I had a good friend that went on to heaven this week. He was older than myself and would be considered one of the 'great' generation. He was one of the friendliest and most gentle men I've had the pleasure to know. I wished I had spent more time with him, but we lost touch after leaving the church he attended and I had no opportunity to see him much after that.
Lloyd was the kind of guy who when they talked to you seemed genuinely interested in you as a person and not just wanting to talk about themselves. Those people are hard to find in life. Most of us want to talk about ourselves and when you meet someone who is really interested in you, you want to spend time with them.
You could quickly tell what kind of person he was when you pulled into the parking lot. It was packed full and we had to wait for someone to pull out in order to park. And then the lobby was full of people and it took us 30 minutes to get to the waiting line. We met so many people we hadn't seen in years that it just took a while to get around to seeing the family.
I was also struck by the fact that we won't see most of these people again until someone else dies or someone gets married. It's sad, but true, that we're all just very busy and are clustered in our own worlds and can't find the time to visit like we'd like.
I can only hope that when I die I have made as much of an impact on people as Lloyd did. I know I won't care who attends the funeral but I hope that people will actually miss me when I'm gone.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Memories (Continued) - I really enjoyed Boy Scouts as a boy. I didn’t really get into the merit badge stuff much but enjoyed the meetings, camping and games. I don’t recall the leadership really encouraging us or helping us much with the merit badges. I think if they had I might have put more energy into it. We were Troop 1, which was the 1st troop in the Atlanta Area Council and it continued on into the 80’s although a mere shadow of its former self.
(Lynn is front row, 2nd from the left – skinny, right?)
But the games were great! The first night of Scouts I’ll always remember. The troop had about an acre corner lot with a shot-gun building with wood floors, a gravel parking lot and lots of woods. Our first game was inside and was just for the younger boys. We stood inside on the wood floor in a circle with our hands clasped to each others forearms for added strength. There were 2 boys in the middle of the circle, one had a belt and the other didn’t. The object was for the boy with the belt to beat the other until he either jumped over the arms of the circle or burst through. I thought I had died and went to heaven! This was the coolest game I had ever played and knew that I was going to enjoy scouts.
Another belt game was called drop the belt. It was played outside with all the boys in the troop (young and old). Everyone stood facing the inside of the circle with their hands held behind their back. Someone would walk around the circle with a belt and leave it in another boy’s hands. That boy would then chase the one to his immediate right twice around the circle, whipping him as they ran. Then, the boy who was doing the chasing was the one to drop the belt. Everyone loved this game except for the slower guys.
I’m sure the game BuckBuck has faded into oblivion because of its rough nature. I hope I can explain how it was played. A boy would hold onto a tree with his legs spread. Another boy would bend at the waist, hold onto the other boy’s legs and place his head between the 1st boy’s legs. A 3rd would then bend at the waist, holding onto the 2nd boys legs and putting his head between that boy’s legs. This would continue until you had about 5 or 6 boys in the chain. The other team would then get a running start, spring off the last boy’s butt and jump as far forward as he could, landing on the backs of the boys bending over. Their feet could not touch the ground. The team would continue to pile on hoping to cause the 1st team to break under the weight without them touching the ground. It was fun and challenging and I’m pretty sure was the cause of at least one broken leg.
I’m pretty sure Kick-the-can is stilled played and you’re probably familiar with it. There are 2 teams, and a can placed in the middle of a circle. One team hides while the 2nd team waits for a determined amount of time. After that time all but 2 of the 2nd team hunts for the hidden team, capturing them by grabbing them long enough to say a lengthy catch phrase. If anyone is captured they are placed in jail and must remain there unless someone from his team kicks the can without getting captured themselves. It involves stealth (which I loved), some amount of strategy (to kick the can) and a certain amount of roughness when attempting to kick the can or in guarding it. I loved it. The part I liked was sneaking up on the can and kicking it without getting seen or caught. And if I did get caught, someone was going to feel it when they tried to stop me.
We also played a game inside called ‘Spud’. We used a tennis ball and everyone who played was numbered. Someone would take the ball and throw it in the room (all walls and floors were hardwood) and call a number. Whoever ‘owned’ the number had to find the ball and holler ‘SPUD’ which caused everyone to freeze in place. Then the owner of the ball would throw it at someone in the room. If they were hit without a bounce their number was recorded. And for every time your number was recorded you had to endure the Spud line, which meant you had to bend over a desk and become a target for everyone throwing the ball at your backside from about 10 feet away. Needless to say, you really tried to avoid getting hit during the game because that tennis ball would really sting.
We also had a demerit system during the meetings, and for every 3 demerits (if I recall correctly) you had to go through the belt line. It’s exactly what it sounds like. Boys were lined up in 2 lines facing each other and the one to be disciplined had to run through, getting whacked on the way by both sides of the line. Richard Groover once got something like 30 demerits one night. He was going to have to run through the line 10 times and lined up like he was going to run, then turned around and did run, all the way home. He lived about a mile and a half from the scout hut and just took off home instead of enduring the line. We just stood there and watched him in unbelief.
I know a lot of these ‘games’ sound primitive now and would probably result in charges being brought against the scout leader, but to us it was normal and fun. This was during the 60’s and we played rough, had a lot of freedom and never worried about being sued or about having someone from ‘the county’ investigating what we did at scouts. I had the time of my life and still recall moments of my life playing those games. I can remember the hits; the sneaking around trying to avoid being seen by the ‘enemy’; devising plans for a diversion so we could kick the can; getting chased and chasing others during drop the belt; and piling on during Buckbuck.
We liked the hiding and pursuing games the most because they involved Indian-like stealth and hiding, and they involved catching your opponent, which resulted in some rough behavior. One such game was called fox and hounds. Two boys would run out in the darkened woods by themselves and hide and the other boys would be sent out later to find them. My older brother always felt like he was good at the hiding and loved being the ‘fox’. On one night he did not run far at all, but climbed up really high in a tree just outside of the scout hut. He knew that everyone would probably run past him and on deeper into the woods and felt secure in his hiding place. Just as he planned, when released, all the boys ran excitedly right past his tree and into the woods, totally oblivious to him and his buddy in the tree next door. All the boys ran past except for one that is. A lazy, dorky kid came walking up, hands in pockets, looked right up in the tree and spotted them both! “I see you Mulkey” was all he said. My brother muttered an obscenity, said something about killing the kid, and then stepped onto the limb just under him to descend the tree. Only, the limb would not hold his weight and snapped loud enough for all of us to hear. Ricky came down the tree very quickly after that first step, breaking limbs all the way down. He landed on the ground on his back and refused to breathe for what seemed like an hour. I stood over him trying to get him to talk to me, but all he could do was try to grab a breath. Fortunately for the kid he did not feel like fighting after that.
Next – the camping trips
(Lynn is front row, 2nd from the left – skinny, right?)
But the games were great! The first night of Scouts I’ll always remember. The troop had about an acre corner lot with a shot-gun building with wood floors, a gravel parking lot and lots of woods. Our first game was inside and was just for the younger boys. We stood inside on the wood floor in a circle with our hands clasped to each others forearms for added strength. There were 2 boys in the middle of the circle, one had a belt and the other didn’t. The object was for the boy with the belt to beat the other until he either jumped over the arms of the circle or burst through. I thought I had died and went to heaven! This was the coolest game I had ever played and knew that I was going to enjoy scouts.
Another belt game was called drop the belt. It was played outside with all the boys in the troop (young and old). Everyone stood facing the inside of the circle with their hands held behind their back. Someone would walk around the circle with a belt and leave it in another boy’s hands. That boy would then chase the one to his immediate right twice around the circle, whipping him as they ran. Then, the boy who was doing the chasing was the one to drop the belt. Everyone loved this game except for the slower guys.
I’m sure the game BuckBuck has faded into oblivion because of its rough nature. I hope I can explain how it was played. A boy would hold onto a tree with his legs spread. Another boy would bend at the waist, hold onto the other boy’s legs and place his head between the 1st boy’s legs. A 3rd would then bend at the waist, holding onto the 2nd boys legs and putting his head between that boy’s legs. This would continue until you had about 5 or 6 boys in the chain. The other team would then get a running start, spring off the last boy’s butt and jump as far forward as he could, landing on the backs of the boys bending over. Their feet could not touch the ground. The team would continue to pile on hoping to cause the 1st team to break under the weight without them touching the ground. It was fun and challenging and I’m pretty sure was the cause of at least one broken leg.
I’m pretty sure Kick-the-can is stilled played and you’re probably familiar with it. There are 2 teams, and a can placed in the middle of a circle. One team hides while the 2nd team waits for a determined amount of time. After that time all but 2 of the 2nd team hunts for the hidden team, capturing them by grabbing them long enough to say a lengthy catch phrase. If anyone is captured they are placed in jail and must remain there unless someone from his team kicks the can without getting captured themselves. It involves stealth (which I loved), some amount of strategy (to kick the can) and a certain amount of roughness when attempting to kick the can or in guarding it. I loved it. The part I liked was sneaking up on the can and kicking it without getting seen or caught. And if I did get caught, someone was going to feel it when they tried to stop me.
We also played a game inside called ‘Spud’. We used a tennis ball and everyone who played was numbered. Someone would take the ball and throw it in the room (all walls and floors were hardwood) and call a number. Whoever ‘owned’ the number had to find the ball and holler ‘SPUD’ which caused everyone to freeze in place. Then the owner of the ball would throw it at someone in the room. If they were hit without a bounce their number was recorded. And for every time your number was recorded you had to endure the Spud line, which meant you had to bend over a desk and become a target for everyone throwing the ball at your backside from about 10 feet away. Needless to say, you really tried to avoid getting hit during the game because that tennis ball would really sting.
We also had a demerit system during the meetings, and for every 3 demerits (if I recall correctly) you had to go through the belt line. It’s exactly what it sounds like. Boys were lined up in 2 lines facing each other and the one to be disciplined had to run through, getting whacked on the way by both sides of the line. Richard Groover once got something like 30 demerits one night. He was going to have to run through the line 10 times and lined up like he was going to run, then turned around and did run, all the way home. He lived about a mile and a half from the scout hut and just took off home instead of enduring the line. We just stood there and watched him in unbelief.
I know a lot of these ‘games’ sound primitive now and would probably result in charges being brought against the scout leader, but to us it was normal and fun. This was during the 60’s and we played rough, had a lot of freedom and never worried about being sued or about having someone from ‘the county’ investigating what we did at scouts. I had the time of my life and still recall moments of my life playing those games. I can remember the hits; the sneaking around trying to avoid being seen by the ‘enemy’; devising plans for a diversion so we could kick the can; getting chased and chasing others during drop the belt; and piling on during Buckbuck.
We liked the hiding and pursuing games the most because they involved Indian-like stealth and hiding, and they involved catching your opponent, which resulted in some rough behavior. One such game was called fox and hounds. Two boys would run out in the darkened woods by themselves and hide and the other boys would be sent out later to find them. My older brother always felt like he was good at the hiding and loved being the ‘fox’. On one night he did not run far at all, but climbed up really high in a tree just outside of the scout hut. He knew that everyone would probably run past him and on deeper into the woods and felt secure in his hiding place. Just as he planned, when released, all the boys ran excitedly right past his tree and into the woods, totally oblivious to him and his buddy in the tree next door. All the boys ran past except for one that is. A lazy, dorky kid came walking up, hands in pockets, looked right up in the tree and spotted them both! “I see you Mulkey” was all he said. My brother muttered an obscenity, said something about killing the kid, and then stepped onto the limb just under him to descend the tree. Only, the limb would not hold his weight and snapped loud enough for all of us to hear. Ricky came down the tree very quickly after that first step, breaking limbs all the way down. He landed on the ground on his back and refused to breathe for what seemed like an hour. I stood over him trying to get him to talk to me, but all he could do was try to grab a breath. Fortunately for the kid he did not feel like fighting after that.
