David C. Hughes, Writer

“For the LORD your God will bless you in all your harvest and in all the work of your hands, and your JOY will be complete." –Deuteronomy 16:15

Archive for the tag “Humorous writing”

TMI (2015-08-28 Daily)

I do a lot of online research for both my writing and my engineering jobs, simply because the information on the internet is readily accessible, fast, and in some cases, accurate. Recently I did some research on a power supply design for a project at Vertex Electronics. Starting with a basic Google keyword search, I marched down the screen, clicking on results that appeared relevant to my design goals. I selected a link containing information about a 12 volt dual power supply and waited eagerly for the page to load.

The page finally popped up, and smack dab in the middle of the screen, between the lead paragraph describing the benefits of a +/-12 volt DC power supply and a description of a 14-0-14 volt step-down transformer, sat a photo of a woman dressed in nothing but a few twists of leather, a pair of black high heels, and a large helping of my imagination. She seemed to be contorted into some pleasantly painful yoga move, dark blonde hair cascading over her face.


“What the—?” I gasped. “TMI! What does this have to do with power supply design?!” Granted, her design was, well, electrifying (don’t judge me), but the prominent position (of the ad . . . ) was extremely distracting. After several minutes I managed to read the actual content of the website (all twelve words), but the experience left me feeling . . . dirty, like I had to go home and confess to my wife.

These kinds of non sequitur ads are all over the place now—they pop up like Donkey in Shrek—“Pick me! Pick me!” It reminds me of that movie, The Fifth Element, where ads crawl across the walls of buildings and on shop windows as people walk by. The Fifth Element was set in the future, but it didn’t take long at all for that kind of future to arrive. Good grief!

Once, while looking up commentary on Dr. Seuss’ Hand, Hand, Fingers, Thumb, I practically fell out of my chair when a racy ad for Calvin Klein’s “Reveal” fragrance popped up right next to the article I was searching for. The ad featured a completely naked woman kissing a completely clothed man with a weirdly puzzled look on his face. I think his expression reflected mine exactly—“Why does he still have his clothes on?” I wondered.


The other day I found a website chock full of information on HTML, the web page programming language. After a few minutes I realized how distracting the site was going to be: the content frame was surrounded by colorfully-animated pop-up ads, no less than four at any given moment. All the ads moved, flashed, and cavorted on the screen. Each time I selected a new page a fresh set of ads appeared. “These guys are clever,” I declared to my boss. “Every time my eyes detect movement, they jump from the content to the ad. I hate these people. I wish they would all die.” I’m sure it took me at least twice as long to learn what I needed from that website—instead of helping me be more productive, the internet is now morphing me into a twitchy merchandising target with an attention span the length of a nanotube. Hooray for free enterprise. Good thing the computer has an OFF button and Amazon still sells real books fashioned out of paper and ink instead of Calvin Klein ads.

For months I’ve been grumbling about the pop up ads on my Yahoo! email inbox page. “No, I don’t want a girlfriend aged 50 plus!” I scream at my computer. “No, I don’t want to save $1.50 on my next purchase of Preparation H Medicated Wipes for Women!” I yell, shaking my fist. “All I want to do is read my freakin’ email. That’s it. Just . . . read . . . my . . . email . . . .” Of course I can’t get rid of those ads because I’m using Yahoo! mail for free, but I’m paying for it every day. If something’s free, I’ve learned, it may not necessarily be worth anything.

Remember the good ol’ days, when we actually wrote letters? On paper? With a pen? Letter-writing was truly an art form executed with deliberateness and abounding in love. Not long ago I would spend an hour or two every month writing letters. Now it seems a significant part of my day is wasted just deleting the plethora of emails asking me to send money to help repatriate a friend who’s stuck in Outer Mongolia. And having two email accounts doesn’t help. Neither does having the ability to access email on my cell phone. Now even precious bathroom time is spent deleting junk emails rather than reading the latest issue of Field & Stream. And that’s not even saying anything about Facebook . . . .

A few years ago I had a lunchtime interview-turned-information session with Bob Hamp, former Freedom Minister for Gateway Church in Southlake, Texas. During the conversation Bob excitedly spoke about the benefits of setting up a blog site and establishing a Facebook account. He showed me the exponential exposure potential of Twitter, and explained how if Kari Jobe liked one of his tweets she might favorite it out to her followers. All 591,000 of them. “Wow!” I breathed, thinking about all the book sales I’d get each time I published a blog post. “Amazing!”

After that interview I embraced the dark side and busily set about building my WordPress blog site, establishing a LinkedIn page, setting up Facebook, and opening a Twitter account. Now I can’t keep up. Just the other day my publisher told me I needed to focus on building an author platform. Jeez! Enough already! Between email, social media, and maintaining my blog page, I have exactly 2 minutes and 39 seconds a day to actually write. And half of that is taken up by my daughter walking into my office and asking if I want to play with her plastic horses. “No, honey,” I tell her sweetly. “Daddy’s busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Answering emails.”

