"In Triumph doth Wave"

Considering how well we all know the first verse to this song, it's rather incredible how little most of us know the rest. Take a moment to read through the lyrics as we head into Independence Day weekend. Take a moment to remember that, as with all things worthwhile, our freedom and way of life came at a cost. A cost that was paid and victory won. We may have declared our independence on July 4th, but our independence wasn't a reality until victory had been fought for and won.

THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER
Oh, say can you see by the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars thru the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines in the stream:
'Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,
A home and a country should leave us no more!
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved home and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust."
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

"He is Succour to the brave"

With Independence Day at the end of this week, I have resurrected my blogging for a bit. Tonight we shall visit a beautiful old hymn written in the shadow of a camp of Union soldiers stationed outside Washington D.C. early in the Civil War. I always enjoy looking up the lyrics to these old hymns as they are inevitably richer than the few verses I tend to remember. I do sing this one to my children at bedtime. However, I usually can only remember the 1st, 2nd, and 5th verses.

There is so much more here, I may have to expend some effort to recall them all next I share this with my little ones.

BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:

He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;

He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword:

His truth is marching on.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!

Glory, glory, hallelujah!

His truth is marching on.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!

I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps,

They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;

I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps:

His day is marching on.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!

Glory, glory, hallelujah!

His day is marching on.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!

I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel:

"As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;

Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,

Since God is marching on."

Glory, glory, hallelujah!

Glory, glory, hallelujah!

Since God is marching on.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;

He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat:

Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!

Our God is marching on.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!

Glory, glory, hallelujah!

Our God is marching on.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,

With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me:

As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,

While God is marching on.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!

Glory, glory, hallelujah!

While God is marching on.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!

He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave,

He is Wisdom to the mighty, He is Succour to the brave,

So the world shall be His footstool, and the soul of Time His slave,

Our God is marching on.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!

Glory, glory, hallelujah!

Our God is marching on.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!

Remembering June 6th, 1944

As regular readers know, this blog has rather fallen into the "something has to go" category for quite some time. However, I can never let June 6th go by without remembering the sacrifice made by the Allied soldiers on this day, now 65 years ago. Rather than take the time to write a new post I'm linking to last year's remembrance. I look forward to resuming regular posting once I've finished a few other projects.

~ Gabriel

Of Ships, Friends, and DVD's

I have so far avoided spending much time talking about Obama. The main reason is this, once I open the subject, there's no real stopping. I could easily write about the latest government outrage every single day, leaving time for little else. I've been reluctant to turn this blog into a "chronicle the excess in government forum," not to say that would be without value, but there are plenty out there doing that already. However, today I'm finally cracking the dam a bit. What brings me to change course? Well, it's a long story. A story rooted in a respect for history, diplomacy, and relationships; a story of two countries, two ships, and two leaders.

I assume that by now you know where I'm going with this. Last week the United States hosted British Prime Minister Gordon Brown and his wife, Sarah. Brown is the first head of state to visit Obama since his inauguration in January. Our story, however, begins long before last week. How far back to go... I'll try to stick to the exceptionally abridged version.

As most of you know, the small island country of present-day England was once head of one of the largest, most powerful empires in history. They controlled land on every continent, in every corner of the earth. Their Navy was essentially the only Navy, their Army was the best equipped, most well trained force in the world.

In 1776, 13 of those colonies banded together and declared their independence from the British Empire. Those 13 colonies matched their words with deeds, fought the aforementioned British army and came out on the other side of that war as the United States of America. Throughout the rest of the 1700's and the early 1800's the U.S. struggled to find its way as an independent nation. England attempted to take advantage of this situation and once again sent troops to American shores. They were eventually driven back across the ocean, but not without exacting a toll of lives and destruction.