Next – the camping trips
Friday, September 25, 2009
Memories (Continued)– My dad
My dad fought in WWII in N. Africa and Italy. He was drafted before he finished high school and was shipped overseas at the same age I was playing in the high school band and skipping school with my girlfriends. I can't imagine what that was like for him. His first letters home were so innocent sounding and naïve. He told his mom that he didn't think they were going to be shipped overseas. But, of course he was. We know that he fought in intense battles in Italy, in close quarters and had any number of personal kills. He would never talk about it but did one night when his captain visited. They talked late into the night, remembering their nightmares and letting my mom in on the action. He was blown out of fox holes and recovered his captain after he was dislodged; they were trapped behind enemy lines and killed an old goat before they starved to death, but then got dysentery from it; they were in close enough quarters when fighting that at one point he ran into building and took cover behind some boxes only to discover later that they were cardboard; he captured a German “instead of shooting him” and had him go behind a building and start digging his grave before his captain stopped him and fussed him out. His letters were kept and you could just feel as you read them how he changed over the years from a young boy to a hardened soldier. He was in the group that raided Mousilini's castle and we have a picture of him with the swords around his waist. He mailed them home but they never made it, of course. So, after the war he was told there was 2 ways to get back home. He could take a plane or go back by boat. He looked at the plane that was in sight of where he was standing and saw how it was shot full of holes and decided on the boat. He figured that he'd made it that far and didn't want to die going back home.
The Mulkeys are a happy bunch of people. You come to our reunion and you'll see for yourself. Someone is always telling a story and somebody's always laughing. We love practical jokes, just plain jokes and any story that will get a laugh. My dad was like that too. He was always doing something or saying something that made people laugh. On many, many mornings at breakfast he would sit next to me stirring his coffee and then take the spoon out and lay it on my arm, asking innocently, “Is that hot?”. “Ow! Yes!” I would reply quickly with everyone at the table cracking up. I still don't know why I never learned to anticipate that.
The legend that he became as a practical jokester was accomplished where he worked. He worked for Georgia Power at one of the generation plants. They worked in shifts, it was hard work and sometimes dangerous, but they had made it through the war and were not afraid of work. They also played jokes from time to time and it helped build moral and a kinship among the workers. Daddy was really into jokes too. One day he left his shift a little early and went down to the locker room, removed all of his clothes but his underwear and then bundled himself into a ball in his buddy's locker. When his friend came down and opened the locker door dad rolled out of the locker and onto the floor as if he was dead. They had to revive his buddy.
Dad was involved in our lives. He was a member of the PTA and helped out with the scout troop. He taught us how to drive and let us drive his cars once we had our licenses. He also tried to keep us busy (as well as mom). I don’t recall him ever paying anyone to fix anything around the house, as well as his cars. He would fix plumbing and windows, replace water pumps, brakes, transmissions or anything else that broke. I’m not sure he really enjoyed doing that stuff. He probably couldn’t afford to pay anyone and had to do it himself (like me). He also worked on appliances if necessary.
We had to help him with whatever he was doing, although I realize now that he just wanted us to learn. I did learn a bit helping him, but mostly he just wanted me to hold the flashlight. Now, for those of you who have never had the privilege of holding a flashlight for a mechanic you have no idea how impossible that can be. There is no possible way to keep the beam of light in the right place no matter how talented you are or how skilled. There’s always something in your way (including your dad’s hands, arms or head) and your arm gets fatigued very quickly.
“Son, hold the light over here!”
“I’m trying, but your arm is in the way”
“Well, move over a little and shine it up between the starter and the bracket”
“Which one is the starter?”
“This one! This one right here! You don’t know what a starter is?” raising his voice as his frustration increases.
“Yea, I was just kidding, Hold on and let me move around behind you” trying to sound helpful and knowledgeable.
“Well hurry up, my arm is getting tired holding the ratchet up here” (like my arm wasn’t screaming from holding the stupid flashlight)
“I’m trying dad, I’m trying”
“Oh just forget and give me the light, I’ll hold it in my mouth” he says loudly as he jerks the flashlight out of my hand.
Good, now I could go back in the house and watch The Road Runner. Of course, when I walk back in the house my mom says, “I thought you were helping your father?”
“I was, but he got mad ‘cause I couldn’t hold the flashlight right”
“Well, go back out there and try to do it better, he can’t do that by himself”
My shoulders would slump at this point knowing I had to go back outside (where it was like 40 degrees) and knowing I was just going to get hollered at again. Oh well, caught in the middle again!
Our washer and dryer were in a room on the other side of the carport and were vulnerable to the weather since there was no heating or cooling there. So, in the winter the washing machine would often freeze up, if not the pipes supplying water to it. Dad would end up out there with a heater, torch and tools trying to thaw things out and performing resuscitation techniques on the machine. The room was just wide enough for the 2 machines to fit side by side and to get to the back you had to wiggle them out a bit and then jump behind them. Dad did this one day, after the washing machine had sustained an injury and quit on my mom. So, dad wiggled it out and climbed over dropping down on the other side. Once there he found that he didn’t have enough room to work so he tried to extract himself and climb back out. Unfortunately had had not pulled the machine out enough for him to climb back out and he was wedged in such a way that he couldn’t push it. He pushed, pulled, jumped and wiggled to no avail so he started hollering for my mom. Unfortunately, she was busy cleaning and vacuuming and could not hear him. He literally screamed until he was hoarse and to no avail. Fortunately my uncle happened to drop by and heard him and was able to rescue him, but it took a day or so for him to get his voice back.
Dad was pretty good with mechanical things. For instance, he had at one time 3 different lawnmowers, all of them rigged up in some elaborate way, although I’ve never seen him use one. My older brother asked him one time why he never cut the grass and he replied, “that’s the only reason I had you boy, now get to cutting”. And, although my dad could crank one on the 1st or 2nd try the boys could not crank one for nothing. He would tell us to have the grass cut before he got home from work but we would pull on the chords until our arms felt like rubber bands. He would get home and my mom would back us up and say that we tried all day to crank each one of his rigged up mowers and couldn’t. He would fiddle with it a minute or 2, pull the handle twice and the stupid thing would roar to life. To this day I have resent and fear small engines. They are a mystery to me and I’m sure they intentionally refuse to cooperate with me.
As I said, he taught us how to drive and he did a good job at it. He taught us on manual shift cars and was very patient as we jerked the car forward until we got the hang of the clutch. He taught us how to slow a car with the gears and to shift without the clutch if necessary. He taught us how to drive in hazardous conditions, including snow and ice. He showed us how to start a car that was flooded and the correct way to brake on slippery surfaces. He would make us stop on a steep hill, pull the emergency brake up, release the clutch until it took hold, release the brake and start off smooth. It took a good number of tries before we got the hang of it, but we did and he was very patient even when he thought we were going to destroy the transmission. I understood how valuable these lessons were as I started hanging out with other guys who did not have the same privilege and I found myself teaching them.
Dad worked at the local electric generation plant and worked odd, rotating shifts with a healthy (or unhealthy) dose of overtime. In all his time with his company he missed one day sick until he had his heart attack. I guess if you made it through a war you felt like work was easy street. In the evenings when we were home he would always be found sitting in his chair reading the paper and smoking a cigarette. His hearing grew worse and worse over the years from working at the plant and the TV volume was raised appropriately. He slept a lot during the day because of the different shifts and kept an air conditioner running in the bedroom even during the winter to drown out the noise. He wore a socking cap to keep his head warm so he wouldn’t get sick. And we had to keep our noise down as much as possible when he was sleeping. There was nothing worse than waking the bear from his hibernation!
Dad did have a temper. I would have probably had a worse one if I had the 3 of us to deal with. He could stop us cold with a snap of his finger and could call us home with a whistle that could be heard for miles. Now, you know how rambunctious boys can be and we carried that concept to its limits when we ran through the house and out the back door (the front door was only used by guests who didn’t know us). The back door had a country look to it with 3 panes of glass above waist level. Dad would always holler at us when we ran out the door and slammed it behind us, “Don’t slam the door, you’re going to break a window pane!” Of course, we apparently paid little attention to it because we never caught on. Well, one day mom and dad got into an argument about something and he stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him. We never said a word as we watched the top pane of glass dislodge itself and break on the floor. He never stopped either as he got into his car and sped up the street out of site. I’m still a little unsure about us ever having the nerve to laugh about it later.
He also lectured us relentlessly about spinning the tires on the cars. We had a ’57 Chevy with a large block V8 that was capable of smoking up the tires when you wanted to and he knew that young boys could hardly resist it from time to time. But, he was the one who paid the bills and he didn’t want to have to buy new tires before their time, so he warned us against it constantly. Of course, he and mom got into a fight again and we watched him smoke the tires out of the driveway, up our street, turn right onto the main road and smoke them out of site. I don’t recall it ever being brought up in his presence though. There were just some things best left unsaid.
Dad was also a deacon in our church and took those duties very seriously. He spent many evenings dressed up in his suit heading to the hospital to visit church members who were sick or injured. That always made an impression on me as I grew older and was sure it was a reason that the funeral home had never had such a crowd as were there on the night of his wake. We found out then what a likable and well thought of man he was to those outside of our family. He was also one who would help out neighbors and friends in need, like the time he saw a friend trying to roof his house by himself. Dad just drove on home without stopping, collected his tools and his oldest son and drove back to help out. Mr. Fricks reminded me of it after dad had died and what a great impression it had made on him that he would do that without being asked.
One other story about him that gives you a bit of a glimpse of the man: he was always kidding one of his friends about running out of gas. It seemed as if Mr. Kilgore was always running out of gas. I guess he just liked to see how far he could go on a tank. Well, dad and I were driving in that neighborhood one day and he blew the horn and waved as we passed their house. They were out raking leaves and waved back, smiling. But, instead of continuing on down the road dad just coasted to a stop 2 houses down. I asked him why he was stopping and he said that he had run out of gas and didn’t want them to know. He just smiled and headed back up the street, preparing for the taste of crow as he walked.
And now as I sit here and write, over 30 years after his death I wonder who he really was. You see I was a teenager when he died and had more important things on my mind than who my dad was. I was also doing drugs at that time and was only interested in my self and my own needs. He and I never did communicate very well anyway, so when he died I felt like he was a stranger to me. I would give anything to sit down with him now and talk for a while. That’s one thing we didn’t do much of and I regret it terribly. I would ask him to tell me everything he remembered about his childhood and the war and raising 3 rebellious boys. What was it like heading overseas as a young boy, knowing you were being sent to a war? What did you feel like when you were being shot at or shooting at others? And when you came home and started a family, did you have nightmares of those terrible days in Italy? Did you also feel overwhelmed at times with the weight of raising a family? Did you ever cry when things got too hard to handle? So many questions I would pepper him with that it would take days for him to answer them all. But, I don’t have that opportunity. I’m stuck here in time and he has moved on to a place where time no longer matters. I can only hope that when I leave this world I will be able to spend some time with him and that he’ll feel like talking about it all.
Oh, and dad,,,, I know you weren’t perfect and I know I was a punk. I’m sorry for all the grief I caused you and wanted you to know that I miss you terribly sometimes.
The Mulkeys are a happy bunch of people. You come to our reunion and you'll see for yourself. Someone is always telling a story and somebody's always laughing. We love practical jokes, just plain jokes and any story that will get a laugh. My dad was like that too. He was always doing something or saying something that made people laugh. On many, many mornings at breakfast he would sit next to me stirring his coffee and then take the spoon out and lay it on my arm, asking innocently, “Is that hot?”. “Ow! Yes!” I would reply quickly with everyone at the table cracking up. I still don't know why I never learned to anticipate that.
The legend that he became as a practical jokester was accomplished where he worked. He worked for Georgia Power at one of the generation plants. They worked in shifts, it was hard work and sometimes dangerous, but they had made it through the war and were not afraid of work. They also played jokes from time to time and it helped build moral and a kinship among the workers. Daddy was really into jokes too. One day he left his shift a little early and went down to the locker room, removed all of his clothes but his underwear and then bundled himself into a ball in his buddy's locker. When his friend came down and opened the locker door dad rolled out of the locker and onto the floor as if he was dead. They had to revive his buddy.
Dad was involved in our lives. He was a member of the PTA and helped out with the scout troop. He taught us how to drive and let us drive his cars once we had our licenses. He also tried to keep us busy (as well as mom). I don’t recall him ever paying anyone to fix anything around the house, as well as his cars. He would fix plumbing and windows, replace water pumps, brakes, transmissions or anything else that broke. I’m not sure he really enjoyed doing that stuff. He probably couldn’t afford to pay anyone and had to do it himself (like me). He also worked on appliances if necessary.
We had to help him with whatever he was doing, although I realize now that he just wanted us to learn. I did learn a bit helping him, but mostly he just wanted me to hold the flashlight. Now, for those of you who have never had the privilege of holding a flashlight for a mechanic you have no idea how impossible that can be. There is no possible way to keep the beam of light in the right place no matter how talented you are or how skilled. There’s always something in your way (including your dad’s hands, arms or head) and your arm gets fatigued very quickly.
“Son, hold the light over here!”
“I’m trying, but your arm is in the way”
“Well, move over a little and shine it up between the starter and the bracket”
“Which one is the starter?”
“This one! This one right here! You don’t know what a starter is?” raising his voice as his frustration increases.
“Yea, I was just kidding, Hold on and let me move around behind you” trying to sound helpful and knowledgeable.
“Well hurry up, my arm is getting tired holding the ratchet up here” (like my arm wasn’t screaming from holding the stupid flashlight)
“I’m trying dad, I’m trying”
“Oh just forget and give me the light, I’ll hold it in my mouth” he says loudly as he jerks the flashlight out of my hand.
Good, now I could go back in the house and watch The Road Runner. Of course, when I walk back in the house my mom says, “I thought you were helping your father?”
“I was, but he got mad ‘cause I couldn’t hold the flashlight right”
“Well, go back out there and try to do it better, he can’t do that by himself”
My shoulders would slump at this point knowing I had to go back outside (where it was like 40 degrees) and knowing I was just going to get hollered at again. Oh well, caught in the middle again!
Our washer and dryer were in a room on the other side of the carport and were vulnerable to the weather since there was no heating or cooling there. So, in the winter the washing machine would often freeze up, if not the pipes supplying water to it. Dad would end up out there with a heater, torch and tools trying to thaw things out and performing resuscitation techniques on the machine. The room was just wide enough for the 2 machines to fit side by side and to get to the back you had to wiggle them out a bit and then jump behind them. Dad did this one day, after the washing machine had sustained an injury and quit on my mom. So, dad wiggled it out and climbed over dropping down on the other side. Once there he found that he didn’t have enough room to work so he tried to extract himself and climb back out. Unfortunately had had not pulled the machine out enough for him to climb back out and he was wedged in such a way that he couldn’t push it. He pushed, pulled, jumped and wiggled to no avail so he started hollering for my mom. Unfortunately, she was busy cleaning and vacuuming and could not hear him. He literally screamed until he was hoarse and to no avail. Fortunately my uncle happened to drop by and heard him and was able to rescue him, but it took a day or so for him to get his voice back.
Dad was pretty good with mechanical things. For instance, he had at one time 3 different lawnmowers, all of them rigged up in some elaborate way, although I’ve never seen him use one. My older brother asked him one time why he never cut the grass and he replied, “that’s the only reason I had you boy, now get to cutting”. And, although my dad could crank one on the 1st or 2nd try the boys could not crank one for nothing. He would tell us to have the grass cut before he got home from work but we would pull on the chords until our arms felt like rubber bands. He would get home and my mom would back us up and say that we tried all day to crank each one of his rigged up mowers and couldn’t. He would fiddle with it a minute or 2, pull the handle twice and the stupid thing would roar to life. To this day I have resent and fear small engines. They are a mystery to me and I’m sure they intentionally refuse to cooperate with me.
As I said, he taught us how to drive and he did a good job at it. He taught us on manual shift cars and was very patient as we jerked the car forward until we got the hang of the clutch. He taught us how to slow a car with the gears and to shift without the clutch if necessary. He taught us how to drive in hazardous conditions, including snow and ice. He showed us how to start a car that was flooded and the correct way to brake on slippery surfaces. He would make us stop on a steep hill, pull the emergency brake up, release the clutch until it took hold, release the brake and start off smooth. It took a good number of tries before we got the hang of it, but we did and he was very patient even when he thought we were going to destroy the transmission. I understood how valuable these lessons were as I started hanging out with other guys who did not have the same privilege and I found myself teaching them.
Dad worked at the local electric generation plant and worked odd, rotating shifts with a healthy (or unhealthy) dose of overtime. In all his time with his company he missed one day sick until he had his heart attack. I guess if you made it through a war you felt like work was easy street. In the evenings when we were home he would always be found sitting in his chair reading the paper and smoking a cigarette. His hearing grew worse and worse over the years from working at the plant and the TV volume was raised appropriately. He slept a lot during the day because of the different shifts and kept an air conditioner running in the bedroom even during the winter to drown out the noise. He wore a socking cap to keep his head warm so he wouldn’t get sick. And we had to keep our noise down as much as possible when he was sleeping. There was nothing worse than waking the bear from his hibernation!
Dad did have a temper. I would have probably had a worse one if I had the 3 of us to deal with. He could stop us cold with a snap of his finger and could call us home with a whistle that could be heard for miles. Now, you know how rambunctious boys can be and we carried that concept to its limits when we ran through the house and out the back door (the front door was only used by guests who didn’t know us). The back door had a country look to it with 3 panes of glass above waist level. Dad would always holler at us when we ran out the door and slammed it behind us, “Don’t slam the door, you’re going to break a window pane!” Of course, we apparently paid little attention to it because we never caught on. Well, one day mom and dad got into an argument about something and he stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him. We never said a word as we watched the top pane of glass dislodge itself and break on the floor. He never stopped either as he got into his car and sped up the street out of site. I’m still a little unsure about us ever having the nerve to laugh about it later.
He also lectured us relentlessly about spinning the tires on the cars. We had a ’57 Chevy with a large block V8 that was capable of smoking up the tires when you wanted to and he knew that young boys could hardly resist it from time to time. But, he was the one who paid the bills and he didn’t want to have to buy new tires before their time, so he warned us against it constantly. Of course, he and mom got into a fight again and we watched him smoke the tires out of the driveway, up our street, turn right onto the main road and smoke them out of site. I don’t recall it ever being brought up in his presence though. There were just some things best left unsaid.
Dad was also a deacon in our church and took those duties very seriously. He spent many evenings dressed up in his suit heading to the hospital to visit church members who were sick or injured. That always made an impression on me as I grew older and was sure it was a reason that the funeral home had never had such a crowd as were there on the night of his wake. We found out then what a likable and well thought of man he was to those outside of our family. He was also one who would help out neighbors and friends in need, like the time he saw a friend trying to roof his house by himself. Dad just drove on home without stopping, collected his tools and his oldest son and drove back to help out. Mr. Fricks reminded me of it after dad had died and what a great impression it had made on him that he would do that without being asked.
One other story about him that gives you a bit of a glimpse of the man: he was always kidding one of his friends about running out of gas. It seemed as if Mr. Kilgore was always running out of gas. I guess he just liked to see how far he could go on a tank. Well, dad and I were driving in that neighborhood one day and he blew the horn and waved as we passed their house. They were out raking leaves and waved back, smiling. But, instead of continuing on down the road dad just coasted to a stop 2 houses down. I asked him why he was stopping and he said that he had run out of gas and didn’t want them to know. He just smiled and headed back up the street, preparing for the taste of crow as he walked.
And now as I sit here and write, over 30 years after his death I wonder who he really was. You see I was a teenager when he died and had more important things on my mind than who my dad was. I was also doing drugs at that time and was only interested in my self and my own needs. He and I never did communicate very well anyway, so when he died I felt like he was a stranger to me. I would give anything to sit down with him now and talk for a while. That’s one thing we didn’t do much of and I regret it terribly. I would ask him to tell me everything he remembered about his childhood and the war and raising 3 rebellious boys. What was it like heading overseas as a young boy, knowing you were being sent to a war? What did you feel like when you were being shot at or shooting at others? And when you came home and started a family, did you have nightmares of those terrible days in Italy? Did you also feel overwhelmed at times with the weight of raising a family? Did you ever cry when things got too hard to handle? So many questions I would pepper him with that it would take days for him to answer them all. But, I don’t have that opportunity. I’m stuck here in time and he has moved on to a place where time no longer matters. I can only hope that when I leave this world I will be able to spend some time with him and that he’ll feel like talking about it all.
Oh, and dad,,,, I know you weren’t perfect and I know I was a punk. I’m sorry for all the grief I caused you and wanted you to know that I miss you terribly sometimes.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Memories (Continued)– Fights with my brothers (and spankings)
- I actually attribute the fights we had to the age we grew up in. In the 50's and 60's boys fought to establish themselves in the pecking order around the neighborhood. We thought it normal to fight occasionally and most of us did not take the fights personally. And what I mean by that is that we could fight and then shake hands and still be friends. We didn't hold grudges for very long and we didn't mean to hurt anyone seriously. Now, my older brother took fighting a bit more seriously than I did. He got mean and rough and could really swing his fists. He was big and strong and 'had an attitude'. In fact, I met a guy at work who knew Ricky in school. I asked him if he knew my brother and he said, “bad ass Mulkey? oh yea, I knew him”. Of course I didn't mind having a brother with a name like that. It probably kept me out of a lot of fights.
But, at home I didn't care how big he was or how much of an attitude he had. He was my brother and we often did not get along. He had a habit of bossing me around and I had a habit of not liking it. Most of the real fights occurred after my mom and dad had left the house (for whatever reason). Ricky would start telling me what to do and my temper would get away from me. We put a very big hole in the hall's sheet rock; broke the legs to my parents bed; I put a pencil in his back and he knocked me out cold. And my parents didn't find out about anything but the bed and hallway.
We loved to wrestle in the living room because it had carpet and sofas and chairs. We could dive off the furniture and slam each other without too much bruising. But, my mom did not like us using the living room for a wrestling ring and would holler at us to go outside. Now, we could not understand the reasoning behind that statement because the yard had rocks in it and rocks hurt, whereas the room did not, so we ignored her. She would then grab the broom and hit us with the handle until she drove us out of the house. And my brother would scream at the top of his lungs so that all the neighborhood could hear him, saying that she was beating us as he ran out the door (my mom had to laugh).
One of my favorite memories was when we were fighting in the hallway. There was a coat rack at the end of the hall that had spindles portruding outward toward us. Ricky had a towel around my throat and was choking me. I knew I was going to black out soon and noticed the coat rack was behind him. I acted like I was trying to pull him to me so he resisted and pulled back. That's when I pushed him as hard as I can and he slammed against the rack. The towel went slack, he moaned and slumped to the floor. I laughed and ran past him and out the back door, snickering all the way.
The time we broke the parent's bed was sorta scary. Ricky was chasing me through the house and I jumped on their bed to get away from him. When he jumped on the bed, he was heavier and the bed leg snapped. The bed hit the floor and we froze in place, knowing we were in horrible trouble. We looked it over and tried to find a way to fix it, without knowing a thing about what we were doing. So, as most level headed and amazingly intelligent young boys would do, we propped it up (precariously), then went to bed and prayed. I can't remember if I was asleep or not when the bed hit the floor, but I remember hearing it and almost sitting straight up in bed. Of course, when they checked my bed I was fast asleep! I honestly think we got away with it.
The worst beating I got from him was when we put on boxing gloves and fought in the living room (no running away). I knew I had to hit quickly and get out of the way of his big hands and that's what I tried to do. Unfortunately, when I went in one time to strike him he caught me on the side of the head and it was enough to make me wobble. Then, he just kept hitting me while I slowly watched the world go black. I was out cold for some amount of time and learned a valuable lesson, do not let the other guy hit you if he can hurt you. I wish it was the only time I had to learn the lesson.
Of course, we didn't always fight, only when we were pushed to it by either him or me. My younger brother didn't join us in the real fights. He was too young and small for us to tangle with. He had health issues as a child and we tended to take care of him rather than fight with him. I did have to take up for him once, but didn't really get into a bad fight over it. We just had a good talk and the other guy agreed that he shouldn't push my brother around. The guy better be glad Ricky didn't take care of the incident instead of me.