“I thought you were a writer.”

“I am. I write emails . . . .”

What’s that old saying, “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em?” Believe me, I’m trying to join ‘em, but this old 8-bit brain still processes information like a Tandy TRS-80 rather than a Tianhe-2. Gone are the days of just sitting down to write . . . and writing. But, who knows, maybe sometime in the future one of my pop-up ads featuring a scantily-clad woman seductively holding up The Epiphany of Joy will hit your screen and you’ll buy a copy. Then the griping will have all been worth it. In the meantime, please excuse me. I see I’ve got 43 Facebook reminders, 372 new emails, and 12 LinkedIn notifications to respond to. Not to mention President Obama wants me to refinance my house. Can’t waste any more time actually writing. . . .


Copyright © 2015 by David C Hughes



Lessons from a Backyard Campout (Part 2 of 2) (2015-07-28 Daily)

Lesson 1: The night is noisy.

“Amidst the chaos of the cities,” Ram Mohan wrote, “a part of you always yearns for the silence of the woods.”[i] And to a point, I agree—I was raised in the woods, and I returned to the woods (or at least as close to the woods as you can get in North Texas) as soon as I could. Living in the country certainly has its advantages: fresh air, open land, solitude. We don’t have traffic, car horns, or car alarms blaring every five minutes. But as the day winds down and night settles in, an orchestra of frogs, toads and insects cues up and begins to play, accompanied by the soulful harmonization of resident coyotes. The silence of the woods ain’t so silent.

That night, as we lay on our air mattresses staring through the nylon mesh at the stars, and the neighborhood rolled over for a good night’s rest, bullfrogs began to harrumph for mates. Dogs barked across the rolling hills. Night birds called, horses neighed, owls hooted, crickets rubbed their legs against their wings in a romantic frenzy. The night amplified each twitch, each shift, each movement of bodies trying to find a comfortable spot on the crunchy, hard, lumpy air mattresses. Hannah got up once, to zip shut a thin nylon window in a fruitless attempt to keep out the night sounds.

Toward morning, as the last breath of night gave way to the first hint of dawn, a rooster ruffled us out of our thin, almost pointless slumber. For all the poetic waxing about the stillness of the night, the reality is, night can be far from quiet and calm. Night is full of passion, full of struggle, full of music, full of life and death and survival of both the fittest and the lucky. But if you lie quietly, if you remain still, if you allow it, you will hear God’s voice in all that frenetic order. The night is, indeed, noisy.


Lesson 2: Sometimes a sleeping bag on the ground is more comfortable than an air mattress.

Mary’s idea of camping comes equipped with at least two wheels and a pop-up lid. My idea of camping is packing a waterproof sack with a tent, a sleeping bag and a pillow, tying the bag to the thwart of a canoe, and shoving off in a river with a slow but steady current.

When we pitch the tent in the backyard, the first item through the flap is not a sleeping bag but a queen size air mattress. The second is an electric pump. The first thing to leave the tent is my good cheer as I sit in the 100 degree heat trying to coax enough oomph out of the pump to fill up the mattress. “This ain’t camping,” I grumble. “This is just sleeping with the door open.” You see, I’m old school. When I camp I don’t necessarily mind gravel poking into my shoulder blades and hardpan pushing against my back. I try to embrace simplicity—just the tent and the sleeping bag and a roll of toilet paper. Mary likes simplicity as well, but she also likes comfort. To me, the air mattress is one of the most uncomfortable things I’ve ever slept on. To her it’s the difference between camping and not.

Why do I think sleeping on the ground in a sleeping bag is more comfortable than sleeping on an air mattress? First, the air mattress has a built-in pillow, but the pillow’s so tall it induces a crick in my neck worse than sleeping with my head on a piles of rocks. So we both sleep with our feet on the pillow and our heads at the other end. All night long I feel like I’m in traction.

Second, sleeping on that air mattress is like lying on a half-filled water balloon. I’m a side sleeper, and I rotate from one side to the other several times during the night. Invariably when I roll over on the air mattress I feel like I’m at sea, undulating on four-foot swells.

Third, it’s bulky. The bag we store the mattress in is a big as the bag we store the tent in, and it’s twice as heavy. If we ever had the inkling to hike the Appalachian Trail, the air mattress would take up 95% of the allotted backpack weight and 110% of the allotted space. But, as the old wisdom goes, if Mama ain’t happy ain’t nobody happy. Mama likes her air mattress, and the smile on her face first thing in the morning makes it all worth it. That and the breakfast she’s about to cook.


Lesson 3: The night has a rhythm.

“God has a rhythm, just as we do,” poet and writer, Amena Brown, wrote. “God’s rhythm is unchanging and eternal, full of love, hope and grace.  Absolutely truthful, always available, incredibly powerful.”[ii]

One of my favorite activities is canoeing, and combining a camping trip with a twenty mile canoe trip is as good as it gets. When Mary and I were dating, I invited her to join me on an overnight float trip down the Brazos River. The first night, as I lay sweating and aching and completely content on my sleeping bag, I joyfully anticipated the first call of a whippoorwill.

