresa who is not only a sorority girl, but a fine young mechanical engineer. This is an unusual combination, especially when she maintains a stellar GPA. Hence the title of this post. She has been working with me this semester to design and build a prototype hydro turbine like the kind we want to build in Honduras. See my earlier post.

Teresa has accompanied me to Honduras on two occasions. The first time was just after her freshman year, and she was a little nervous. I remember that as we drove on the windy back roads up and down the sides of mountains and across rivers, she would listen to her iPod and close her eyes to try and relax by not thinking about the road. I also remember how one day we were stuck in city traffic and she started feeling sick, apparently from something she ate. In an attempt to be comforting, I told her that if she needed to, she could just open the door of our four wheel drive SUV and throw up on the side of the road. But I could tell from the look on her face, that making street pizza in front of me and the other students would be very embarrassing for her. So I did what anyone would do, and drove over the median and into the empty lane of oncoming traffic. This got us back to the hotel in time for her to be sick in private. Yee ha.

The village kids in Honduras always loved Teresa, and she spent a lot of time playing with them and talking to them in Spanish. The day she was sick, all the kids were sad she didn' t come. Donde esta Teresa? Donde esta mi amiga? I said, hey what about me? I'm here. I'm fun and cool, right? They just looked scared and ran away.

In this picture she is welding the turbine with the oxy-acetylene torch. What did he say? A sorority girl welding? How cool is that? To top it off, she's wearing her sorority logo. I love it when stereotypes are torn down. I am honored to be a part of it! Go Teresa! You inspire me.

[This is the steel tubing we sliced into the blades for the turbine.]

Headlight Resurfacing Kit

2009-12-11T21:52:00.004-06:00

I bought a kit to resurface my acrylic headlight covers. The alternative was spending $225 for each light, or to continue to drive around with this cataract-like cloud over the eyes of my van. The bottom picture was before the treatment, the top picture was after.

The treatment consisted of sanding with 500 grit sandpaper on the end of a drill, then switching to 800 grit, then a wet sand, and finally a polish. It was four steps of successively fine grinding, and it worked pretty well, as you can see.

I was so full of success I tried it on David's contacts while they were still in his eyes. OK, not really. But I am thinking about trying it on some scratched up CDs. I'll let you know if it works.

Building Hydro Turbine Prototypes

2009-12-11T20:25:00.004-06:00

This semester, two of my students, Teresa and Sean, have been designing a type of hydro turbine called a Crossflow turbine. This is the type of turbine we plan to use first in Honduras because they are best for "low head" systems, or systems with relatively small vertical drop.

Here Ryan is helping out by grinding some of the welds smooth. It's cool because it makes lots of sparks. But it's not as cool as melting steel with faya! Flame-on, baby!

We are welding with an old technology, an oxy-acetylene torch, because we want to test the manufacturability of building these things in Honduras, where more modern (and expensive) welding methods are less available. Our conclusion: it works swellish.

This unit will have 18 blades in total, but we're saving some for Teresa and Sean to weld next week. We can't let Ryan have all the fun.

The Rule of Law and Self-Governance Win in Honduras

2009-11-30T16:13:00.005-06:00

Great news! The Presidential elections in Honduras went well and is being recognized by the US and by key countries in Central and South America, as well as Japan and Germany. This bodes well for the long-term stability of the country and for our work to bring electricity to rural communities there! Here is an excerpt:

"Almost 400 foreign observers from Japan, Europe, Latin America and the U.S. traveled to Honduras for yesterday's elections. Peru, Costa Rica, Panama, the German parliament and Japan will also recognize the vote. The outpouring of international support demonstrates that Hondurans were never as alone these past five months as they thought. A good part of the world backs their desire to save their democracy from chavismo and to live in liberty."

Read the full article here.

Joy in the Unexpected

2009-11-24T23:28:00.006-06:00

I don't normally blog about things that are this personal, but I feel like writing tonight, and it's been a while since my last post, so I figure I owe you something. The last few days have been filled with intense emotions for me. I have had times of strong joy, hope, disappointment, and most recently, compassion. I can't explain what seems like a recent increase in what you might call my emotional microphone, but things have been effecting me stronger than normal. Since Sunday, I have wept three times. When I tell you why, you may be surprised at the diversity of the experiences and the apparent oddity of some of them. Then again, by now my oddity shouldn't surprise anyone.

