"Economics is extremely useful as a form of employment for economists." - John Kenneth Galbraith

About 18 months ago I was on a plane from Portland to DFW (Dallas/Fort Worth) that was the first of two flights that would take me to Puerto Rico for a week's worth of teaching and preaching. On that first flight I had one of my vasovagal syncope episodes and came to on the floor in the aisle of the plane with an oxygen mask on my face and four or five people bending over me looking very serious. I learned that two of them were dr.s who happened to be on that flight. One of them was a cardiologist who, when he couldn't get a pulse, began chest compressions.

Shortly after regaining consciousness I was fine (I always recover in about 30 minutes; it's no big deal) but Delta wouldn't let me on the next flight until I had a slip from a dr. saying I was OK. That meant a trip to Baylor Hospital in Dallas where, because of elevated heart enzyme levels I had to stay overnight for more tests before getting that clearance to resume my trip the next day. I missed the sessions I was supposed to teach that night, which really frustrated me - 'cause I knew I was fine - but in the end it all worked out.

When I got back into my seat the lady next to me told me what happened while I was unconscious, a span she said was about five minutes. She's the one who told me about the chest compressions and that it really freaked her out. She said it was her birthday and all she could think about was, "This guy's going to die right next to me on my birthday!"

So when I saw that pic up there that friend Sue sent to me I thought about that poor scared lady.

BTW, at the hospital the very nice ER cardiologist said those chest compressions were done all wrong. I should have had at least some very big bruises if not broken ribs. He said cardiologists are the worst at doing that procedure because they haven't done it since med school. They're always in a setting where they have paddles.
And I did have a pulse (my pacemaker never kicked in), it was just so weak that he couldn't find it.

I've only had one of those episodes since then. It was on a flight back to Grand Rapids and Pam was with me. I could feel things were headed the wrong direction (I sometimes can feel it coming on and sometimes can't) so I laid my head in her lap for about 30 minutes until it went away. She can see what's happening because I turn "a scary white that looks like death" and knows that this, too, shall pass.

Meet Dolly. She's half Boer (a meat breed) and half Nubian (dairy goat). Dolly is two months old, so a month away from weaning. When that time comes she'll become part of our herd, our third and final breeding doe.

Her coloring is Nubian and except for longer legs her size and shape very Boer. It's a frequent cross because Nubians are known for consistently birthing twins, doing it without problem, and being good mothers. The Boer half means good meat from her kids.

That's Dolly's brother whose rear end you can see here. I think they're both good lookin' goats and their coat is so soft it just begs to be touched. Feel free to come see for yourself.

Tomorrow morning I'm going over to our pastor's house to do a brake job on his Ford Expedition. That's a HUGE vehicle and that usually means a more difficult job. The easiest disc brake job I ever did was on a Honda CSX that had rotors about the size of a salad plate. These will be more like platters.
Working on your pastor's car...no pressure.