For the next several decades a vague tension existed as these two countries stared each other down across the Atlantic Ocean. The upstart, swaggering, young newcomer to the world stage and the old-guard, empire building, world super-power. Into this situation we insert a ship, a relatively insignificant ship in scheme of world affairs, the HMS Resolute. It was lost to the ice of the North Atlantic and abandoned by it's British captain and crew in the middle of the 19th century. The Resolute later broke free of the ice and was recovered by an American whaling ship. This small ship was about to become a major player in the course of international relations as the Americans brought it back and repaired it. Rather than keep this ship of a rival navy, the US Navy sailed her to London where she was presented as a token of good faith and cooperation between the two nations. The British were touched by the gesture and a relationship of trust began to develop. Eventually the U.S. and Great Britain were to become close friends and allies. We have stood side by side in the world's conflicts and supported one another in our darkest hours.

Upon the decommissioning of the HMS Resolute, Queen Elizabeth ordered desks to be made from the timbers and presented one of these to the United States. It has been used by virtually every President since that time and it sits in the oval office to this day. A matching desk sits in London as symbol of the unity and cooperation between our nations.

Why do I go through all this (and believe me, this was the incredibly abridged version)? Mostly to show that nothing takes place in a vacuum, history and symbolism are important. Fast forward to last week. The current leader of Great Britian, our friend and ally comes to visit the new American President. He, as is customary, brings gifts for our new leader. What are these gifts? Among others is a frame containing the original commission for the HMS Resolute. A gift that is rich with historical and symbolic significance, a priceless gift as it is irreplaceable. The other gifts? A desk pen set made from timbers from the HMS Gannet (Don't worry, I won't give a detailed history of this ship...), the Gannet saw duty patrolling the Mediterranean to put an end to the slave trade (more on that here). Again, a very thoughtful gift, full of historical, symbolic, and no doubt intrinsic value. Also included was a first-edition printing of Martin Gilbert's 7 volume biography of Winston Churchill. (Perhaps this was to replace the bust of Churchill given to the U.S. by Great Britain after 9-11 as a gesture of support that Obama sent back upon moving into the White House.)

As is customary, Obama had a gift for Prime Minister Brown as well. What did Obama, as a representative of the American people, have for our trusted ally as a return gesture after these gifts? A box set of movies on DVD. 25 American movies. On DVD. For the Prime Minister of Great Britain, representing his people. DVD's. The man is an embarrassment. I thought he was the one that was to "restore our image" in world? He can't even manage a dignified meeting with one our closest allies.

There are a couple possible conclusions one could draw from this (and I haven't even gone into the whole story, no press conference, no State Dinner, etc, etc...) enormous and embarrassing breach of etiquette. One is that Obama is entirely ignorant of any historical context in which his actions occur. His historical perspective begins the day he was born. Or perhaps he is not entirely ignorant, but has a misguided understanding of our historical relationships. He only sees the world through the same prism as the Rev. Wrights of the world. If this is the case, his ignorance of history and the historical context of our relationships with other nations is both embarrassing and potentially dangerous. His unwillingness to educate himself tells us of his arrogant self-centeredness.
The other possible conclusion is that he knows full well what he is doing and is purposefully slighting Great Britain. Considering his recently stated willingness to talk to "moderates" in the Taliban, that's a rather alarming conclusion to draw as well. I tend to assume (as I usually do) that it is some of both. It depresses me to a surprising degree to have a President that cares so little for our history, traditions, and the dignity of his office.
Every day the complete incompetence of this administration becomes more and more clear. It is at once infuriating, saddening, frightening, amusing, and most recently... profoundly embarrassing.

~Gabriel

A Difference of Opinion?

How about something a bit more light-hearted? To set this up if you haven't already heard it; the "video" is a recording of a phone call between an overcharged customer and Verizon. If you've ever tried to deal with a phone company (or communications company of any kind really) then you'll appreciate this.

If you're a student of worldviews, public education, and current thought you'll love how the customer service person tries to call this mathematical issue a "difference of opinion", just hilarious.

Remembering Grandpa

Every February 16th I pause to remember a great man who passed away on that date, year 2000. He was named Everett Lyell Elson and he was my grandfather. He was born in 1920 to a farming family here in Chenoa, IL. They had a successful and fairly well-to-do farm. His grandfather had carved the virgin prairie that he grew up farming and built the house that he lived in. He personally saw many modern conveniences and farming advances that we take for granted, come to the rural community first hand. From the time he starting helping plow with a team of horses, till he retired in 1985 a lot of changes came to rural Central Illinios. Tractors, steel-bottom plows, corn picking machines, combines, gas lights and heat, indoor plumbing, electric lights, rural phone service. He saw his livelihood and his community undergo major, fundamental changes in his lifetime.

Not just his farm and community, he lived through major national and global change as well. He was a boy during prohibition, the roaring 20's and the subsequent crash of the 1930's. As a young man he attended the University of Illinois and was a gifted mathematician. (Later in life, other farmers would come to him to ask for his help in figuring out acreage calculations and other questions). During that time, he saw major unrest in Europe that eventually lead to the infamous bombing of Pearl Harbor. He left the U of I and enlisted in the army. Within a year that farm boy from Illinois, along with a great many others that had never known anything other than farm or factory work, sailed under the Golden Gate Bridge and didn't stop till they got to Okinowa. He, and the other men of the 88th Signal Battalion were not glory-seeking "heroes," they were not career soldiers, they were men doing a job that needed to be done. As I've previously written:

These were men, perhaps, not necessarily trying to do something great, noble, and heroic. They were men doing what was necessary, because it had to be done, and they were the more heroic for that fact.

It is one thing to go out and seek to do great things as an end in itself. For glory or recognition or whatnot. It is quite another to stare into the teeth of hell and know that someone has to go in there and push it back. That is what these men did.

After the war, Lyell returned home, but never did go back to the U of I to finish the relatively short time he had left to finish his degree. The war had changed him. The world was different now. I don't know all that he went though at this time. These days he would have full medical and psychiatric support to help him transfer back to civilian life. To help cope with the hellish nightmare he and others had lived through as they lay in the mud of numberless, nameless Pacific Islands... the many memories of those that never got back up out of that mud. Back then there was no such support, he "went to stay with his aunt up North for a while." Whatever that means. I assume he sought whatever passed for professional help at the time.

He returned and married my grandmother, Doris Fosdick. They moved out to the farm where he, once again, took up farming the same prairie that William Elson had begun to tame all those years before. From there the years are deceptively quick to summarize, 4 children, 12 grandchildren (and had he lived to see them, 10 great-grand children so far) a lifetime of commitment to church, family, community, and the endless cycle of the seasons. His was a life of integrity, simply lived. I realize that he was not a perfect man, but should we not hold up those noble qualities in the ones we loved as we seek to inspire ourselves and others with their memories? To that end, let me share a segment of a piece written by my brother as he was prompted to remember Grandpa's passing this last Thanksgiving:

I didn’t know Lyell as a farmer, or as a soldier, as a high school football captain, a college math wiz, youth group sponsor, or a Sunday school teacher. He was all of those things, but I knew him as grandpa. I remember him as quiet, reserved in public, slow to anger, quick with a smile, quicker to forgive, witty, content to watch the Cubs game with one eye, and chuckle at the grandkids running wild with the other. I didn’t have a lap sitting, story reading, baseball out back kind of relationship with my grandpa but I loved him, and I learned the kind of man I wanted to be through his death.

Forgive me a long story, but I don’t know that I’ve ever talked about all this. I was a sophomore in college and living at home. I came home and checked the messages. There were two. The first was my uncle Stanley calling for my mom saying that their dad, Lyell, had collapsed and being taken to the hospital. The second was also from my uncle Stanley. I remember it exactly, he said, “Jan, this is Stan again, I don’t know how to say this, but dad didn’t make it . . .” I was at home, by myself and found out my grandpa was dead through an answering machine message that wasn’t even for me.

A weird moment. I sat for a minute trying to figure out what to do. I called my mom at work to tell her I guess, or see if she already knew. She already knew and my dad was on his way to pick her up. I called my brother, who worked near the hospital they took grandpa to. I told him. He went to the hospital to see if grandma was still there. I went and picked up my sister at jazz band practice at the high school and told her. There is something ominous about sharing that kind of news. Its an eerie feeling you get, knowing you have news that will bring grief, sadness, and disbelief to the hearer yet you must tell them anyway. An odd day for sure.

The days that followed are a blur of family, strangers, hospitality from neighbors, churches, and friends. I will never forget the visitation though. Four hours of wall to wall people. In that moment I learned what it meant to be a man. Not manly in tough guy sort of way, but a man, a father, a husband, the importance of charity, grace, and forgiveness, the never ending reach of the simplest kindness. Everyone that walked through the doors of Duffy-Pills funeral home that night had a story. Some way that Lyell had touched their life. Many of them had never met him. They had been touched by his children, my mom and her brother and sisters. They had been influenced by his grandchildren, or touched by his faithfulness to the Lord. People drove from hours away to a little town in central Illinois to pay respects to a small time farmer and his family. By the worlds standards he didn’t amount to a whole lot. He didn’t have a lot of money, didn’t have fancy things, never held public office (that I know of), his kids weren’t astronauts or professional athletes and I believe the nicest suit he owned was the one grandma had to buy to bury him in. I’m glad the world’s standards didn’t mean much to my grandpa. He was a just, decent man, who loved the Lord and loved his family...

Not only was the stream of people seemingly never ending that night at the funeral home, the cards and letters continued to come for weeks, from literally all over the world. The simple faith and ministry that he and his wife lived and shared had impacted the world for the better. He was not just a pillar of this community, but far beyond. He was not outgoing and gregarious, aspiring or complex. He was an honest man, that expected others to be also. He occasionally suffered for this. He lost money, he worked harder than he might have had to otherwise, but he was an honest man, sincere and trusting. At the risk of getting too carried away, I summarize with this:

The world, literally, the world is a better place, because this farmer from Livingston County was a part of it. I truly believe that, I miss you Grandpa.

Micah 6:8 - He has showed you, O man, what is good.
And what does the LORD require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God.

~Gabriel

Back in the Saddle Again

As promised, a bit of everything, some of this is a bit old, but bear with me. Strap in for a a bit of a winding post as I try to catch up on a month's (or more?) worth of missed posting. Should we start with politics? Why not.

Blago, Blago, Blago... what else is there to say? The whole situation just confirms the cynic in anyone more and more each day. Speaking of, Ralf Selief over at Illinois Review has a piece the pretty much summarizes what I was thinking right from the beginning. It's appropriately named, A Cynic's look at the Blago Bust. Check it out here. Something about this whole thing doesn't pass the common sense test... I guess I'll leave it at that.

Speaking of 'ol Hot Rod, what was the deal with the seating of Roland Burris? Who the heck is Harry Reid to tell IL who we can send to the Senate? Are we a nation of states or what? Blagojavich is obviously a crook and shouldn't be appointing anyone to anything, but he does currently have the legal (not the same as moral, eh?) authority to do so. Who is Harry Reid to lecture anyone about political morality anyway?

I realize that the auto company bailout issue is old news now (just goes to show you how long it's been since I've posted anything), so just a couple relevant acronyms: "UAW," "CAFE." Fully understand those and you're well on your way to understanding why we are where we are.

Apparently Israel is pulling out of Gaza "in time for the inauguration." That's a shame on so many levels.

One more? I was reminded of this snippet from a column by John Derbyshire over at National Revew. If you object to the word "pussy" as a synonym for "wuss" or "wimp" then skip over this next part. I think it would have been better with a different word myself, but it was still worth bookmarking on my reader:

Nation of pussies. Randall Parker wonders why we are such pussies about these Somali pirates. Well, why wouldn’t we be? We’re pussies about everything else.

We’re pussies about capital punishment. Instead of speedily dispatching psychopaths who commit beastly murders, we give them 15 years of free gym time and cable TV while we wring our hands about their rights. Then, if we finally decide to give the swine what they deserve, we make their exit as hygienic and painless as possible. Why? Because we’re squealing, simpering girlies, that’s why.

We’re pussies about enemy nations, embarking on decades-long, trillion-dollar campaigns to make them love us, instead of quick ten-million-dollar lessons in why they should fear us. Why? Because we seek love and approval, like the furrowed-brow, teary-eyed, compassionate pansies we are.

We’re pussies about people who come to our country without permission, stay here without permission, work without permission, and leech on our school, hospital, and welfare systems. Eisenhower rounded them up and expelled them, but we’re assured we can’t do that. We can’t, we can’t. Why can’t we? Because we are timid, cringing, mincing, driveling, sniveling, weeping, moaning, soft, flabby, PC pussies, that’s why.

Stumbled across that some weeks ago and just found it again while typing this up, not sure how much I agree or disagree. Definitely something to ponder. Too much? Let's move on.

So many more political issues, but let's end on a happy note. Congratulations to Aaron Schock, a bright spot in IL politics, now the youngest member of the House of Representatives. Once again, for a bit more check out Illinios Review, make sure and follow to the linked story at the State Journal-Register. Maybe there is hope for the IL Republican party after all.

As we leave politics for the moment, I realize the time for Christmas-related posts has come and gone, but indulge me for a few lines. A few articles I book-marked over at American Thinker can be found here and here. They were posted at Christmas time and take the occasion of Christmas to talk about the person of Jesus Christ and are well worth the read. Some relevent quotes from the first link:

... But beyond all of the aforementioned very good reasons, the first reason why we celebrate the Christmas story is because it is a true story. And the spellbinding truth which Christmas proclaims is not the birth of one who came to teach us a new philosophy, or a new set of moral principles, but one who claimed to be God.
The singularity of this claim would then make it a matter of supreme urgency to dedicate our most sincere efforts to confirming its truthfulness; not only because it was Christ who made it, but also because of the weighty repercussions he cautioned were bound to the vindication as well as the negation of his claim. ...

... As an antidote for this moral conundrum, the implacable idols of tolerance have decreed that those who do believe in the claims of Jesus Christ settle on an amicable compromise, by conceding that this knowledge is true only for those who believe it. Anyone who views Christmas as simply a charming but essentially vacuous, mythic tradition will heartily agree with their assessment. ...

... This is the context within which Jesus Christ made his rather astonishing claim, the truthfulness of which endows the story of Christmas with its enduring significance. And though he made it in a least intrusive and most gentle fashion, he did not seek - then or today - to indulge the neutrality or merely passive assent from his hearers, because like no one else, he fully understood the full force of its implications.

You really have to read the whole piece as it is too lengthy to paste here. Very well done.

While we're on the subject of Christmas, allow me to share a quick story that highlighted my Christmas season by way of transition.

As most of you know, I am the father of two beautiful children. This year when I did my Christmas shopping for my lovely wife I thought to take my 4 year old daughter with me. Just her and I. She was encouraged to take a "good girl nap" that day so she could go out shopping with Daddy that night. I came home from work, showered, and we headed into town. She jabbered and chattered away from her car seat as we listened to Christmas music on the way. We stopped at the mall and her eyes shone as she skipped and jumped and pointed out the decorations. She laughed and waved as she rode the carousel and helped shop for Mommy. We went to Steak 'n Shake, sat at the counter eating cheeseburgers and shakes and watched the cooks manically making burgers. We stopped at a bookstore for more presents for Mommy; she was beside herself when she got to stroll through Toys R Us shopping for her brother (although, she kept trying to tell me that he wanted lots of pink, princess toys...). I don't think she stayed in one place for more than a few seconds the entire night. We had a blast, even though she can't keep a secret...

All that to say, today more than ever, daughters need their fathers. They need us to spend one-on-one time with them, take them to Steak 'n Shake, listen to their silly stories, carry them through the cold night and let them hide from the wind in our coats. They need to see us thoughtfully find gifts for our wives. And we need them, need them want us to rescue them from the cold and dark, need them to crave our attention and our smiles... making us want to be better people in order to deserve that kind adoration. I was reminded of that this Christmas.

I said at the outset of this blog that I would spend time talking of fatherhood, "manliness," and family life. I have gotten pretty caught up in the election year and not paid enough to attention those most important of topics. Look for more on that in the coming year.

Speaking of children, I have a link from some months ago that has now ceased to work, but it a story I found fascinating. In a head-shaking kind of way. Apparently it is a growing trend to purchase gym memberships for children. I don't mean "take your kids to the 'Y' so they can use the pool" type gym memberships either. I mean, personal trainer, aerobics class type gym memberships. What? Are our kids lives so structured, so scripted, that they don't play? This has long been a soapbox issue of mine and I won't get too deep into it here, but... Seriously, does everything our kids engage in need to have an "expert" running it complete with uniforms, lights, and trophies for all? My brother and I played one-on-one FOOTBALL in our backyard. Seriously. We made up games with our friends, we ran, we imagined, we got hurt, we didn't tell our moms so that we wouldn't be made to stop. What happened to play? Ah, but I said I wouldn't get too deep into it here...

Well, the Dunhill is naught but ash in the bowl and it's getting late. I shall wrap this up for now, but first, a few words in closing about my Grandma, my Mom's Mom, Doris Elson. It was the 6th year to the day since she passed away on Jan. 2nd. I shall write more about her and my Grandpa's lives in Feburary, so this will do for now. Grandma lived a long, often hard, often joyous, life here on the windswept prairies of Illinois as a farmer's wife. Her years included memories of the Great Depression, WWII, the births of 4 children, 12 grandchildren, at least one great-grandchild and countless rotations of the seasons on which a farmer's family depends. She had suspected that she had breast cancer for years before it became obvious enough that she had to bring it up. Her last months were charactarized by faith, peace, and confidence that her Lord would bring her home in His time. She passed away peacefully, in her own bed, surrounded by some of her family members, un-afraid, secure in the knowledge of God. She is missed.

~ Gabriel

"Baseball Daddy?"

After a long, January day filled with freezing cold tempatures, snow, work, attic remodeling and toddlers who weren't as enthusiastic about their dinner as they should have been; I was going about the task of getting the children's room ready for bedtime. At least one of their toy buckets was emptied all over the floor, the bathroom was soaked from bathtime (how DID water end up on the far wall?) and their blankets were hardly to be found. With a bit of a sigh I opened my mouth to utter an old familiar phrase, "OK, I want both of you to get this room picked up so we can get ready for bed," or a variation thereof. Right at the instant I was opening my mouth, my two-year-old son trots into the room with a soft-ball sized ball of packing tape, a tiny black baseball glove, a short plastic bat, and shining excited eyes. He holds his treasures up towards me and says "Baseball Daddy? Baseball?"

Who could resist that? I'm afraid bedtime was postponed a bit this evening...


After a long and glorious absence, I am back at my keyboard. Sickness, travel, holidays and an attic remodeling project have conspired to keep posts from going up here at Country Roads. In my absence so much has happened that I'm afraid the next post will be rather lengthy and rambling. That should be no suprise to regular readers... At any rate, I have not abandoned the effort, simply put it on hold for other things. In the meantime, take heart! Pitchers and Catchers report for spring training in 30 days, 12 hours!

~ Gabriel