1) The first time it happened was driving from back to my home in Central Texas (not to be confused with Central America, to where I sometimes go, but usually by plane) after visiting my mother in Houston. She had minor surgery and needed my assistance while she recovered, but that was not the source. For the drive home I borrowed a couple of CD's to play in the car: John Denver's Greatest Hits, and Les Miserables. Now "Javert's Suicide" always moves me, so that time didn't count, but what caught me by surprise were the emotions of joy and hope brought on by Denver's song "The Eagle and The Hawk" for which I have posted a little video. (I didn't make it.)

Here are the lyrics:

I am the Eagle,
I live in high country,
In rocky cathedrals
That reach to the sky.

I am the Hawk,
And there's blood on my feathers,
But time is still turning,
They soon will be dry.

And all those who see me,
And all who believe in me,
Share in the freedom I feel when I fly!

Come dance with the west wind,
And touch on the mountain tops,
Sail over the canyons,
And up to the stars.

And reach for the heavens,
And hope for the future,
And all that we can be,
Not what we are...

---------

Geez, it almost makes me like Obama.

2) The second time I wept was tonight. Without going into a lot of detail, The M and I met a young woman who had come from an extremely difficult past, and whose daughter had been taken by Child Protective Services yesterday. My heart really broke for her and for the little girl. I find it difficult to write about, and yet I don't even really know her. I wept, right there in front of her and a lot of other people, and the only way I could have stopped it was to have left the room. But I stayed. I believe, frankly, that this was the touch of the Holy Spirit. I am grateful for these deep feelings of compassion, and I know they have been cultivated in me for both my blessing and God's purposes.

3) So later tonight, The M and I were watching a recorded episode of "So You Think You Can Dance". We only watch recorded shows so we can fast forward through the commercials. One commercial, and I don't even know what they were advertising, had a shot of Darth Vader standing next to Oscar the Grouch. What? Darth Vader and Oscar the Grouch? Are you kidding me? That was the most unexpected pairing I could have ever imagined. But even more unexpected was that it made me weep. Just a little, you understand, but the absurdity of it made me laugh, and the laughter brought joy, and the joy was intense enough to make me tear up. All in about one second.

Far out.

Wordless Wednesday

2009-11-18T00:54:00.000-06:00

Fall Fest Pics

2009-11-07T23:49:00.005-06:00

Jono's school recently had its annual Fall Festival fundraiser. The M is not just "a member" of the PTA, but this year she is some kind of officer. This means she does a lot of work for no money. She's not the boss of the PTA, you understand, but she's very involved. You could say she's sorta a bridesmaid of the PTA, or the assistant manager of the PTA. They are thinking about calling it the PT&MA.

[The M having fun with her friend Susan.
The stripy shirt was part of her uniform for the evening.]

At any rate, thanks in part to her hard work, the festival was a success. Unfortunately, it took her about a week to recover, having thrown out her back making posters and doing other crafty activities in the days preceding.

One of her roles is that of "Historian" which means she's supposed to take pictures of stuff that goes on at school throughout the year. I was delighted to help her out in this respect and walk around snapping pics of the folks. I have attached a few of my favorites with which to solicit complements and feed my ego.

[Face painting is a time honored festival activity.]

[The soccer goal event was a kick!]

[And "Baseball Extreme" was a hit!]

David's Banner Day

2009-11-07T23:36:00.005-06:00

David swims on a private swim team that practices at the YMCA not far from Orangehouse. Since August, he has been working very hard to move to the next higher level of swimmers. Among other requirements, he had a particularly demanding practice in which he swam over two miles one evening. Over a mile of that total was without stopping!

Yesterday he was officially admitted to the higher group and had his first practice with them! I'm very proud of his hard work and determination. And to top it off, we also found out Friday that he made the 7th grade basketball team. Yea David!