Suddenly the distinct, high-pitched voice of that elusive night bird cut through the constant drone of crickets and katydids: whip-poor-will! Whip-poor-will! I smiled, knowing what would come next. After a few minutes, a second whippoorwill responded. Then another. I lay awake, listening to the birds call to each other, listening to the gurgle of the river flowing by, listening to the low hum of a faraway pump. The night had a rhythm, one which soon carried me into peaceful slumber and delivered me into the clarity of a new dawn and another day of rhythmic (and somewhat painful) paddling to the take out point.

“The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders;/” King David wrote, “where morning dawns, where evening fades,/you call forth songs of joy” (Psalm 65:8 NIV®). The night has a rhythm, and there is joy in that ebb and flow. We just need to be still.


Lesson 4: God’s creation celebrates Him.

Our tent is large, containing a central hub and two wings. The roof covering the hub is made of gray nylon, but the two wings are topped with a fine nylon mesh. For all intents and purposes, sleeping under those mesh ceilings is like sleeping under the stars, but without the mosquitos.

I love to lie on my sleeping bag and stare at the moon and stars drifting overhead as I drift off to sleep. Camping brings me back to my roots growing up in the woods, and the woods bring me as close to God as my physical existence on earth will allow. From the Big Dipper spinning around the North Star to the cycle of the seasons, from the germination, harvest, and death of our garden to caterpillars changing into butterflies, all of nature demonstrates God’s creative infiniteness, and all of His creation celebrates Him.


Let the heavens rejoice, let the earth be glad;

    let the sea resound, and all that is in it.

Let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them;

    let all the trees of the forest sing for joy.

Let all creation rejoice before the Lord. . . .

—Psalm 96:11-13a NIV®


Lesson 5: Drink deeply of life . . . but lay off the water before you go to bed.

The last thing I want to do in the middle of the night is roll out of bed to go pee, especially when the bathroom is a fifty-yard walk across the lawn in the dark.

First I have to overcome the air mattress. The moment I concentrate my weight by sitting up, the bed invariably sinks, lifting Mary up. When I stand up, Mary drops. Fun in the day, annoying at night. Next, I have to fish around in the dark for my shoes ‘cuz I’m not about to walk across a yard strewn with fire ants, grass burrs, stinging nettle, and dog poo without putting something on my feet. Once I’ve managed to put on my shoes and stand up, I then have to unzip both door zippers without waking anyone. And when I leave the tent, I have to zip the door back up so mosquitos don’t invade and spend the rest of the night hovering around our ear holes. Of course, the whole tent-rattling process must be reversed upon returning from the bathroom, increasing the possibility of disturbing those smart enough to have laid off the water prior to going to bed (and increasing the possibility of retributive disturbances at dawn).

Exiting the tent at night in the backyard to tend to the call of nature is one thing. Exiting the tent at night in the middle of the woods is quite another, especially here in Texas where, after dark, orb web weaver spiders busily spin webs six feet across and ten feet tall across all paths leading to convenient relief stations (i.e., clumps of bushes). And the chance of walking up on a skunk, a raccoon, a tarantula, or a cottonmouth on a late-night jaunt to the nearest tree should be enough incentive to convince me to set aside that last can of beer or that water bottle before laying my head down on my pile of rocks for the night.


Lesson 6: Make good memories, and share them.

Our family is all about fun. We deliberately seek out fun venues, like water parks, zoos and sandy beaches, and we encourage each other to enjoy the experiences as they come. When Hannah was training as a competitive gymnast, the number one rule we imposed on her was to have fun. Number two was to listen to the coaches and to work hard.

All three of us are first-class goofballs, and when we’re not overscheduling ourselves, we spend time playing board games, flying kites and sitting in the kiddie pool holding age-appropriate beverages. To experience joy, it’s imperative to be open to it, and by digging holes in the sand, participating in “silly sound” competition or filling up on s’mores before camping out in the back yard all weekend, we invite gladness to join us. “So I commend the enjoyment of life,” King Solomon advised in Ecclesiastes, “because there is nothing better for a person under the sun than to eat and drink and be glad. Then joy will accompany them in their toil all the days of the life God has given them under the sun” (Ecclesiastes 8:15 NIV®).

And what a better way to invite joy into our hearts than to make good memories and share them? “Happiness lies in good health and a bad memory,” the fortune cookie said. Good health, yes. But making good memories—and remembering them—helps to form a strong foundation for a good life, and there’s nothing like the togetherness of a backyard campout to strengthen that foundation. As the popular saying goes, “We didn’t realize we were making memories, we just knew we were having fun.”


[i] “Quotes About Noise.” goodreads.com. 2015. Good Reads Inc. 28 July 2015. https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/tag/noise?page=2

[ii] Brown, Amena. Breaking Old Rhythms: Answering the Call of a Creative God. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Books, 2013. 20.

Copyright © 2015 by David C. Hughes

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: