A Christmas Story - The Phoenix Tree

Twas just weeks before Christmas,
And the house was a mess
As we searched through the clutter
We exclaimed, "We need less!"

The decorations unpacked 
And the tree in its stand
I plugged in the lights,
This isn't what we planned.

The lights did not work
That is just not right
No more, that's it,
Get that tree out of my sight.

This year we will start 
a new tradition of less
Put the red tree in the trash
We don't need this much mess.

With less decorations 
Garland adorning the mantle
A simple wreath on the door
Our Christmas was handled.

But then my eldest
observed in complaint
A Christmas with no tree
Is like a church with no saint

So the red tree in the trash
Came back in the house
The lights rigged to shine
We all said our wows.

The tree condemned to waste 
Had been resurrected
Put back in its place, 
The broken lights retested

Like a Phoenix from the ashes
Our tree is reborn
It has come back to life
years more to adorn.

A Short History of Cooking

When I was a kid in middle school, my dad worked for the LSU Agriculture Extension Service. I am still not quite sure what that is, exactly, but I remember going up to his office occasionally and visiting the bug lab.

Anyway, one fall in the early 1980s, he came home and announced to my mother that the department was putting together a cookbook. And since the folks who thought up this idea were the men in administrative roles in the department, they had the idea of the cookbook comprising recipes from the wives of the men who worked at the LSU Agriculture Extension Service.

That conversation started one of the biggest fights I can remember between my mom and dad.

The first problem is probably obvious, my mother was not going to have anything to do with the antiquated concept inherent in the premise of a "wives' cookbook."

Second, my mother is not renowned for her culinary preparation skills, and I suspect she did not want her deficit in this area on display for the world to see. My dad was the son of a caterer with a rich history of Italian cuisine. My mom's mom served plain spaghetti noodles as a side dish every year on Thanksgiving. Do I need to explain their food heritage any further?

Third, and this is only a guess, but, I bet my dad was significantly influential in coming up with the idea of a wives cookbook. Keep in mind that he grew up eating fabulous food...all the time. My mother left home with only rudimentary skills in the kitchen. I think partly as a way to help expand my mother's cooking repertoire, and to help expand his own dining variation, my dad really wanted to encourage my mother to explore in the kitchen a bit more.

The fight between them came to a head a few days later when my mom, apparently acquiescing, gave my dad a recipe to submit for the cookbook. It went something like this:

Seafood Salad

Preparation time: 45 minutes

Ingredients:

Transportation

A working telephone

Directions:

Dial 766-7823. Inform the person who answers that you would like to place an order to go. Be patient, you may be placed on hold for a minute or two. When they come back on the line ask for the seafood salad. Each seafood salad feeds about two adults, so be sure to order accordingly. Depending on when you call them, your order will be ready in about 20 minutes. After waiting an appropriate amount of time (this will depend on how far you live from the restaurant), drive to Mike Anderson's restaurant and pick up your order.

Serve chilled.

Of course my dad was livid. He was embarrassed, and his manipulation backfired very badly. I think the rice cooker for a Christmas present may have challenged this event for the Bad Judgement Award, but the cookbook episode will live with me forever.

This is my culinary heritage.

And this is why, in my forties, I am just now learning to cook. I don't mean making mashed potatoes from a box of potato flakes, I mean making things like baked pheasant, chicken and sausage gumbo and spiced pork over roasted vegetables. I've recently taken to making my gumbo with a base of homemade chicken stock.

I don't know if homemade stock is any better than what can be bought at the grocery store, but I ran across a blog post by a "foodie" type that justified my gumbo process, Five packaged foods you never need to buy again. Number 2 on that list was "Never buy stock or bullion." I did not need to read any further, I was now justified! The article then linked to a method for making and storing vegetable stock, a recipe I am looking forward to trying out.

Bon appétit

 

The secret lives of bald men

I am a bald(ing) man.

So when I was watching a generally uninspired episode of Family Guy with my teenage sons, there was an out take scene that I...well, just watch:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r9YETpQ1V74

First, a message to the episode writer, Danny Smith:

I don't know who you think you are, but how dare you reveal that there is a bald guy "thing!" However, I have to thank you for the diversion from the REAL bald guy thing. I think you know what I'm talking about.