[This is a warm up session from a recent
swim meet in Austin at the UT pool.
David is the one doing freestyle.]

Sproingatude

2009-10-17T23:15:00.011-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, the schools gave out $10 coupons for the Heart of Texas Fair and Rodeo. I must admit this was an act of marketing genius. Jono came home very excited about going to the fair, riding the rides, and especially walking through the "mirror maze", or hall of mirrors. "Papa, can we go to the fair today? No? How about tomorrow? No? How about the next day?" Eventually I caved.

I don't really like the fair. It's kinda creepy and crowded and expensive. Taken together, these three characteristics put it near the bottom of my list of favorite things to do: right there between go to the dentist and contract dysentery. But Jono really wanted to go, and I thought it might be a nice chance for the two of us to spend some father/son time together. Perhaps make a memory. It turned out to be wonderful.

First things first, he had to do the mirror maze a few times. Then he drove the bumper cars and then we both did the super slide together. After getting off the super slide he said it made his "innards go up and down". Innards? While we stood in the lines together we would talk about all kinds of things from how the rides worked, to what he did in school, to how there was no way we were getting on the scary rides. I could tell he was enjoying my attention. I frequently knelt or squatted so I could be face to face with him. He was affectionate and at one point he told me I was "made of preciousness". Wow.

This is a picture I took of us with my phone. Sorry about the quality. We're riding the Tilt-A-Whirl which was about as rambunctious as we got that night. He liked what this one did to his innards too. By the end of the ride I was getting a little woozy, so I was glad he didn't want to ride anything wilder. Who gets woozy on the Tilt-A-Whirl? Are you kidding me? For me, it should be called it Lilt-And-Hurl.

One of the last things he did was a bungee trampoline thingy. As we waited in line he watched the other kids bouncing and enjoying themselves. He told me matter-of-factly that he was going to go higher than they were going. And man, did he! I was surprised how vigorously he went for it. We had such a great time together. I drew the arrow on the picture to help you see him at the apex of his sproingatude. The kid was flying.

And so was I.

70,000 fans sing along

2009-10-14T10:08:00.004-05:00

I shot this video at the U2 concert Monday night. You can see Bono quiet the band as you watch him on the giant screen. It was one of my favorite parts of the concert.

After Being a Fan for 23 Years... I Saw U2 Live

2009-10-13T18:44:00.013-05:00

The mothership: the new Cowboy Stadium in Arlington, Texas. The day was drizzly and overcast and humid: Beautiful Day.

These big trusses are used to retract the roof. Cool! And I say to you, if anyone looks upon big trusses lustfully, he has already committed structural engineering in heart: Desire.

As I came into the stadium and saw the set, all I could say was wow. They say there are three of these stage sets that tour with the band because it takes several days to set them up and take them down. It was huge and even with the power off it was cool and formidable. "Justified till we die, you and I will magnify The Magnificent": Magnificent.

October 12, 2009. "Kingdoms rise, and kingdoms fall, but you go on and on": October.

"I believe you can loose these chains, I believe you can dance with me, dance with me": A Celebration.

Two bridges came out from the stage to a 360 degree sidewalk that circled the stage. The bridges moved back and forth two and the band members would walk out over the fans to the sidewalk. "I'm across the road from hope, I'm under a bridge in a rip tide": One Step Closer.

This pictures shows the motion of the crowd's arms. Bono had them waving back and forth and you can see the blur of their arems and his.

This is my best shot of the evening. It's about the only time Bono sat still enough for me to focus on him. The lights in the foreground are the displays from people's cameras.

The two bridges came together and Bono and The Edge had a "battle" across the gap. They were quite the showmen.

Two encores and 70,000 fans: Exit.

A New Kind of Old

2009-10-11T00:05:00.009-05:00

This afternoon The M and I had company. Aimie, one of my students and travelling companions from Honduras, came over for dinner and conversation. We put her to work painting furniture with us. Later I'm going to have her work on my car's transmission.

It looks like they're racing. It's like NASCAR on the DIY channel.

Recently, The M's mother moved from our town to Houston. She left behind a dresser that The M wants to make into something new. Actually, she wants it to look old, not new. I told her it looked old already, but she said it was the wrong kind of old. She wants a new kind of old that men can't understand. It's the style, she says.

I think I might be the wrong kind of old.

The style has a name: Shabby Chic. The Chic is pronounced "sheek" and it means something good but undefinable like "hip" or "cool". Imagine an old table made of weathered wood with peeling paint and rusty nails. I think we have the shabby part down pat. At any rate, The M and I (and now Aimie) have been working on sprucing up (or down) the place with select garage sale lamps, worn out tables, and the like. To my surprise, the house looks pretty good in a bad kinda way. Or maybe it looks bad in a good kinda way. Maybe I too can be shabby chic; with effort I could look so bad I look good. Or something.

The Silent Monks Sing The Hallelujah Chorus

2009-10-10T23:49:00.001-05:00

This makes me laugh.

Wordless Wednesday

2009-10-07T21:28:00.003-05:00

More Insight from Mary O'Grady

2009-10-03T23:57:00.005-05:00

Excerpts from: "Honduras Just Wants an Election"
September 30, 2009
Mary O'Grady of the Wall Street Journal

"Last week Tegucigalpa was under attack by zelayistas. They burned tires in the streets, vandalized property, looted businesses and blocked roads. But the U.S. repeated its support for Mr. Zelaya. Without producing any legal review, Washington decreed once again that a president who tried to trash the constitution must be reinstated or it will not recognize the November presidential election.

Why does the U.S. threaten to undermine a free election that would very likely restore peace and security? Venezuela's Hugo Chávez may have answered that in his speech to the United Nations General Assembly last Thursday. Taking the podium, Mr. Chávez told his audience that he didn't smell "sulfur" the way he did last year. This was a reference to his last U.N. tirade, when he called George W. Bush a devil who had left behind a sulfuric odor. This year, Mr. Chávez said, there was a smell of "hope."

Mr. Obama clearly has won acceptance from the Latin American tyrant and the U.S.'s Honduras policy has been helpful. But will this great honor last longer than a hiccup and yield any return? Probably not. Beyond sparing Mr. Obama the verbal barbs he delivered to Mr. Bush, Mr. Chávez shows no inclination toward being a good neighbor. He's engaged in a massive military buildup and he's even talking about his own nuclear ambitions.

The Obama administration's position on the Honduran election is embarrassing. Can anyone imagine that if Fidel Castro declared tomorrow that he would hold free elections and invite the whole world to come as observers, the U.S. would reject the idea because Cuba is a military dictatorship? It would be absurd."

"A transparent election is the path to political stability endorsed by the Free World. It is unseemly and churlish for the U.S. to threaten that process. Does Mr. Obama treasure kind words from Hugo Chávez that much? If so, we're all in trouble."

a dog, a boy, and a farm

2009-09-25T22:00:00.012-05:00

Tonight we had an outing. I would call it an adventure, but that would be exaggeration. Jono and I went to the World Hunger Relief farm to do some tests on our solar powered chicken coop. I wore my knee-high rubber boots just to look cool, and carried my tool bag brimming full of gadgetation. I was prepared for science. Jono brought Maggie the dog on a green nylon leash.

We stopped at Fazoli's for a little spaghetti dinner and bread sticks, and shared a diet coke. We talked about the computer games he played at school today. Maggie the Cocker Spaniel sat in the car sniffing out the windows at the 60 degree blue skies and listening to NPR. She agrees that Ahmadinejad is a mad man.

After dinner we drove about 20 minutes to the farm. As we drove I called Sergio, our foreman and friend in Honduras. He informed me that the generator that caught fire last week had been repaired (yea!) and that things in the villages were actually going smoothly. In the city, however, there are curfews, even during the day, because of the political crisis. His taxi business has greatly decreased, as you can imagine, and he and his friends are very concerned about their future. I got off the phone as we arrived at the farm.

----- this line is a visual symbol of an emotional break -----

The weekend had begun at the farm. Everyone had stopped working and the sun was sinking over a quiet pasture. Down the dirt road and to the right, two mobile chicken coops sat in a field, slowly fertilizing it, one chicken bowel movement at a time. On top of one coop sat two solar panels resting after a hard day's work of harvesting the sun at a distance of 93 million miles. Their crop of energy sleeps in a car battery during the day, but at night comes out to light up rows of white LEDs, specially designed for people cooler than me to trick out their cars in order to meet women who like that kind of thing.
You see, chickens lay more eggs when they have lights in their coops because they think the day is longer. My students and I are helping them go green which gives new meaning to "green eggs and ham". (But I have already written about how sleep-deprived chickens stay up late to ovulate.)
Today's post, however, is about father and son. And dog. When we arrived, Jono took Maggie out for a romp in the field. I entered the chicken coop to push back the frontiers of knowledge with a volt meter and a pair of needle nose pliers. I stood there, hunched under the low roof, surrounded by about 25 clucking hens, and fiddled with my tricorder. As I looked up I smiled. My son and my dog were running around the fence line, "herding" stray chickens by chasing them until they flapped ungracefully back into the right field. I'm not sure which of them was having more fun. My heart was surely full.
After sunset we drove home with the windows down to enjoy the weather. We had shared a special moment, just the two of us and the dog and 25 chickens.
Somewhere on I-35 Jono said "Maggie just threw up". Well then.

I had nothing to clean it up with in my tool bag, so I had to get off the freeway to find some paper towels. It took me a couple of exits because traffic was heavy. By the time we got to a convenience store, she had it on her leash and paws and was trying to climb into the front seat, spreading doggie puke around willie nillie. Did I mention it was my mother-in-law's car?
By this time I'm thinking the evening has become blog-worthy. I start to review it in my mind so as not to miss any details. Later in the evening I began to write it all down on my laptop. The house is quiet, The M and David are at a swim meet out of town, and the air conditioner is silent for the first time in months. I am at peace.

Coup Coup Kachoo

2009-09-24T23:27:00.002-05:00

The Obama Fan Club

2009-09-23T23:01:00.005-05:00

"I say 'Obama, let's go Obama! Let's work truly together to promote peace! But I hope, hope, hope to God ... that Obama could become the instigator for a process of internal change."

- Hugo Chávez, socialist leader of Venezuela, in his address to the United Nations, September 23, 2009

Are you, like me, dumbfounded at the Obama administration's position on Honduras? Do you wonder why they still refer to the outing of former President Zelaya as a "coup" when the Honduran Supreme Court, the Honduran Congress, and members of Zelaya's own political party have clearly shown that under the Honduran Constitution, Zelaya's own actions terminated his presidency? Do you wonder when Hilary Clinton became a higher authority in interpreting Honduran law than the Honduran Supreme Court???

The answer, seems to me, to fall into one of two logical positions. Either

1) Obama and Clinton are unaware of the facts, or

2) Obama and Clinton are choosing to ignore the facts for some other reason.

I find option one, ignorance of the facts, extremely unlikely on account of the emails I have sent the State Department explaining it to them. And if those didn't make it clear, perhaps the recent report by the Constitutional Research Service could offer a "serious legal review of the facts". Please, please read Mary O'Grady's recent article on this subject from where I borrowed the above political cartoon.

So it must be option number two. They are ignoring the facts for some other reason. Surely, it must be a good one. The evidence points to a political reason. Obama has chosen to put the rule of law on the back burner in favor of courting post-Bush political favor with the likes of Hugo Chávez, Daniel Ortega, and Raul Castro.

And judging by today's quote by Chávez, he's doing pretty well.

We Won It!

2009-09-21T06:59:00.006-05:00

Our Honduran company, Energía Para Aldeas, is one of 21 winners of the Energy Innovation Contest sponsored by the Inter-American Development Bank. Over 1000 applications were submitted and yet we made it! "The king’s heart is like a stream of water directed by the Lord; he guides it wherever he pleases." Surely God's hand was upon us. We are so grateful to be able to join Him in what He is already doing in Honduras!

Our great partner in this endeavor is the Asociación Hondureña de Pequeños Productores de Energía Renovable which, in English, is the Honduran Association of Small Producers of Renewable Energy. They are a natural partner for us, having legal and environmental expertise in small renewable energy systems in Honduras.

FAQ:

Q: I thought your company was called Village Energy Inc. (VEI)?
A: Energía Para Aldeas is the Honduran company owned by the VEI, the U.S. company. Energía Para Aldeas, or EPA, means "Energy for Villages". Neither company is actually incorporated at this point, on account of we need some money. But both have a web presence, which makes us practically legit.

Q: Is Ryan moving to Honduras?
A: Yes. As soon as we can get him there. Hopefully he will be there by Thanksgiving, which is like, half an hour later than Thanksgiving in the U.S..

Q: Are you allowed to use the grant money to buy refried beans?
A: No, sadly.

Wordless Wednesday

2009-09-16T22:12:00.002-05:00

Bucket of Fried Chicken

2009-09-16T07:52:00.006-05:00

Sleep-deprived chickens lay more eggs. It's true. If you put a light in the chicken coop after dark, they think it's still daytime, so they lay more eggs. This is not what we normally teach in engineering school, but normal is overrated anyway. For more chicken theory and corresponding fowl jokes, see part 1 and part 2.

It has been raining for the last week or so; I knew it would be muddy out at the farm. So I wore my overalls and knee-high rubber boots. It's important that the chickens think I'm a farmer.

Diana and Brian joined me and we devised a system to monitor the battery voltage. The electronics, including a battery from a riding lawnmower, are in the white bucket that hangs from the roof. We put a lid on the bucket to keep the chickens out. I mean, we all like fried chicken, but just not that way.

She's not a tame chicken, but she's good.

Brian went back after dark to disconnect the system and measure the battery voltage. The chickens were sitting on their seats above the lights. See their chicken tails hanging out? "Do these lights make my butt look big?" The sleeping/egg-laying areas are the boxes to the left, so that's where we shined the lights. We also made a disco ball and a light saber, but the chickens weren't comfortable with us photographing those.

Maggie the Dog

2009-09-12T15:13:00.006-05:00

We brought home our new dog today. She's not new new, just new to us. Sorta like a used car. She's a used dog. A 2007 Cocker Spaniel. No cash for clunkers with this pooch. She seems to be in good condition. Of course, the new dog smell has largely disappeared, but there's no body damage and the miles are low. She came with On-Star too. That is, there's a microchip implanted under her skin with an ID number traceable back to us. That's in case she gets lost, or the department of Homeland Security needs to spy on me. Or both.

We have a dog-training DVD that says you should bribe them with lots of treats. That's what I'm doing here: buying her love.

She sure looks a lot like the dog I had growing up!

At first we kept the cats sequestered to let everyone get used to each other. When we did let them into the same room, the cats made some sounds I have never heard before. Something like a cross between a growling lion and a Harley Davidson. Maggie just ignored them and kept smelling everything.

The training DVD (and our friends) tell us that "crating" a dog, or having a special enclosure for them, is a great aid to house training. They say it actually helps them feel safe too. So we are easing her into it, 10 minutes at a time. So far she seems to like it.

Hillary v. Honduras

2009-09-11T16:58:00.002-05:00

The Obama administration declares it won't recognize the results of a free and fair election.

by Elliott Abrams
09/04/2009 11:40:00 AM

There is an obvious compromise available to end the Honduras crisis--or there was, anyway, until Secretary Clinton rejected it on Thursday. Honduras 's ejected president Mel Zelaya saw the Secretary and apparently persuaded her that the outcome of Honduras ' next elections must be rejected.

On what basis? None was stated, and no logical basis exists. The next elections will be entirely constitutional and held on time; and the term of office of the ousted Zelaya would end naturally and constitutionally when a new president is sworn in, in January.

The candidates were selected before the current crisis began, and all the parties—including Zelaya's Liberal Party, one half of Honduras 's essentially two party system--are participating. There is no reason whatsoever to doubt that the election can be monitored by international observers (and we could have demanded more of them than usual) and fairly conducted. Honduras 's vote for a new president on November 29 was the obvious way for everyone to dig out of the current mess without hurting the Honduran people and without damaging Honduras 's democratic institutions.

But it was rejected yesterday by Clinton and the Obama administration. The State Department's spokesman said that "Based on conditions as they currently exist, we cannot recognize the results of the election." The irrationality of the words is striking: based on conditions today, we can't recognize the results of a free election more than two months from now on November 29, even if everyone thinks it's free and even if Zelaya's party participates, and even if his term would constitutionally be over anyway.

Remember, it was Zelaya who wanted to screw around with that election, and hold a referendum on that date allowing him to be re-elected in perpetuity--just as his mentor Chavez has done in Venezuela . That's what gave rise to his defenestration. Now Hondurans want to go back to regular elections, but the United States won't allow them to do so?

The argument made around the Organization of American States (which is supporting Zelaya) is that elections conducted under the "de facto regime" cannot be considered fair.

Really? Every country in Latin America that made a transition from military to civilian rule held elections with the military still in charge, yet we don't hear the OAS saying all those elections were phony. Just to take one example, in Chile the dictator Augusto Pinochet was not only president when transition elections were held in 1990, he continued on as head of the armed forces for 8 years after that. Such history is forgotten at the OAS when it is convenient, but facts are stubborn things--even in Latin America .

Honduras was the original "banana republic," and its poverty remains extreme. Close to half the population lives on two dollars a day or less, and the country has not yet recovered from the devastation caused by Hurricane Mitch in 1998. The International Fund for Agricultural Development put it this way: "Rural poverty in Honduras is among the most severe in Latin America .

Approximately 53 percent of the population is rural, and it is estimated that 75 percent of the rural population lives below the poverty line, unable to meet basic needs. The country still has high rates of population growth, infant mortality, child malnutrition and illiteracy. These and other social and economic factors reflect its status as the second poorest country in the Western Hemisphere, after Haiti." Yet on Thursday the United States announced a cut of $30 million in aid and more aid cuts are in the offing. All this to shoehorn back into power a man whom the Supreme Court of Honduras voted, 15-0 (and 9 of the 15 were members of Zelaya's Liberal Party) had violated their constitution.

The Obama Administration's weak-kneed support of human rights in places like Egypt and China being obvious, the policy in Honduras appears to reflect not so much enthusiasm for democracy as a "no enemies to the Left" view of Latin America. One could laugh at the foolishness of this policy were it not for the six and half million Hondurans, fighting poverty, fighting Chavez and Zelaya and the effort to turn their political system into another Venezuela--and now, fighting Uncle Sam.

Elliott Abrams, Senior Fellow for Middle Eastern Studies at the Council on Foreign Relations, was Assistant Secretary of State for Inter-American Affairs in the Reagan Administration.

Wordless Wednesday

2009-09-09T08:00:00.001-05:00

Jonathan's Fame

2009-09-06T01:13:00.006-05:00

Today I watched parts of the Baylor football game against Wake Forest on ESPN. At halftime, a new commercial came on for Baylor featuring one of my former students. Jonathan appears at the 20th second and very briefly mentions our work in Honduras. The commercial is pretty slick, I must say. Click here to see it.

I count Jonathan as a friend. He not only went with me on a trip to Kenya, he also came with me to Honduras on two different occasions. He was the president of the Baylor chapter of Engineers with a Mission too, and is an all-around great guy. My whole family loves him and I am so proud of him. He's getting married next month and we hope to attend his wedding.

Phishy Phriends

2009-09-02T21:14:00.006-05:00

A few days before school started, David and I got up early to go fishing with some friends. We drove south of town to a bridge where we launched their kayaks into the Bosque river. [This reminds me that I finally found out why it is pronounced BOS-key, not bosk. It's because bosque is the Spanish word for woods or forest. Here in Central Texas the Spanish pronunciation is still maintained, at least approximately, albeit with little Texas y at the end like frosty. I know nothing of linguistics, really, but neither am I afraid to draw unsupportable correlations or make sweeping generalizations as I see fit. I owe the blogosphere that much, anyway. Or the blogospherey. Yet I digress. Again.]

I am refusing to sell this photo to National Geographic, despite their repeated and lucrative offers. They say it has artistic framing and stunning views of nature. Who am I to argue with NG? But as an artist I refuse to sell out.

This is Ellis parking the kayaks at the little island I like to call Ellis Island.

My friend Blaine remained optimistic that we would catch something, probably a sword fish. After all, he had kayaks and a fishing hat, we had boxes of brightly colored rubber lures that even made me want to eat them, and we got up early when, it is rumored, fish are easily fooled. Regrettably, however, we didn't get a single bite. This photo of Blaine makes it seem like we were fishing in a ditch or something, but it really was a decent sized river. I suspect the real reason we caught nothing was because of my presence; based on my prior fishing experiences, I seem to be a fish repellent. I may have polluted our chances by simply being there. I wish that worked with mosquitoes.

Wordless Wednesday

2009-09-02T08:00:00.000-05:00

Frijoles Rojo

2009-08-30T17:00:00.001-05:00

The refried beans served in Honduras are even better than the refried beans served in my favorite Tex-Mex restaurants. I almost feel like a traitor, saying that, but it's true. In much of Central America, they use red beans, not pinto beans. And sometimes they throw in a little sausage. I could live on them.

So Elizabeth, one of my students who has accompanied me to Honduras twice now, bought me a bag of red beans at Fiesta in Houston. I procrastinated cooking them for about a year because I really didn't know how. But a few Saturdays ago, I finally looked up a recipe on the Internet and dove into the process gringo style.

First you have to sort the beans and make sure there aren't any rocks or dirt clods mixed in with the beans. I didn't find any, but that's what the Internet said. Who am I to argue with Al Gore?

Then you have to wash them. Then you put them in a pot of water and let them soak overnight. The beans swell up and absorb the water which makes them soft. In the morning, drain them and put in fresh water and boil them for a while. I don't remember how long. But you really don't care do you? I mean, if you want to cook beans are you going to come read this post? I don't think so. You're going to use a cook book or a recipe website. I mean, you're probably just looking at the pictures anyway, so why am I even writing this stuff?

They were really soupy at first, but I kept cooking them until they got to the right consistency. I put in some cream cheese as an experiment too. I also put in a bit more salt than I should have.

Ready to serve.

Ryan came over so I made him eat some. He said they were too salty. So I ran into the other room and cried in Spanish.

A Fat Guy's Week in Review

2009-08-29T17:51:00.008-05:00

Last week was my first week back at school and so far it's smooth sailing; I have kept my head above water; what ever water-based metaphor you like. So I decided to relax a little and look through other people's pictures on Facebook. Bunmi O., a former student of mine, has graduated and moved back to his home in Nigeria, or as he spells it, "9ja". He uses all kinds of hip slang like that. He probably got that from me.

The billboard in the background says "Celebrate Success". Ironic, isn't it? The world is a funny place. And I mean funny weird, not funny haha, though sometimes it's funny haha too. You understand.

Speaking of Facebook, using it I have found lots of people from my past with whom I had lost touch, sometimes intentionally. Two people in particular, are worth mentioning. The first is a childhood friend from my neighborhood named Johnny (now he goes by John) who moved away when I was about 10 years old. For a while we were best buds. Now he's living in New York City and working on a law degree! The second person is my 10th grade English teacher, Miss Westa. She is no longer teaching, nor a Miss Anything; she is married and working in Boston. I emailed her out of the blue, and to my surprise she remembers me!

It's funny how you can be excited and simultaneously apprehensive about reawakening old friendships. What if we don't have anything in common anymore? What if they have changed as much as I have, but in a different direction? It almost seems like the memory of the relationship should be left alone, not disturbed by some technological relationship excavation tool. But curiosity and the hope of picking up where we left off drive me forward. Am I a grave robber, looking for jewels in the crypt of old relationships? Or am I just a typical person, cautiously attending a virtual high school reunion, just to see what ever happened to old so and so?