But back when we grew up the phrase 'boys will be boys' was accepted and given it's due. We played hard and fought hard, but generally just had a good time. We were also spanked hard back then but endured it with no lasting effects. In fact, it's almost a bragging right when I get together with other people my age. It becomes a spitting contest on who got whipped the hardest and most often. My dad did whip us when we needed it, and sometimes when we didn't think we deserved it, but I'm sure having 3 boys would require a certain amount of firm discipline in order to have a harmonious home. Dad used the 'going round and round' method of belt whipping. He held you by your left hand, whupped you with his right while you ran round and round him trying desperately to avoid getting hit. It seriously hurt and you would instinctively try to block the blows with your free hand which led to it getting bruised too. All in all it left no permanent scars inside or out. Fact is, I probably wasn't spanked enough because I was always in trouble for something.
But, at home I didn't care how big he was or how much of an attitude he had. He was my brother and we often did not get along. He had a habit of bossing me around and I had a habit of not liking it. Most of the real fights occurred after my mom and dad had left the house (for whatever reason). Ricky would start telling me what to do and my temper would get away from me. We put a very big hole in the hall's sheet rock; broke the legs to my parents bed; I put a pencil in his back and he knocked me out cold. And my parents didn't find out about anything but the bed and hallway.
We loved to wrestle in the living room because it had carpet and sofas and chairs. We could dive off the furniture and slam each other without too much bruising. But, my mom did not like us using the living room for a wrestling ring and would holler at us to go outside. Now, we could not understand the reasoning behind that statement because the yard had rocks in it and rocks hurt, whereas the room did not, so we ignored her. She would then grab the broom and hit us with the handle until she drove us out of the house. And my brother would scream at the top of his lungs so that all the neighborhood could hear him, saying that she was beating us as he ran out the door (my mom had to laugh).
One of my favorite memories was when we were fighting in the hallway. There was a coat rack at the end of the hall that had spindles portruding outward toward us. Ricky had a towel around my throat and was choking me. I knew I was going to black out soon and noticed the coat rack was behind him. I acted like I was trying to pull him to me so he resisted and pulled back. That's when I pushed him as hard as I can and he slammed against the rack. The towel went slack, he moaned and slumped to the floor. I laughed and ran past him and out the back door, snickering all the way.
The time we broke the parent's bed was sorta scary. Ricky was chasing me through the house and I jumped on their bed to get away from him. When he jumped on the bed, he was heavier and the bed leg snapped. The bed hit the floor and we froze in place, knowing we were in horrible trouble. We looked it over and tried to find a way to fix it, without knowing a thing about what we were doing. So, as most level headed and amazingly intelligent young boys would do, we propped it up (precariously), then went to bed and prayed. I can't remember if I was asleep or not when the bed hit the floor, but I remember hearing it and almost sitting straight up in bed. Of course, when they checked my bed I was fast asleep! I honestly think we got away with it.
The worst beating I got from him was when we put on boxing gloves and fought in the living room (no running away). I knew I had to hit quickly and get out of the way of his big hands and that's what I tried to do. Unfortunately, when I went in one time to strike him he caught me on the side of the head and it was enough to make me wobble. Then, he just kept hitting me while I slowly watched the world go black. I was out cold for some amount of time and learned a valuable lesson, do not let the other guy hit you if he can hurt you. I wish it was the only time I had to learn the lesson.
Of course, we didn't always fight, only when we were pushed to it by either him or me. My younger brother didn't join us in the real fights. He was too young and small for us to tangle with. He had health issues as a child and we tended to take care of him rather than fight with him. I did have to take up for him once, but didn't really get into a bad fight over it. We just had a good talk and the other guy agreed that he shouldn't push my brother around. The guy better be glad Ricky didn't take care of the incident instead of me.
But back when we grew up the phrase 'boys will be boys' was accepted and given it's due. We played hard and fought hard, but generally just had a good time. We were also spanked hard back then but endured it with no lasting effects. In fact, it's almost a bragging right when I get together with other people my age. It becomes a spitting contest on who got whipped the hardest and most often. My dad did whip us when we needed it, and sometimes when we didn't think we deserved it, but I'm sure having 3 boys would require a certain amount of firm discipline in order to have a harmonious home. Dad used the 'going round and round' method of belt whipping. He held you by your left hand, whupped you with his right while you ran round and round him trying desperately to avoid getting hit. It seriously hurt and you would instinctively try to block the blows with your free hand which led to it getting bruised too. All in all it left no permanent scars inside or out. Fact is, I probably wasn't spanked enough because I was always in trouble for something.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Memories (Continued) - My best friend from childhood was Larry Kilgore. We went to school, church and scouts together and lived within a mile or so of each other, so we hung out a lot. Back then a 11 or 12 year old boy could venture miles from the house alone without his parents being concerned or worrying. Of course, my dog usually tagged along and was good protection if I had ever needed it. Larry’s dog, on the other hand was an embarrassment and we I did not like her to hang with us. She was a beautiful German shepherd but was afraid of her own shadow. I would cringe and hang my head when she ran with tail tucked under her from a Chihuahua. We didn’t do a lot of fighting back then, but you wanted to appear as if you could, and with his dog around you felt like you would be ridiculed if anything happened.
Larry was of heavy stock, built like his dad who was tall and big. He was not one to look for a fight but was not afraid to engage in one if pushed to it. All around he was just a nice likeable guy who always tried to do the right thing. He and I covered a good 10 square miles around our neighborhoods by the time we were in high school. Most of that was on foot, but we also traveled a good bit on our bikes.
I can recall one time when we were riding our bikes up in the Oakdale area. Oakdale was short interlude on the road between the city of Smyrna and Fulton County. The local ball field was there, a small grocery store, a convenience store, drugstore and 2 gas stations. We would either walk there or ride our bikes and it was a good place to get a snack or just meet other friends. We were in the area on a road that we rarely took, and using it probably just because we hadn’t before. I was riding in front of Larry and we were headed to a dead end intersection. As we started down the rather steep hill I started breaking a bit to slow my ride when Larry just sped by me. I thought to myself that he was going awfully fast, especially for Larry who was not the daredevil type. Then I noticed that he had a terrified look on his face and was dragging his feet in an effort to stop the maddening descent toward the dead end and red bank ahead. He did not slow down much and I watched helplessly as he stopped suddenly by implanting his face in a bank of red dirt. I was at first concerned whether he lived through it and relieved that no car was passing by at that time. He was actually in remarkable shape when he stood up and spit the dirt out of his mouth. And I couldn’t help but laugh, which caused his anger to burn red hot against me. But, come on, after it’s over with you have to laugh.
Larry and I remained good friends even until today .And that’s saying a lot about his good character because we went opposite ways in high school. I ended up staying in trouble and indulging myself in the drug culture while he studied and played football. We hung with a completely different set of friends yet we still remained good friends the whole time. I was the one who encouraged Larry to date his future wife (even though he claimed I was setting him up as a joke).
Oh, and I also made his girlfriend cry at school. My younger brother was a sax player and she had heard that he played. She walked up to me and said, “Hey Lynn, I heard that your brother plays the saxophone”! I just answered with a very serous straight face, “that’s not funny Bobbie, my brother doesn’t have any fingers” and walked away. She started crying. I was mean.
I can still recall a football game in Harroldson County. It’s a very rural area and it was their homecoming, which meant the stands were packed with their fans and we had a handful in ours. We were kicking a field goal on the 10th yard line and after we made it they started fighting. I was very nervous because of the crowd and then I thought about Larry out there playing center. I looked and saw him on his feet, a look of rage on his face and swinging his helmet at anyone who came near him. Pretty cool! Up until that time I was not aware of Larry having ever been in a fight and I was concerned for him. No need. He can handle himself very well.
Larry was of heavy stock, built like his dad who was tall and big. He was not one to look for a fight but was not afraid to engage in one if pushed to it. All around he was just a nice likeable guy who always tried to do the right thing. He and I covered a good 10 square miles around our neighborhoods by the time we were in high school. Most of that was on foot, but we also traveled a good bit on our bikes.
I can recall one time when we were riding our bikes up in the Oakdale area. Oakdale was short interlude on the road between the city of Smyrna and Fulton County. The local ball field was there, a small grocery store, a convenience store, drugstore and 2 gas stations. We would either walk there or ride our bikes and it was a good place to get a snack or just meet other friends. We were in the area on a road that we rarely took, and using it probably just because we hadn’t before. I was riding in front of Larry and we were headed to a dead end intersection. As we started down the rather steep hill I started breaking a bit to slow my ride when Larry just sped by me. I thought to myself that he was going awfully fast, especially for Larry who was not the daredevil type. Then I noticed that he had a terrified look on his face and was dragging his feet in an effort to stop the maddening descent toward the dead end and red bank ahead. He did not slow down much and I watched helplessly as he stopped suddenly by implanting his face in a bank of red dirt. I was at first concerned whether he lived through it and relieved that no car was passing by at that time. He was actually in remarkable shape when he stood up and spit the dirt out of his mouth. And I couldn’t help but laugh, which caused his anger to burn red hot against me. But, come on, after it’s over with you have to laugh.
Larry and I remained good friends even until today .And that’s saying a lot about his good character because we went opposite ways in high school. I ended up staying in trouble and indulging myself in the drug culture while he studied and played football. We hung with a completely different set of friends yet we still remained good friends the whole time. I was the one who encouraged Larry to date his future wife (even though he claimed I was setting him up as a joke).
Oh, and I also made his girlfriend cry at school. My younger brother was a sax player and she had heard that he played. She walked up to me and said, “Hey Lynn, I heard that your brother plays the saxophone”! I just answered with a very serous straight face, “that’s not funny Bobbie, my brother doesn’t have any fingers” and walked away. She started crying. I was mean.
I can still recall a football game in Harroldson County. It’s a very rural area and it was their homecoming, which meant the stands were packed with their fans and we had a handful in ours. We were kicking a field goal on the 10th yard line and after we made it they started fighting. I was very nervous because of the crowd and then I thought about Larry out there playing center. I looked and saw him on his feet, a look of rage on his face and swinging his helmet at anyone who came near him. Pretty cool! Up until that time I was not aware of Larry having ever been in a fight and I was concerned for him. No need. He can handle himself very well.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
A letter to my nephew and his new bride
1 Cor. 13 – I'm sure there have been scholars, preachers and saints all through the years who have explained this passage with great detail and flair. They've probably explained the meaning by studying the original greek language and examining it in the light of the rest of the letter, but I'm not a scholar, or preach and only qualify as a saint because the Word of God declares it so. I'm not intentionally trying to be original or clever, but as I studied the scripture this weekend in preparation for a reading of it at your wedding it really came to life for me. And, I hope you don't mind if I share what I've come to realize with you in light of your wedding.
You see, there's much disinformation about 'love' in our society. There's the definition of love as expressed in the 60's and 70's which was an open sexual expression. To 'make love' is still in our vernacular today. Love was an acceptance of those who wished to express themselves as being and acting differently from the constraints of society. Sexual promiscuity was said to be an expression of love and was celebrated as such. That was my generation. There is still a philosophy adhered to today that says love is the acceptance of those who wish to express themselves in any way they want no matter the consequence to them or society. Unfortunately, that's not love at all. Love sometimes says 'no, don't do that' because it is harmful. Love always seeks the best for others and that means protecting them from themselves and their unhealthy impulses.
There's the sentimental expression of love heard in our love songs. It could best be defined as an emotional feeling that is felt for someone and it's great when it's there, but if it's not you can leave that person in order to find another. This definition of love is erroneous and very harmful to the institution of marriage. One of the cornerstones of marriage is faithfulness, even during the times when you don't feel like you're 'in love'. Love, as the bible tells us never fails.
Which brings us to the bible verse,,,
The first section of the passage in my mind can be lumped together in one purpose. Verses 1-3 seems to be introducing the next few verses by saying “it doesn't matter who you are or what you accomplish in life, if you don't have love, what good is it?” It's like saying that having love is the most important thing you can strive for and that everything else is just dust in the wind. So, when you reach the end of your days and glance back you want to see a life that was expressed in love and self sacrifice. That should be the goal in life, being the expression of love. Are you a great orator? Love should still be your goal. Are you a preacher or are you a great scholar or thinker? Love should be your goal. Are you a mystical saint who can heal or express God's mysteries? Love should be your goal. Are you a volunteer who gives up their life in making other's better? Love should be your goal. If love is not your goal you have done nothing.
The second section really starts getting into the meat of the matter and starts letting us know what love really is. This section is the definition.
After reading this passage this weekend I realized how important this passage is to marriage and that everyone who marries another should read it regularly in order to examine themselves in the light of this 'light'.
I also realized just how little I express love in my own life. If these verses are the true definition of love, then I've come up woefully short. My wife and kids deserve much more from me than I have been willing to give them; I easily lose my patience and I'm often unkind; I often envy others for their gifts, especially my musician friends who seemed to have been blessed with more talent than myself; I find I often compare myself with others and wonder why they can't measure up to my stature; I can be rude and often want my own way; I don't have too much of a problem with anger, but I can remember when someone has wronged me from 20 years ago; I don't always defend the truth and laugh at some shows and movies that delight in evil. I sit here writing this and feel ashamed and hurt at how little I know about love. And I have renewed a deep desire in my heart to show my loved ones how love can be lived out instead of just talked about.
“Love is patient” - In the day-to-day passage of time there is no greater virtue than patience when living with another person. I must confess that I'm often guilty of a lack of patience. We've been married over 30 years and I can pretty well predict my wife's reaction to just about any situation. I often know exactly what she's going to say or ask me and when she fulfills my prophesy I react in a short terse manner than is rude and unnecessary. Patience values the normal and predictableness of others. Patience is not put-out with routine requests. Patience realizes that time is simply a perspective and not a master. Patience says “I know you very well and I know exactly what you're going to ask or say right now, but I just love the way you say it.” Patience is one of the highest expressions of love and was given it's position of importance in this passage by purpose.
“Love is kind” - Love treats the other with tenderness and views the other as more important than themselves. Love doesn't strike in anger or with impatience. Love understands that the inner part of a person is as fragile as a butterfly's wings, more valuable than any possession and must be treated with respect and tenderness in order for the recipient to fully grow as a person. Husbands should make it their goal in life to out-serve their wives; bring her unexpected gifts; treat her gently and softly without expecting anything in return; and boast about her to others as if he had married into royalty. Wives should look at their husbands as if they are built like Tarzan; are as brave as Indiana Jones; as resourceful as McGiver; and as handsome as Brad Pitt. They should remember that their husband is still 10 years old inside and hurtful words cut deep in their tender little hearts.
”Love does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud” - I have to give an example of one who was the opposite of this section in order to explain how I feel about it. I know a man who grew up in the old south. Although I love him, I always saw him as a proud, boastful man who had little tolerance for anyone different than himself and who ruled his house sternly and forcefully. Now, he did show love to his wife and children, but he would quickly revert to this prideful attitude when in the presence of others that he wanted to impress. He would boast of his mechanical skills, his hunting skills, his bible knowledge and anything else that promoted him in the eyes of his listeners. And this show of pride and self-exaltation only diminished him in my eyes as a person.
On the other hand I had an uncle, Uncle Bub, who laughed often; showed great patience with others; was always interested in hearing about the lives of others rather than letting everyone know what he was about. He loved children and would stop whatever he was doing to listen and talk with them. He was a big man and I suspect that he was one who would have handled himself well in a fight. But, I knew him as a gentle, kind and happy man whom I loved to be around. He was the example of love I want to follow.
Love isn't concerned as much about itself, as it is in others. Love likes to listen more than it likes to talk. Love views others as precious gyms or as priceless treasures. Love says, “I already know enough about myself, I'd rather find out more about you. You are fascinating”.
Love is not rude - Man! If we could remember this and practice it in our marriages we would do well. We should never belittle our spouse before others, no matter how funny it may seem at the time. Men in particular have very fragile egos and their wives should be aware of that when talking to their girlfriends and especially in mixed company. Men should be in the habit of building up their wives in the the presence of others, boasting of their love and abilities, and should never belittle them.
Love is not self-seeking– Love is unselfish! Love goes the extra mile in service. Love strives to out-serve others. Love gets up early, prepares their own breakfast, works hard all day, comes home tired but does not insist on being waited on. Rather, love continues to serve the ones who are the most precious to them. Love cleans up the dishes; love fixes anything that's broken without being asked; love insists that others keep their seat while he/she gets them a cool glass of water. Love says, “I think you are the most amazing person I've ever met and I am amazed that you would want to live with me. What can I do to show you how much I appreciate you putting up with me?”
Love is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. - this seems redundant after what we've already seen, but in light of a marriage it demands to be repeated. All of us will get angry. All couples with disagree. Someone is going to hurt the feelings of the one they love. But when that happens someone has to take the initiative to say “I'm sorry”. Someone has to humble themselves and be the one who is wrong even though they may not feel like they are. And when you are wronged and hurt you have to forgive the other. You have to decide that they are more important than your opinion or your feelings. Everyone has their weaknesses and blind spots and you will sometime see your spouse's as a insurmountable obstacle, until you really take time to look at yourself and realize that your faults may be even greater. There's nothing abnormal or wrong with disagreeing with someone, even your spouse, but you have to somehow find a way to work through it and put it behind you. If you don't and if you let it ferment in your gut, you will end up hurting that person and sometimes to the point where your relationship can't be salvaged. So, never go to bed angry or without forgiving and working through the problem. If you have to miss a night of sleep, count it as a small sacrifice, because if you don't get it fixed before you go to bed you'll wake up 10 times angrier in the morning, if you ever get to sleep.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. - Love is kept strong by receiving love from the source. God is love; He teaches us to love and fills us with His love. We only really understand love when we love God and understand His love for us. And we see that love is nurtured and expressed by aligning ourselves with God's truth (His word) and guarding that word in our lives. We should protect the truth and guard it in our lives and in the lives of those we love. If we let our guard down we will be easily deceived and will open ourselves and others up to many hurtful and dangerous thoughts and philosophies. Stay on guard; encourage each other to seek only the truth and walk only in the truth because in the words of a song that was popular in the 70's “there's a lot of bad everywhere”.
Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. - Love really does last. True love will stand the test of time and endure. Love protects their loved ones from anything and everything that can bring them harm. As a husband and a father I know that I would fight to the death if anyone ever tried to harm my wife or any of my children. And if I heard that someone had harmed them in my absence, they would have to deal with my wrath afterwards. I feel it is my right and duty to protect the ones I love. But, hopefully we are rarely put in the situation where we have to physically protect our loved ones. I think this verse has more to do with protecting them from the influences of evil and from lies. The verse above talks about how important the truth is, and now we see that we have to protect our loved ones from lies and half-truths. This can be more important in the long run than simply protecting them from physical harm. Man can destroy the body, but evil and lies can destroy the spirit, and that will exist forever. ”always trusts” - Love trusts their loved ones and is terribly hurt if that trust is ever broken. Trust is an essential part of any relationship and must be protected and maintained with great care. always hopes - Love only wants the very best for others and because our love is an expression of God's love it does not lose hope. always perseveres - Love does not fade. Feelings fade and will rise and fall like the tide, but love is like a mountain. It is solid and sure. It is a decision and not an emotion. It is an act of the will and not a just a flutter of the heart. Love is not best expressed in a song, it is best expressed in endurance. You say that you have love because you 'feel' it? I say we have love because we have stood the test of time.
And now we have to ask, are there ever reasons for divorce? Absolutely and without a doubt. Adultery is a sin that is hard to overcome and Jesus himself acknowledged that it could be grounds for divorce. Abuse, both physical and mental could be a reason to leave someone. There is no reason to live with someone who beats you down until you're no good for them or yourself. God intended for us to encourage one another, nurture and empower each other. He is not please when there is unnecessary pain or ill treatment.
But, remember, that there can and should be forgiveness, even if there can't be reconciliation. Don Henley put it as well as anyone when he said, “you keep carrying around that anger and it will eat you up inside”. Forgiveness is the center piece of love. It can seem almost impossible to do, but God's love can actually make it possible. Forgiveness does not mean you forget, because you won't. But forgiveness is an act of the will just as love is. If is seems impossible continue to bring to before God and ask Him for the grace to do it. He is full of mercy and grace and understands being wronged for doing nothing wrong.
Love never fails - “Trust in The Lord with all of your heart and do lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight” Proverbs 3:5-6
You see, there's much disinformation about 'love' in our society. There's the definition of love as expressed in the 60's and 70's which was an open sexual expression. To 'make love' is still in our vernacular today. Love was an acceptance of those who wished to express themselves as being and acting differently from the constraints of society. Sexual promiscuity was said to be an expression of love and was celebrated as such. That was my generation. There is still a philosophy adhered to today that says love is the acceptance of those who wish to express themselves in any way they want no matter the consequence to them or society. Unfortunately, that's not love at all. Love sometimes says 'no, don't do that' because it is harmful. Love always seeks the best for others and that means protecting them from themselves and their unhealthy impulses.
There's the sentimental expression of love heard in our love songs. It could best be defined as an emotional feeling that is felt for someone and it's great when it's there, but if it's not you can leave that person in order to find another. This definition of love is erroneous and very harmful to the institution of marriage. One of the cornerstones of marriage is faithfulness, even during the times when you don't feel like you're 'in love'. Love, as the bible tells us never fails.
Which brings us to the bible verse,,,
1If I speak in the tongues[a] of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. 3If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames,[b] but have not love, I gain nothing.
The first section of the passage in my mind can be lumped together in one purpose. Verses 1-3 seems to be introducing the next few verses by saying “it doesn't matter who you are or what you accomplish in life, if you don't have love, what good is it?” It's like saying that having love is the most important thing you can strive for and that everything else is just dust in the wind. So, when you reach the end of your days and glance back you want to see a life that was expressed in love and self sacrifice. That should be the goal in life, being the expression of love. Are you a great orator? Love should still be your goal. Are you a preacher or are you a great scholar or thinker? Love should be your goal. Are you a mystical saint who can heal or express God's mysteries? Love should be your goal. Are you a volunteer who gives up their life in making other's better? Love should be your goal. If love is not your goal you have done nothing.
The second section really starts getting into the meat of the matter and starts letting us know what love really is. This section is the definition.
4Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
After reading this passage this weekend I realized how important this passage is to marriage and that everyone who marries another should read it regularly in order to examine themselves in the light of this 'light'.
I also realized just how little I express love in my own life. If these verses are the true definition of love, then I've come up woefully short. My wife and kids deserve much more from me than I have been willing to give them; I easily lose my patience and I'm often unkind; I often envy others for their gifts, especially my musician friends who seemed to have been blessed with more talent than myself; I find I often compare myself with others and wonder why they can't measure up to my stature; I can be rude and often want my own way; I don't have too much of a problem with anger, but I can remember when someone has wronged me from 20 years ago; I don't always defend the truth and laugh at some shows and movies that delight in evil. I sit here writing this and feel ashamed and hurt at how little I know about love. And I have renewed a deep desire in my heart to show my loved ones how love can be lived out instead of just talked about.
“Love is patient” - In the day-to-day passage of time there is no greater virtue than patience when living with another person. I must confess that I'm often guilty of a lack of patience. We've been married over 30 years and I can pretty well predict my wife's reaction to just about any situation. I often know exactly what she's going to say or ask me and when she fulfills my prophesy I react in a short terse manner than is rude and unnecessary. Patience values the normal and predictableness of others. Patience is not put-out with routine requests. Patience realizes that time is simply a perspective and not a master. Patience says “I know you very well and I know exactly what you're going to ask or say right now, but I just love the way you say it.” Patience is one of the highest expressions of love and was given it's position of importance in this passage by purpose.
“Love is kind” - Love treats the other with tenderness and views the other as more important than themselves. Love doesn't strike in anger or with impatience. Love understands that the inner part of a person is as fragile as a butterfly's wings, more valuable than any possession and must be treated with respect and tenderness in order for the recipient to fully grow as a person. Husbands should make it their goal in life to out-serve their wives; bring her unexpected gifts; treat her gently and softly without expecting anything in return; and boast about her to others as if he had married into royalty. Wives should look at their husbands as if they are built like Tarzan; are as brave as Indiana Jones; as resourceful as McGiver; and as handsome as Brad Pitt. They should remember that their husband is still 10 years old inside and hurtful words cut deep in their tender little hearts.
”Love does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud” - I have to give an example of one who was the opposite of this section in order to explain how I feel about it. I know a man who grew up in the old south. Although I love him, I always saw him as a proud, boastful man who had little tolerance for anyone different than himself and who ruled his house sternly and forcefully. Now, he did show love to his wife and children, but he would quickly revert to this prideful attitude when in the presence of others that he wanted to impress. He would boast of his mechanical skills, his hunting skills, his bible knowledge and anything else that promoted him in the eyes of his listeners. And this show of pride and self-exaltation only diminished him in my eyes as a person.
On the other hand I had an uncle, Uncle Bub, who laughed often; showed great patience with others; was always interested in hearing about the lives of others rather than letting everyone know what he was about. He loved children and would stop whatever he was doing to listen and talk with them. He was a big man and I suspect that he was one who would have handled himself well in a fight. But, I knew him as a gentle, kind and happy man whom I loved to be around. He was the example of love I want to follow.
Love isn't concerned as much about itself, as it is in others. Love likes to listen more than it likes to talk. Love views others as precious gyms or as priceless treasures. Love says, “I already know enough about myself, I'd rather find out more about you. You are fascinating”.
Love is not rude - Man! If we could remember this and practice it in our marriages we would do well. We should never belittle our spouse before others, no matter how funny it may seem at the time. Men in particular have very fragile egos and their wives should be aware of that when talking to their girlfriends and especially in mixed company. Men should be in the habit of building up their wives in the the presence of others, boasting of their love and abilities, and should never belittle them.
Love is not self-seeking– Love is unselfish! Love goes the extra mile in service. Love strives to out-serve others. Love gets up early, prepares their own breakfast, works hard all day, comes home tired but does not insist on being waited on. Rather, love continues to serve the ones who are the most precious to them. Love cleans up the dishes; love fixes anything that's broken without being asked; love insists that others keep their seat while he/she gets them a cool glass of water. Love says, “I think you are the most amazing person I've ever met and I am amazed that you would want to live with me. What can I do to show you how much I appreciate you putting up with me?”
Love is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. - this seems redundant after what we've already seen, but in light of a marriage it demands to be repeated. All of us will get angry. All couples with disagree. Someone is going to hurt the feelings of the one they love. But when that happens someone has to take the initiative to say “I'm sorry”. Someone has to humble themselves and be the one who is wrong even though they may not feel like they are. And when you are wronged and hurt you have to forgive the other. You have to decide that they are more important than your opinion or your feelings. Everyone has their weaknesses and blind spots and you will sometime see your spouse's as a insurmountable obstacle, until you really take time to look at yourself and realize that your faults may be even greater. There's nothing abnormal or wrong with disagreeing with someone, even your spouse, but you have to somehow find a way to work through it and put it behind you. If you don't and if you let it ferment in your gut, you will end up hurting that person and sometimes to the point where your relationship can't be salvaged. So, never go to bed angry or without forgiving and working through the problem. If you have to miss a night of sleep, count it as a small sacrifice, because if you don't get it fixed before you go to bed you'll wake up 10 times angrier in the morning, if you ever get to sleep.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. - Love is kept strong by receiving love from the source. God is love; He teaches us to love and fills us with His love. We only really understand love when we love God and understand His love for us. And we see that love is nurtured and expressed by aligning ourselves with God's truth (His word) and guarding that word in our lives. We should protect the truth and guard it in our lives and in the lives of those we love. If we let our guard down we will be easily deceived and will open ourselves and others up to many hurtful and dangerous thoughts and philosophies. Stay on guard; encourage each other to seek only the truth and walk only in the truth because in the words of a song that was popular in the 70's “there's a lot of bad everywhere”.
Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. - Love really does last. True love will stand the test of time and endure. Love protects their loved ones from anything and everything that can bring them harm. As a husband and a father I know that I would fight to the death if anyone ever tried to harm my wife or any of my children. And if I heard that someone had harmed them in my absence, they would have to deal with my wrath afterwards. I feel it is my right and duty to protect the ones I love. But, hopefully we are rarely put in the situation where we have to physically protect our loved ones. I think this verse has more to do with protecting them from the influences of evil and from lies. The verse above talks about how important the truth is, and now we see that we have to protect our loved ones from lies and half-truths. This can be more important in the long run than simply protecting them from physical harm. Man can destroy the body, but evil and lies can destroy the spirit, and that will exist forever. ”always trusts” - Love trusts their loved ones and is terribly hurt if that trust is ever broken. Trust is an essential part of any relationship and must be protected and maintained with great care. always hopes - Love only wants the very best for others and because our love is an expression of God's love it does not lose hope. always perseveres - Love does not fade. Feelings fade and will rise and fall like the tide, but love is like a mountain. It is solid and sure. It is a decision and not an emotion. It is an act of the will and not a just a flutter of the heart. Love is not best expressed in a song, it is best expressed in endurance. You say that you have love because you 'feel' it? I say we have love because we have stood the test of time.
And now we have to ask, are there ever reasons for divorce? Absolutely and without a doubt. Adultery is a sin that is hard to overcome and Jesus himself acknowledged that it could be grounds for divorce. Abuse, both physical and mental could be a reason to leave someone. There is no reason to live with someone who beats you down until you're no good for them or yourself. God intended for us to encourage one another, nurture and empower each other. He is not please when there is unnecessary pain or ill treatment.
But, remember, that there can and should be forgiveness, even if there can't be reconciliation. Don Henley put it as well as anyone when he said, “you keep carrying around that anger and it will eat you up inside”. Forgiveness is the center piece of love. It can seem almost impossible to do, but God's love can actually make it possible. Forgiveness does not mean you forget, because you won't. But forgiveness is an act of the will just as love is. If is seems impossible continue to bring to before God and ask Him for the grace to do it. He is full of mercy and grace and understands being wronged for doing nothing wrong.
Love never fails - “Trust in The Lord with all of your heart and do lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight” Proverbs 3:5-6
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Memories (Continued) - Spot was our family dog who wandered onto our porch the week I was born and stayed with us for the next 15 or so years until his untimely and tragic death from old age. I have been told that he was my baby sitter when I was a toddler. I would play in the front yard and Spot would prevent me from getting near the road by blocking my path and knocking me on my butt.
When my mom and dad left the house to go to the hospital where I was to be born dad found the dog on the front porch, covered with sores from being beaten with a chain and with the mange. He tried to shoo the dog off, but Spot had found his new home and would not leave. Dad got him cleared of the mange and healed from his beatings and adopted him into our family. His ‘owner’ showed up some time later wanting to take him home and dad quickly removed him from our property. Spot had chosen us as his new family and the dog beater would have to find another one to abuse!
Spot was a smart dog who protected his family faithfully and could instinctively sense if a visitor should be welcomed or rejected with a warning bark and/or growl. He was infinitely patient with children and very impatient with cats or other dogs who thought he could be challenged. His reputation as a cat killer was unparalleled in our neighborhood and I have watched his killing technique used relentlessly on the feline population. He would chase the cat until it tried to turn and swipe at him. At that point he would back off momentarily, but as soon as the cat turned back again to run away the dog would have its neck in his mouth and that was all she wrote. I have buried many, many cats over the years when our Spot was on the prowl.
Spot was also one of the best fighting dogs I’ve ever seen. In all the time I knew him I never saw him lose a dog fight. Back then dogs roamed freely, which meant there were often disagreements over territory and Spot always settled that problem quickly. Also, if there was a bitch in heat a group of dogs would be found circling and would eventually have to decide which one had the honors of reproducing. I can remember a huge dog fight in my uncle’s back yard and we all ran over to see the outcome. There were a number of very large dogs in the mix, but when the dust settled Spot was standing alone in the center of the circle having cleared the lot of them. I could not have been more proud of him. German shepherds, retrievers and mutts all had to yield to the old bird dog. Wherever I went on my journeys in the neighborhood or others I would make sure our dog was tagging along just in case we crossed paths with an unfriendly dog.
My granddad had a dog who was Spot’s best friend. He was a long haired mutt and the too of them were constant companions. Raggs was hit by a car one day in front of my grandparent’s house and apparently Spot was there to witness it. He pulled Raggs out of the road and into a ditch and then stood guard over him until my granddad could go out and retrieve him. It was a sad time for the family but we were so amazed at our dog’s behavior when confronted with his friend’s death. He really seemed to understand the situation and was very pissed.
Dogs are special to children and adults alike and often the most common and non-pedigree seem to turn out the best. Spot was just a dog. There was nothing special about his breed and he was probably bred to hunt, but there was something special about him to our family. To us he should have been recognized in the halls of lore and venerated as a giant among his peers, but he was just a dog and I’m sure many families have as many tales to tell. My older brother and I used to argue over whose dog he was. I maintained he was mine since he showed up when I was born and I felt like he hung out with me more. He maintains Spot was his dog because he hung out with Spot more when I was just a baby and therefore had more quality time with him. Of course, he was everyone’s dog who belonged to our family and everyone appreciated and loved him equally.
I’ll never forget that dog fight either. Man, he could fight!
More memories to come,,,
When my mom and dad left the house to go to the hospital where I was to be born dad found the dog on the front porch, covered with sores from being beaten with a chain and with the mange. He tried to shoo the dog off, but Spot had found his new home and would not leave. Dad got him cleared of the mange and healed from his beatings and adopted him into our family. His ‘owner’ showed up some time later wanting to take him home and dad quickly removed him from our property. Spot had chosen us as his new family and the dog beater would have to find another one to abuse!
Spot was a smart dog who protected his family faithfully and could instinctively sense if a visitor should be welcomed or rejected with a warning bark and/or growl. He was infinitely patient with children and very impatient with cats or other dogs who thought he could be challenged. His reputation as a cat killer was unparalleled in our neighborhood and I have watched his killing technique used relentlessly on the feline population. He would chase the cat until it tried to turn and swipe at him. At that point he would back off momentarily, but as soon as the cat turned back again to run away the dog would have its neck in his mouth and that was all she wrote. I have buried many, many cats over the years when our Spot was on the prowl.
Spot was also one of the best fighting dogs I’ve ever seen. In all the time I knew him I never saw him lose a dog fight. Back then dogs roamed freely, which meant there were often disagreements over territory and Spot always settled that problem quickly. Also, if there was a bitch in heat a group of dogs would be found circling and would eventually have to decide which one had the honors of reproducing. I can remember a huge dog fight in my uncle’s back yard and we all ran over to see the outcome. There were a number of very large dogs in the mix, but when the dust settled Spot was standing alone in the center of the circle having cleared the lot of them. I could not have been more proud of him. German shepherds, retrievers and mutts all had to yield to the old bird dog. Wherever I went on my journeys in the neighborhood or others I would make sure our dog was tagging along just in case we crossed paths with an unfriendly dog.
My granddad had a dog who was Spot’s best friend. He was a long haired mutt and the too of them were constant companions. Raggs was hit by a car one day in front of my grandparent’s house and apparently Spot was there to witness it. He pulled Raggs out of the road and into a ditch and then stood guard over him until my granddad could go out and retrieve him. It was a sad time for the family but we were so amazed at our dog’s behavior when confronted with his friend’s death. He really seemed to understand the situation and was very pissed.
Dogs are special to children and adults alike and often the most common and non-pedigree seem to turn out the best. Spot was just a dog. There was nothing special about his breed and he was probably bred to hunt, but there was something special about him to our family. To us he should have been recognized in the halls of lore and venerated as a giant among his peers, but he was just a dog and I’m sure many families have as many tales to tell. My older brother and I used to argue over whose dog he was. I maintained he was mine since he showed up when I was born and I felt like he hung out with me more. He maintains Spot was his dog because he hung out with Spot more when I was just a baby and therefore had more quality time with him. Of course, he was everyone’s dog who belonged to our family and everyone appreciated and loved him equally.
I’ll never forget that dog fight either. Man, he could fight!
More memories to come,,,
Friday, September 18, 2009
Memories - I’ve been looking at some old photos on the web today and it got me reminiscing of my childhood a little. I realized that the scenes of my youth are getting sketchier every year and it’s a bit disconcerting. It’s not a movie anymore, just random photos implanted in my memory and they seem to be fading quickly. It’s strange how some scenes seem to be firmly established and remain over the years and there does not seem to be a rhyme or reason for it all. For instance, we lived in a rural area and our backyard was never planted in grass. It was just dirt with a healthy crop of small to medium sized rocks. I can vividly remember running barefoot across that yard to go next door to my grandmother’s and marveling that it didn’t hurt. It was the first time I realized how tough my feet had become. Just a snap shot of childhood that somehow made the grade and stay in my brain. I can remember using a brick to cut roads in that same dirt to play with my toy cars and trucks with, and I can remember collecting civil war mini-balls after it rained.
Like I said, we lived in a rural area and there were acres of woods behind our house. Our house was built on brick pilings and was open to the elements. Our dog, Spot, would chase skunks up under there and they would spray, running us out and to my grandmothers until the smell receded. There were also encounters with snakes, squirrels and other wildlife, but I’ll never forget the skunks.
My older brother was 4 years older than me so we didn’t play together much. He had his friends and I had mine and we usually kept our distance from each other. I was playing with his bee-bee gun one day with my friends and he demanded it from me. Not liking to be bossed around by my brother and not wanting to seem small in front of my friends, I refused. He did not like to be told ‘no’ so he advanced on me with jaw set. I simply raised the barrel of the gun and warmed him to stop or I would shoot. He still advanced and I shot him in the belly with the gun, dropped it and ran for my life. Fortunately for both of us, it only stung him.
We lived next to a railroad and even as very young kids would play on them as if they were our own little playground. We lived next to a cut on a curve so you had to listen out for the trains or they would be on you before you knew it. We scaled the hills on either side of the cut, making narrow paths to travel up and down the banks. We would play on the train cars when they were stationary, probably due to some switching being done further down the line. And we would ride them for a ways before they could get up to much speed before jumping off into the soft dirt of the bank. I can remember riding a train once and it got its speed very quickly and I had to jump off at the last possible place for a soft landing. The speed was so great by that time that when I jumped I had no control over my arms and legs, they just swung all over the place as I flew through the air. I must have been okay after the landing because I don’t recall being hurt bad enough to tell mom.
There was a cave that someone had dug into a bank in our woods that we called the hobo cave. We thought that train traveling hobos had dug it to sleep in one their journeys. This was a magical place for young boys and we played in it for hours and on the banks of the hill in which it was dug. It was a pretty good hike for us to get there from my house but back then parents just didn’t worry about their kids spending the day in the woods or neighborhood. And we knew the woods as well as someone would know their neighborhood. There were the top ridges where we played soldier (these included on civil war trenches that we used in our wars) and steep cuts that sloped to the creeks; there were sections of the creeks that had their own personalities and attractions, such as the ‘picnic area’ that resembled a place where one would want to visit with your family for a meal, and the swampy area that led to the train track culvert. There was the cut field that a contractor had cleared and abandoned. It had great erosion ravines that became our battlegrounds. And the field itself was covered in small pines that stood like soldiers in formation. All in all, it was a great place to grow up and use an over-active imagination.
Our grammar school was about a mile away and down the hill (we lived on ‘highland’). All the guys who lived around me would meet together and ride our bikes down the hill to school. You felt so empowered when you rode in a group like that. You felt accepted and important to be included. But coming home was murder. The hill was steep and long and seemed impossible to climb. It was our goal to make it all the way up the hill without stopping and I don’t think I did it until my last year at the school. And that was the year that my face met pavement on the way down the hill one morning. It was the first day back after Christmas vacation and I can still recall it vividly. I had redesigned my bike with a new seat and handle bars that I got for Christmas and was in the middle of the pack of boys hurdling down the hill as fast as we could go. And on the steepest part of the hill my handle bars started swaying back and forth and I could not get them to stop. The next thing I remember I was picking myself up off the road and being helped into the car of one of the teachers. I didn’t cry until I saw my mom.
More to come,,,
Like I said, we lived in a rural area and there were acres of woods behind our house. Our house was built on brick pilings and was open to the elements. Our dog, Spot, would chase skunks up under there and they would spray, running us out and to my grandmothers until the smell receded. There were also encounters with snakes, squirrels and other wildlife, but I’ll never forget the skunks.
My older brother was 4 years older than me so we didn’t play together much. He had his friends and I had mine and we usually kept our distance from each other. I was playing with his bee-bee gun one day with my friends and he demanded it from me. Not liking to be bossed around by my brother and not wanting to seem small in front of my friends, I refused. He did not like to be told ‘no’ so he advanced on me with jaw set. I simply raised the barrel of the gun and warmed him to stop or I would shoot. He still advanced and I shot him in the belly with the gun, dropped it and ran for my life. Fortunately for both of us, it only stung him.
We lived next to a railroad and even as very young kids would play on them as if they were our own little playground. We lived next to a cut on a curve so you had to listen out for the trains or they would be on you before you knew it. We scaled the hills on either side of the cut, making narrow paths to travel up and down the banks. We would play on the train cars when they were stationary, probably due to some switching being done further down the line. And we would ride them for a ways before they could get up to much speed before jumping off into the soft dirt of the bank. I can remember riding a train once and it got its speed very quickly and I had to jump off at the last possible place for a soft landing. The speed was so great by that time that when I jumped I had no control over my arms and legs, they just swung all over the place as I flew through the air. I must have been okay after the landing because I don’t recall being hurt bad enough to tell mom.
There was a cave that someone had dug into a bank in our woods that we called the hobo cave. We thought that train traveling hobos had dug it to sleep in one their journeys. This was a magical place for young boys and we played in it for hours and on the banks of the hill in which it was dug. It was a pretty good hike for us to get there from my house but back then parents just didn’t worry about their kids spending the day in the woods or neighborhood. And we knew the woods as well as someone would know their neighborhood. There were the top ridges where we played soldier (these included on civil war trenches that we used in our wars) and steep cuts that sloped to the creeks; there were sections of the creeks that had their own personalities and attractions, such as the ‘picnic area’ that resembled a place where one would want to visit with your family for a meal, and the swampy area that led to the train track culvert. There was the cut field that a contractor had cleared and abandoned. It had great erosion ravines that became our battlegrounds. And the field itself was covered in small pines that stood like soldiers in formation. All in all, it was a great place to grow up and use an over-active imagination.
Our grammar school was about a mile away and down the hill (we lived on ‘highland’). All the guys who lived around me would meet together and ride our bikes down the hill to school. You felt so empowered when you rode in a group like that. You felt accepted and important to be included. But coming home was murder. The hill was steep and long and seemed impossible to climb. It was our goal to make it all the way up the hill without stopping and I don’t think I did it until my last year at the school. And that was the year that my face met pavement on the way down the hill one morning. It was the first day back after Christmas vacation and I can still recall it vividly. I had redesigned my bike with a new seat and handle bars that I got for Christmas and was in the middle of the pack of boys hurdling down the hill as fast as we could go. And on the steepest part of the hill my handle bars started swaying back and forth and I could not get them to stop. The next thing I remember I was picking myself up off the road and being helped into the car of one of the teachers. I didn’t cry until I saw my mom.
More to come,,,
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Things I like:
Kids – I put this first because they bring so much joy to my life. Most kids are open and honest in all their dealings. Sure, you'll find one occasionally who's been corrupted by adults by letting them have their own way for too long, but for the most part they're easy to deal with.
As we get older we're influenced by others as to what they think is right and wrong, cool or uncool, proper and improper, but most children are innocent to these leanings. They talk without inhibition and prejudice and will kiss you, hug you, give you five, without worrying about what others might think. I love it when I'm in a store somewhere and some kid who does not know me from Adam will instinctively wave and say hi. He's not afraid if I'll say hi back or not, he's just a friendly kid who knows how to get a smile out of a stranger.
I also like to entertain and play with kids. I love to spark their imagination and tell them stories and aggravate and kid them. I love to see them smile and laugh and aggravate me back. I like to see them climb trees, roll down hills, collect cool rocks and pine cones, cuddle kittens and puppies, stomp in mud puddles and dig in the dirt. There is so much joy and wonderment lost to us as we grown older, and watching kids can spark that in our hearts again.
Music – If you know me you know I love music. I've been playing music since I was in the 6th grade and have never grown tired of it. I just moved from instrument to instrument and started writing. I love to create and write my own music. It's a gift from God and I love being able to bless others through doing it. I also find a great deal of joy and happiness from playing music with others. There's just something magical about taking a song and making it your own with other people.
Landscaping/Yard Work - I like this because it gives me another creative outlet. I'm able to spend time working and thinking and planning long term instead of worrying about a deadline or anyone else. When you're involve in church work there is always a deadline or meeting or something that demands your attention and involves a certain amount of stress. Work also has some built in stress that happens with all jobs and working in the yard is a way to lose that stress and think through things. When you push a lawn mower, your mind doesn't have to think about what it's doing. It can spend it's energy on solving all the problems that you've neglected to work through. And let's face it, you can't do that watching T.V.
Landscaping also has the element of creativity that makes it very attractive to me. It takes me some time to think through things because of both my color blindness and inexperience, but yard work is also forgiving. I can dig it up and move it, or give it away if it doesn't 'fit' what I'm doing. It's like a haircut, if you don't like it now just change it next time. For instance, I wanted something to cover a poured concrete wall out front and kept looking around until I discovered sweet potato vines. It worked perfectly, although it has to be trimmed about once a week or it will take over the whole yard. It took me over a year to find what I wanted, but once I did I was happy.
But inexperience is a challenge to me. I'm not really good with reading stuff and remembering them if it involves details. I'm more of a “try it and do it over if it doesn't work”, kind of guy. And that can be expensive if you're not careful. So, I look at my yard from every angle, look at other yards to see how theirs look and then plant one thing at a time. Occasionally I'll draw out a whole scene like I've recently done with an area of my backyard, but it's taken me 3 years to get it right in my head.
Sex - Okay, you don't want to hear about it and I don't want to share about it. Sorry!
Eating Out - My wife and I love to eat out. It's grown out of a habit we established when we were first married from dating every Friday night if we could. We love to go out with others and eat, sit, talk, eat, sit, talk, etc. I think it's one of the most important things in our lives and I believe it was invented in heaven (my own idea, not God's).
Spending Time With Family - Usually, there is no other time better spent. It can be the most relaxing and invigorating time you can invest in. We love to sit out on the driveway and watch the kids play; cook breakfast at night; sit on the deck or porch and talk; go shopping; go camping; or just watch a movie together. There's a comfort and security that's felt when you are with the ones you love. Even if there's something you have to be brutally honest about, it's always better doing it with family.
Getting up Early on Saturdays and Sundays and Sitting on the Front Porch - My time. I either listen to the radio, read, or just think, but it's my time, my place, alone and in the quiet. Everyone should have a 'place' that they can retreat to and be alone. How else can God speak to us if we are always around someone or something that captures our attention?
Writing - I think that’s rather obvious, right?
.
Kids – I put this first because they bring so much joy to my life. Most kids are open and honest in all their dealings. Sure, you'll find one occasionally who's been corrupted by adults by letting them have their own way for too long, but for the most part they're easy to deal with.
As we get older we're influenced by others as to what they think is right and wrong, cool or uncool, proper and improper, but most children are innocent to these leanings. They talk without inhibition and prejudice and will kiss you, hug you, give you five, without worrying about what others might think. I love it when I'm in a store somewhere and some kid who does not know me from Adam will instinctively wave and say hi. He's not afraid if I'll say hi back or not, he's just a friendly kid who knows how to get a smile out of a stranger.
I also like to entertain and play with kids. I love to spark their imagination and tell them stories and aggravate and kid them. I love to see them smile and laugh and aggravate me back. I like to see them climb trees, roll down hills, collect cool rocks and pine cones, cuddle kittens and puppies, stomp in mud puddles and dig in the dirt. There is so much joy and wonderment lost to us as we grown older, and watching kids can spark that in our hearts again.
Music – If you know me you know I love music. I've been playing music since I was in the 6th grade and have never grown tired of it. I just moved from instrument to instrument and started writing. I love to create and write my own music. It's a gift from God and I love being able to bless others through doing it. I also find a great deal of joy and happiness from playing music with others. There's just something magical about taking a song and making it your own with other people.