Now for the purpose of this post:

My boys have had a fascination with my bald(ing) head since they were little. My oldest routinely attempts to rubs my head for good luck. He is often thwarted by my lightning quick reflexes.

Recently, I grew a beard. No, this is not part of "Movember" or "No Shave November," I have another reason that will be revealed in the future.

My boys have taken to rubbing my beard. Because it is there they want to touch it. It alternatively feels soft or like velcro. They are fascinated with my beard.

A couple of days ago, we had a foundation repair company come out to give us an estimate on fixing the foundation on a house we are considering for purchase. The guy that came out was probably 10 years my junior, but he had a full beard. I told the boys I trusted his opinion more than a opinion I received from another foundation company that sent out a beardless estimator. Naturally, they asked me if there was a bearded guy thing.

"Why, yes there is."

They asked, "What is it?"

"When you grow your own beard, you will find out."

 

How George Brett taught me a valuable lesson about money

I have had an almost unhealthy obsession with coins, off and on, since I was 9 years old. By the time I was 13 I learned a hard lesson in the difference between the numismatic and melt value of coins. The numismatic value of a coin is its value to a collector for its rarity or condition. The melt value is what the metal content of the coin is worth.

I had traded a friend of mine a George Brett rookie baseball card for a Liberty dollar.



At the time, way before the Internet, all we had to go on for research were catalogs and pricing books that were updated monthly. The book I was using valued the Liberty dollar at well over $30, while the George Brett rookie card was worth half that.

It turns out that the guide I was using for coin values was at the height of the Hunt brothers' attempt to corner the silver market and printed just before "Silver Thursday." By the time I went to cash in, silver markets had collapsed and my $30 coin was only worth $5. The following year I went to go see the movie [amazon_link id="B0035LMTVE" target="_blank" ]Trading Places[/amazon_link]. I think the movie was partly based on the Hunt brothers' financial fiasco.

Fast forward to today. One of the topics I regularly read about is the precious metals commodity market. By doing so, I learn all kinds of fascinating things about how central banks operate and how the silver and gold markets work, or don't work. So in my daily reading I come across this article, PENNY AND NICKEL COINS TO BE PHASED OUT IN 2013. I want to believe the content of the article because of  the central bank interference I've seen in the silver and gold markets. But I have a guiding philosophy:

Do not believe in anything simply because you have heard it. Do not believe in anything simply because it is spoken and rumored by many. Do not believe in anything simply because it is found written in your religious books. Do not believe in anything merely on the authority of your teachers and elders. Do not believe in traditions because they have been handed down for many generations. But after observation and analysis, when you find that anything agrees with reason and is conducive to the good and benefit of one and all, then accept it and live up to it. - The Buddha

So I sought to verify.

The original news source was a satire piece from SkewNews.com.

But in my research I came across the following news article that was legit, and had begun to spread across the Interwebs, Congress looks at doing away with the $1 bill. 

Although the news piece was about the phasing out of the $1 bill, deep into the story, we learn something fascinating about the future of the penny and the nickel.

Several lawmakers were more intrigued with the idea of using different metal combinations in producing coins.

Rep. Steve Stivers, R-Ohio, said a penny costs more than 2 cents to make and a nickel costs more than 11 cents to make. Moving to multiplated steel for coins would save the government nearly $200 million a year, he said.

The Mint's report, which is due in mid-December, will detail the results of nearly 18 months of work exploring a variety of new metal compositions and evaluating test coins for attributes as hardness, resistance to wear, availability of raw materials and costs.

Richard Peterson, the Mint's acting director, declined to give lawmakers a summary of what will be in the report, but he said "several promising alternatives" were found.

The last time the metal composition of a coin was changed was in 1982 when the copper content of a penny was reduced from 95% to 2.5%. The "melt value" of the 1981 penny is about 2.4¢, and the melt value for a post 1982 penny is about 0.5¢.  Now Congress wants to explore this option again for both the nickel and the penny.

Now is the time to start saving your nickels and pennies. The dollar has been devalued over 95% since the Federal Reserve Bank was formed and with the amount of money it is creating every month (currently about $85 billion) the purchasing power of the nickel will continue to go down, but the melt value will go up. Saving your nickels and pennies is a great way to store value. There is no downside  because if the Federal Reserve bank suddenly reverses course, for every dollar I invest in nickels or older pennies, I still have a dollar in legal currency.

Happy saving.

Additional Sources: CoinInflation.com

Destuffication Time

This is hard. Really hard.

As a family, we are trying to lighten the load. That spare tire around the middle notwithstanding, this "lightening the load" is our annual/semi-annual destuffication process whereby, if it has not been used in a year, it must be sold, donated or thrown away.

My job includes my closet, the garage at the rent house, and the shed where we live now. I have already disposed of much of the rent house stuff, so this weekend was organize and destuffify the shed.  As you might expect, the shed and the garage include things that every man should own, even if he doesn't even know their purpose or how to use them.

Of course, I speak of tools.

In my 20+ years (what the + equals really isn't relevant) as an adult, I have collected a bunch of tools. Some from my dad, a few when my grandpas passed away, some I've bought and a few the last renters left behind when they vacated the house  prematurely. As a man, I find it difficult to get rid of my tools. They are a part of me at some deep, subconscious level. Some of them have sentimental value, some of them remind me of that time when I built that thing, some of them are just cool, and then there are a few I really want to learn what they are for and how to use them.

Here's an example of just one category of tools - socket wrenches:



From what I can tell, there are sockets from at least 14 different socket sets. As you might expect, not a single set is a complete one.

I do have one complete set. It's a 1" socket set (not pictured). Not terribly useful for fixing things around the house.

(If interested, it is available for sale here: http://dallas.craigslist.org/dal/tls/3291068406.html)

I have also collected a couple dozen flat head screwdrivers, a few mallets, a couple of hatchets, and more nuts, bolts and screws than I care to catalog.

Tools aren't the only thing I've collected. It seems I've gathered a few bicycles over the years. For a family of four, we now own eight bicycles. I love riding bikes. I ride my bike to work a few times a week. But, alas, some of them must go. So I will sell or donate three of them, maybe four. I had such great plans for each of the bikes I acquired, one each for everyone in the family, but the boys have outgrown several of them, three for me: a commuter, a racer and a mountain bike. (See, I really do have a hard choice to make.)

I could go on and on about the sentimentality of each and every thing I own, about the majestic and righteous plans for each little trinket and tidbit, but I know it is time to start shedding the stuff that weighs me down and keeps us in servitude to our stuff.

There is a Sufi saying, "to be in the world but not of it." This saying has its roots in Judaism and Christianity. This teaching even predates the Israelites in the Bible. The idea of being but temporary occupants of this earth is at the core of most spiritual traditions.

There is tremendous wisdom in this idea. Even the Jews of the Bible, and the Native Americans did not have concept of ownership of real property, only the stuff they could carry on their backs, never overly burdened by the things of this world.

In my own small way, through the process of destuffication, I am shedding just a few things that are "of this world."

A Rat in a Maze

I recently took up the task of doing the grocery shopping for our family. There have been bumps along the road (apparently I forget to buy the stuff we actually need), but overall, I have jumped into this household task with great enthusiasm.

However, my approach to grocery shopping is different than my lovely bride's. It seems I enjoy shopping at the "expensive" stores more than I enjoy minding the grocery budget. I have to admit, this is true. Yesterday afternoon, my grocery shopping experience was at Central Market. I invited my better half to come along for the shopping adventure, including an enticement to help me mind the budget.

She declined my invitation, "Sunday afternoon at Central Market? Are you crazy? I'd rather just go ahead and shoot myself now."

After describing the anxiety the large crowds and maze-like format of the store would bring, she asked the simple question, "Why would you want to do that?"

My response, "For you, grocery shopping is a chore. For me, it's an adventure."

Admittedly, she has done the heavy lifting with respect to grocery shopping for almost all of our marriage (if you count me ordering groceries online for home delivery). So I understand why it has become a chore, but nonetheless, off I went to Central Market on a rainy Sunday afternoon.

As I pulled up to the store, the streets were lined with cars that could not fit in the parking lot. The sense that this was going to feel like a crowded street market in Benghazi during a cease fire was starting to encroach on my psyche. Like a jungle cat stalking its prey, I spotted my target. A youngish fellow, not very heavily laden, leaving the temple of foodies with the look of desperation and yet, a renewed sense of hope that escape from the maze was finally at hand.  He slowly wound his way through the parking lot, almost purposefully trying to throw me off his trail, but like a Jedi battling a robot droid, I was able to easily predict his general destination. I stopped the car, put my blinker on to alert the other parking space carnivores that this prey was mine. I waited, but only a few moments as I suspect the fellow with the prized parking spot sensed his demise if he had failed to depart quickly.

Car parked, I girded myself for the great grocery store maze. The first section was the produce department. The aisles are narrow and the congestion of grocery carts, doddering old women, trendy hipster types and the guys stocking the area was almost enough to send me right back out into the parking lot. I think Central Market understands the anxiety that can be caused by the chaos of the first part of the maze, so they set up a beer tasting station. It caused a bit of a traffic buildup, but now steeled fro the rest of my adventure, I came upon the meat department.

My conversation with the butcher yielded a pleasant surprise, a sample of a couple of links of breakfast sausage. Score!

After the meats, the wine section. Another tasting station set up continued to take the edge off of the insanely crowded store as I meandered over to the grocery section. Surprisingly, I did not fill my cart with very much from the grocery section, but I did sample some dessert toppings, salsa and tortilla chips.

As you might imagine, after filling up on beer, then wine, then a few snacks, I was grateful for the coffee sampling station. A couple of shots of a bold roast transported me through the dairy section and the bakery, where I came across a couple of tasting stations for fresh baked bread and breakfast pastries.

Like the rat in the maze, though, I was near the end of my adventure. I know this because I came upon three more tasting stations. One with a deli ham and two with cheese. I secured my purchases from the deli, tasted the cheeses, and was greeted by a checkout lane usher to settle up my bill.

By the time I left Central Market, my appetite was satiated, I had sufficient libations to leave me feeling relaxed, and now it was my turn to be stalked by the next wave of people stalking exiting shoppers in hopes of finding a parking spot.

Maybe there is something to that "Circle of Life" thing.



 

Zombie Apocalypse Training Program. Update 1

In preparing for a Zombie Apocalypse I have a few main goals:

1. Fitness, especially cardio. This is why I spent the summer riding my bike to work and suffering through regular Vitamin D therapy sessions.


2. Nutrition. After hours of research, I have concluded that genetically modified crops are a catalyst for the development of Zombie Behavior Spectrum Disorder (ZBSD), so I have recently taken over the grocery shopping and cooking responsibility for my family. (Not everyone in my household is on board with my theories, yet, but they like my cooking.)


3. Weapons training. I have not yet started on this component of my preparedness, but with hunting season about to begin, I will have ample time to explore this facet of preparation.


4. Language. I suspect that the ZBSD will be limited to North America and Western Europe, with possible incursions into parts of East Asia. So, I have as part of my plan to learn Spanish. I may need to evacuate my family south of the border, so I figure knowing the language will be helpful. I wonder if Rosetta Stone will help me learn the phrase, "Don't shoot! I am not a zombie!"

This week, I started my Spanish language training.

Usted debe aprender las reglas para el apocalipsis.

 

When you gotta go…

Yesterday while traveling out of DFW Airport, I had a nice little breakfast at Pappasito’s Cantina. Breakfast included my third cup of coffee for the day, so I paid my bill and made a beeline for the men’s room.

Perhaps you saw or read about it in news reports like this one:

Main break disrupts water service at D/FW Airport

I can report that the situation in the men’s room was not a fragrant one.

Rules of the Road

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I witnessed something a couple of weeks ago that has weighed on my conscience since the event occurred. So, since it is bugging me, I must rant a bit to relieve this weight that is on my mind.

I took my dogs on a walk on a Sunday afternoon. I was walking along the lake shore near my home. The lake has a bike/walking path along most of the lake, however, there are a few segments where walkers, runners, cyclists and skaters must share the road with automobiles. I was walking alongside one of these segments when I see a young lady jogging toward me. She was running against automobile and bicycle traffic. A small pack of riders passed me, and as they passed the jogger, a rider wearing a Texas Tech cycling jersey called out to the jogger, “Wrong way!”

The cyclist had grey hair, a little bit of a belly, and was riding a bike that had to cost several thousand dollars. And he obviously was in charge of everything that goes on in and around that park.

Asshole.

Now for some facts that the Texas Tech jackoff is ignorant of.

Rule #1: Walk Facing Traffic. As early as kindergarten, I was taught to walk on the sidewalk, but when that was not possible, to walk facing traffic, so you could see cars coming toward you. Bicycles are to follow the same laws of the road that automobiles must follow

Nearly every walking/cycling path I have been on has had a notice that those on foot should be on the left, those on wheels should be on right.

Single track paths (typical of mountain biking/hiking trails) have a nearly universal rule in the U.S. that riders should go clockwise and walkers/hikers/runners should travel counter-clockwise.

There was a young lady killed a couple of years ago on another very busy trail in Dallas. It turns out that trail does not encourage walkers to follow Rule #1.

At the Carwash

We got back from a short vacation at the beach on Monday, so I went to get the car washed. I was tired from driving all day, then doing the things necessary to get back into the groove of our daily lives, so I paid for the full service wash. While I was waiting, a young lady wearing a white sundress, with a tattoo of Chinese characters along the top of her foot, sat directly across from me. This was my view:


It’s good to be home.

Day by Day, Driving to Death

Our family moved closer to school, closer to work, and, in general, closer to our lives. I knew it was draining us on a spiritual level, and now there is evidence the hours spent in the car were slowly killing us.

A study published this month in the American Journal of Preventive Medicine found that the longer people drive to work, the more likely they are to have poor cardiovascular health.

“This is the first study to show that people who commute long distances to work were less fit, weighed more, were less physically active and had higher blood pressure,” said Christine M. Hoehner, a public health professor at Washington University School of Medicine in St. Louis and the study’s lead author. “All those are strong predictors of heart disease, diabetes, and some cancers.”

I stopped counting within about two weeks of moving, but I had calculated that my wife and I saved somewhere around 5 hours of driving per week, and that was before the kids even went back to school after the winter break. That was 5 hours to relax, to go on walks, to enjoy time with our family.

I honestly do not know how we survived before shortening our commute, and reducing the hours we spend in a car.

I have to learn to keep my mouth shut

I opened my mouth at work the other day, expressing a political opinion that will likely leave my boss with the impression that I am a kook. But I promised myself that I would not post about politics here, even though I want to really badly. So instead, allow me to share this politically important video:

Do I need a break?

Yesterday, I went for a ride around the lake after work. In the course of my ride I decided to take a bit of a detour and explore a new segment of the bike trail that is under construction. Along this path, is a heavily wooded floodplain. As I was riding alongside the woods, I couldn't help but imagining that I could just escape from life in those woods. I would be hidden from the world right in the middle of the city. I could just disappear, and still be near.

I don't think it is unnatural to want to get away; that is why we go on vacation. We all need some time to ourselves, so I was pleasantly surprised to see a post from Mark's Daily Apple on The Restorative Power of the Personal Retreat.

Maybe, my mind is telling me I need a break or a "psychological restoration." And maybe God or the universe is reinforcing that thought by posting a reminder.

It's my life...

"It's my life, and I can do whatever I want!"

That was the protest that came out of my teenager's mouth as we were arguing about schoolwork, or chores or something.

I can recall the words that came from my mouth, but not from my brain.

"No, it's not your life."

Those words came out several notches of volume lower that the preceding conversation. They were not my words. They came from somewhere else.

....

Yesterday I was offered a job. It sounds like a good job. It would give me an opportunity to grow professionally. It would give me the opportunity to expand my horizons intellectually. It would give me the opportunity to expand my personal and professional network quite substantially. And it offers a bit more money and an equity stake in the company. Even better, I did not even have to apply for it; they called me out of the blue.

But...

....

This morning I took the boys to church, figuring a little talk about the meaning of life might be beneficial to my rebellious teenager. But, as is so often the case, there was an important message for me. 

The sermon this morning was about temptation, the temptation of the ego. And accepting a shortcut to your goals or your vision will leave you short of your goal and without integrity.

....

The combination of these events created a realization in me. The realization that the words I uttered, those words that were not mine, are a divine or natural truth. They are The Law. We exist to serve others. Those may be our friends or our family. Others may be co-workers, clients, colleagues. They may be complete strangers, the homeless we encounter on our community's streets, or the dignitary in a motorcade. Every act we commit not only impacts us, it impacts everyone in contact with us. Or, like the Butterfly Theory suggests, our actions have an impact well beyond our immediate environment. 

I turned down the job. It was a shortcut, and one I did not want to experience the results of taking.

Rejecting a Guilt Offering

There are basically three types of gifts. There are gifts of gratitude, gifts of recompense and gifts of guilt. In Biblical terms these gifts are given to God under the names of the the Fellowship Offering, the Sin Offering, and the Guilt or Trespass Offering.
(There is another transaction that is often confused with gift giving: when a gift is given with an expectation of receiving a gift. This is NOT a gift. This kind of exchange is more aptly defined as commerce.)
The Fellowship Offering is one that flows from the love and appreciation we have for each other. The Sin Offering is one that is given to right a wrong, an apology. The Guilt Offering is made as a substitute for that which really needs to be exchanged. God blessed us with gift giving. Perhaps He knew that gift giving would be a way to create community, not just with Him, but with each other also.
Human civilization has always appreciated the importance of the gift. Gifts are the things that bind us together, deepening our relationships with each other and with our community. I've been reading the book Sacred Economics: Money, Gift, and Society in the Age of Transition. The first chapter speaks of the importance of gifts in human society. Read it. You might learn a thing or two.

In the past week I have received two gifts. One was a gift of gratitude, one was a guilt offering. I know this was the case because in each case the giver of the gift told me so. The gift of gratitude I have accepted joyfully though the item is of little value to me. But the guilt offering I have rejected, even though it is a thing I value highly.
I do not know the effect my rejection of the guilt offering will have, if any. But I do know the effect it had on the Nation of Israel: generations of bondage under a foreign power, and a way of life foreign to the life God intended for His children.
How do you give gifts?

The Sins of our Fathers

Let's say you develop a solution to a problem. The problem is one that will cause great harm, and the solution is one that will take years to fully implement. Also assume that there is a very good chance that the solution will never be fully implemented.

Here's the question: Do you even bother to implement the solution?

I recently had a conversation with someone close to me who worked in a lab that tested organic food products for contamination. They tested for everything from e.coli to chemical pesticides, fungicides and herbicides. (This lab is run by the government, with direct and indirect funding from the Agri-chemical industry) Apparently, the organically grown foods are routinely found to have significant chemical residues. The conclusion from this person was that food products labeled "organic" is little more than a marketing ploy.

Perhaps you saw the news, High arsenic levels found in organic foods, baby formula. The products in question had one ingredient in common, organic brown rice. According to the news report,

In fact, rice takes up arsenic from the soil, Jackson explained. As it turns out arsenic looks very much like silica to the rice plant and “rice takes up silica to help it stand up in water logged soils.”

Different varieties of rice take up different amounts of arsenic, Jackson said. Brown rice tends to have particularly high levels of arsenic.

While arsenic can occur naturally, the levels found in these organic foods was much higher than typically occurs in nature. So where did the arsenic come from?

The Washington State University Cooperative Extension Service described how high levels of arsenic got into our soils in an advisory for home gardeners:

Lead arsenate was a popular insecticide during the first half of the 20th century because of its low toxicity to plants and great effectiveness for controlling insect pests. The most common use was for control of codling moth in commercial apple orchards. Ranchers also used large quantities for grasshopper control baits. Smaller but still substantial amounts were used on deciduous tree fruits other than apple, in home gardens and orchards, for mosquito control, and on lawns and golf greens. Applicators used other arsenic-based pesticides for agricultural crops, turfgrass, gardens, and rights-of-way. 

Repeated applications of lead arsenate over time caused lead and arsenic to accumulate in soil.

Some organic farming standards can require farms to practice sustainable methods for several years before becoming certified. Apparently, even that is not enough to insure that all chemical residue has decomposed in the soil. Researchers at Washington State University have admitted that an arsenic based chemical applied 50+ years ago can still bioaccumulate in soil. 

The promise of organic farming is that it can cure the land by replacing long-depleted minerals and by detoxifying the soil. No one can expect that process to happen overnight. And as we see with arsenic, this process can take decades.

So that brings me back to the original implication that organic food production is little more than a marketing ploy. 

It took humanity decades to poison our farmlands, it will take decades to detoxify that land. The marketing ploy seems to be one where organic foods are continually discredited by a media supported by corporate agribusiness.

As the Good Book warns us:

Keeping mercy for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin, and that will by no means clear the guilty; visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children, and upon the children's children, unto the third and to the fourth generation. - Exodus 34:7