Landscaping/Yard Work - I like this because it gives me another creative outlet. I'm able to spend time working and thinking and planning long term instead of worrying about a deadline or anyone else. When you're involve in church work there is always a deadline or meeting or something that demands your attention and involves a certain amount of stress. Work also has some built in stress that happens with all jobs and working in the yard is a way to lose that stress and think through things. When you push a lawn mower, your mind doesn't have to think about what it's doing. It can spend it's energy on solving all the problems that you've neglected to work through. And let's face it, you can't do that watching T.V.
Landscaping also has the element of creativity that makes it very attractive to me. It takes me some time to think through things because of both my color blindness and inexperience, but yard work is also forgiving. I can dig it up and move it, or give it away if it doesn't 'fit' what I'm doing. It's like a haircut, if you don't like it now just change it next time. For instance, I wanted something to cover a poured concrete wall out front and kept looking around until I discovered sweet potato vines. It worked perfectly, although it has to be trimmed about once a week or it will take over the whole yard. It took me over a year to find what I wanted, but once I did I was happy.
But inexperience is a challenge to me. I'm not really good with reading stuff and remembering them if it involves details. I'm more of a “try it and do it over if it doesn't work”, kind of guy. And that can be expensive if you're not careful. So, I look at my yard from every angle, look at other yards to see how theirs look and then plant one thing at a time. Occasionally I'll draw out a whole scene like I've recently done with an area of my backyard, but it's taken me 3 years to get it right in my head.
Sex - Okay, you don't want to hear about it and I don't want to share about it. Sorry!
Eating Out - My wife and I love to eat out. It's grown out of a habit we established when we were first married from dating every Friday night if we could. We love to go out with others and eat, sit, talk, eat, sit, talk, etc. I think it's one of the most important things in our lives and I believe it was invented in heaven (my own idea, not God's).
Spending Time With Family - Usually, there is no other time better spent. It can be the most relaxing and invigorating time you can invest in. We love to sit out on the driveway and watch the kids play; cook breakfast at night; sit on the deck or porch and talk; go shopping; go camping; or just watch a movie together. There's a comfort and security that's felt when you are with the ones you love. Even if there's something you have to be brutally honest about, it's always better doing it with family.
Getting up Early on Saturdays and Sundays and Sitting on the Front Porch - My time. I either listen to the radio, read, or just think, but it's my time, my place, alone and in the quiet. Everyone should have a 'place' that they can retreat to and be alone. How else can God speak to us if we are always around someone or something that captures our attention?
Writing - I think that’s rather obvious, right?
.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
A Weekend at Church
And that’s what it felt like, the whole weekend. Actually, it was most of Saturday and half of Sunday, but it seemed like we just blew right past the weekend with hardly a breath of air. We had our annual Mission’s conference and my wife is the leader for that little team, so we had to be there most of both days to be sure everything was taken care of. Of course, the time I spent there was nothing compared to the ladies who spent all day Saturday and a good bit of Sunday morning cooking.
I got in rather late of Friday after helping my son move some furniture, then stopping by the Sports Café in Villa Rica to hear a buddy’s band play. Moving the furniture was supposed to be easy but we couldn’t get the sofa in the front door. We turned that sofa in every direction we could and it just would not fit in the opening. We even tried to force it in, but wood is a very stubborn thing and will not bend or squeeze. We ended up having to take a leg off. Nathan will fix that later.
Anyway, I was a little tired on Saturday morning from that bit of work and then spending time at a bar. I had to get up early to get to the church for an 8 o’clock meeting and it was a jammed packed day from that time on. Kathy and I put up banners after that, then I had to run home and put new brakes on my car (a much harder endeavor than it should have been). I took a shower and headed back to the church to prepare for the dinner that night in honor of the missionaries. And then, after cleaning up, we went home and I worked on music stuff for Sunday.
An interesting little incident occurred Saturday when Kathy and I stopped at Quisnos for lunch. We were waiting in line and a nice young man was behind the counter attempting to make a sandwich for a very rude and impatient man. The man showed very little tolerance for the employee’s attempt to understand what exactly it was he wanted and I quickly grew tired of the man’s attitude. “I WANT A TUNA FISH SANDWICH, DON’T YOU KNOW WHAT A TUNA FISH SANDWICH IS?” he asked rather loudly.
I think the problem was that the store had a menu that the young man was used to and the older rude guy wanted it done HIS way. This guy was dressed like he was transported out of the 50’s, with a straw hat, round spectacles and neatly ironed shorts and shirt. And, I thought later that the guy may actually have been a racist instead of just being an intolerant, rude jerk. At any rate, I listened to him try to humiliate the young man for a minute or 2 then spoke up, “look, you don’t have to be rude, he’s just trying to get your order right”. I said this matter-of-factly with little emotion and without raising my voice. I was actually leaning on wall and patiently waiting my turn. He turned to look at me as if he was sizing me up, then threw up his arms in disgust and announced that the order could just be cancelled and he stormed out. Good riddance. I think the store would have cheered if they hadn’t felt so uncomfortable and nervous over the whole thing. People are afraid to speak up now days, and rightly so. You don’t know if someone will return and shoot the place up later.
Sunday arrived as early as Saturday. I had to get to church early to get things ready for the band to arrive for warm up. We went through that and the service, then a luncheon for the church, which led us to another cleanup. But, even with all of that we managed to get home by 3pm. Took a short nap and headed to Hiram to meet friends for dinner.
And, even though it was a busy weekend, it was good to meet old friends again (returning missionaries) and spend time with others. I had to take off Monday to take the tables back to the rental place and do some running around and was able to relax a bit in the afternoon. I’m just thankful I still have the health and energy to exert on something like this. I don’t know how I’ll enjoy getting old, but I shouldn’t have to think about that for at least 30 more years.
And that’s what it felt like, the whole weekend. Actually, it was most of Saturday and half of Sunday, but it seemed like we just blew right past the weekend with hardly a breath of air. We had our annual Mission’s conference and my wife is the leader for that little team, so we had to be there most of both days to be sure everything was taken care of. Of course, the time I spent there was nothing compared to the ladies who spent all day Saturday and a good bit of Sunday morning cooking.
I got in rather late of Friday after helping my son move some furniture, then stopping by the Sports Café in Villa Rica to hear a buddy’s band play. Moving the furniture was supposed to be easy but we couldn’t get the sofa in the front door. We turned that sofa in every direction we could and it just would not fit in the opening. We even tried to force it in, but wood is a very stubborn thing and will not bend or squeeze. We ended up having to take a leg off. Nathan will fix that later.
Anyway, I was a little tired on Saturday morning from that bit of work and then spending time at a bar. I had to get up early to get to the church for an 8 o’clock meeting and it was a jammed packed day from that time on. Kathy and I put up banners after that, then I had to run home and put new brakes on my car (a much harder endeavor than it should have been). I took a shower and headed back to the church to prepare for the dinner that night in honor of the missionaries. And then, after cleaning up, we went home and I worked on music stuff for Sunday.
An interesting little incident occurred Saturday when Kathy and I stopped at Quisnos for lunch. We were waiting in line and a nice young man was behind the counter attempting to make a sandwich for a very rude and impatient man. The man showed very little tolerance for the employee’s attempt to understand what exactly it was he wanted and I quickly grew tired of the man’s attitude. “I WANT A TUNA FISH SANDWICH, DON’T YOU KNOW WHAT A TUNA FISH SANDWICH IS?” he asked rather loudly.
I think the problem was that the store had a menu that the young man was used to and the older rude guy wanted it done HIS way. This guy was dressed like he was transported out of the 50’s, with a straw hat, round spectacles and neatly ironed shorts and shirt. And, I thought later that the guy may actually have been a racist instead of just being an intolerant, rude jerk. At any rate, I listened to him try to humiliate the young man for a minute or 2 then spoke up, “look, you don’t have to be rude, he’s just trying to get your order right”. I said this matter-of-factly with little emotion and without raising my voice. I was actually leaning on wall and patiently waiting my turn. He turned to look at me as if he was sizing me up, then threw up his arms in disgust and announced that the order could just be cancelled and he stormed out. Good riddance. I think the store would have cheered if they hadn’t felt so uncomfortable and nervous over the whole thing. People are afraid to speak up now days, and rightly so. You don’t know if someone will return and shoot the place up later.
Sunday arrived as early as Saturday. I had to get to church early to get things ready for the band to arrive for warm up. We went through that and the service, then a luncheon for the church, which led us to another cleanup. But, even with all of that we managed to get home by 3pm. Took a short nap and headed to Hiram to meet friends for dinner.
And, even though it was a busy weekend, it was good to meet old friends again (returning missionaries) and spend time with others. I had to take off Monday to take the tables back to the rental place and do some running around and was able to relax a bit in the afternoon. I’m just thankful I still have the health and energy to exert on something like this. I don’t know how I’ll enjoy getting old, but I shouldn’t have to think about that for at least 30 more years.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Pizza night last night. I love pizza. I can’t think of any other food that is as enjoyable on a tight budget and is as quick to prepare. There’s just something right about mixing cheese with bread and tomato paste. Last night it was Tuscany cheese with pepperoni and onions for me. The wife and grandkids ate just a plain old cheese pizza. Kathy had called Joy and asked if they wanted to go in together with us since we could get a 2nd pizza for .25. Tony had to work late so Joy was happy to join us. Chase and I ate ours quickly and greedily while Taylor picked over one piece like it was worms and dirt. How that child survives I’ll never know. Hunter (who is almost 2) ate his with gusto too, although he also entertained himself with his ranch dressing and loved squeezing it through his fingers. We have all learned to eat our pizza with Ranch dressing after my wife started using it.
I spent a few more minutes just playing with the kids and helping Chase on the computer. I had to get back to the house and get my musical gear packed for practice today so I couldn’t spend long hanging around. Hunter did not like it when I had to say goodbye. It’s like I’m leaving forever when I pull myself away from his grasp. So, Mawmaw picked him up and said that he could way ‘bye’ to me from the front porch and he was soothed. He waved while I backed out of the driveway and headed up the road. I thought “man, what would it be like if everyone viewed your departure in such a manner? It would be great for a person’s self-esteem to have someone fuss over them like that all the time”. I put that as a note in the back of my mind and will try it sometime soon on someone as an experiment. Of course, I won’t cry and slobber, but I think there may be a way to let someone know how much they mean to you be fussing over their departure a little more. It certainly makes me feel good as a Pawpaw to have my grandchildren not want me to leave. It makes me feel as if I’m doing a good job as their grandparent. So, how can I make other people feel good about themselves without coming right out and saying “you’re doing a great job”? Well, I’ll have to think about that because I think it’s a worthy thing to do.
I spent a few more minutes just playing with the kids and helping Chase on the computer. I had to get back to the house and get my musical gear packed for practice today so I couldn’t spend long hanging around. Hunter did not like it when I had to say goodbye. It’s like I’m leaving forever when I pull myself away from his grasp. So, Mawmaw picked him up and said that he could way ‘bye’ to me from the front porch and he was soothed. He waved while I backed out of the driveway and headed up the road. I thought “man, what would it be like if everyone viewed your departure in such a manner? It would be great for a person’s self-esteem to have someone fuss over them like that all the time”. I put that as a note in the back of my mind and will try it sometime soon on someone as an experiment. Of course, I won’t cry and slobber, but I think there may be a way to let someone know how much they mean to you be fussing over their departure a little more. It certainly makes me feel good as a Pawpaw to have my grandchildren not want me to leave. It makes me feel as if I’m doing a good job as their grandparent. So, how can I make other people feel good about themselves without coming right out and saying “you’re doing a great job”? Well, I’ll have to think about that because I think it’s a worthy thing to do.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Labor Day Weekend - So, we all had a long weekend, at least most of us did. I know my good friend David had to work a ½ day yesterday because he’s a tax accountant and the tax man cometh regardless of the holidays. I spent the day cleaning and organizing around the house as well as watching a bit of T.V. with the wife. It was a relaxing day really, without a long list of tiring chores to accomplish since I got most of the yard work done on Sunday. I also did a bit of guitar playing yesterday after I tidied up the office. A friend loaned me a wah-wah pedal and I played around with that a while, practicing a song we’re doing next Sunday. For someone like me who’s not really much of an electric guitar player it makes playing so much more fun and forgiving. I can play a simple little blues scale and it actually sounds good to the ear, rather than mechanical. I love electronics.
As I’ve mentioned recently, my step-dad had open heart surgery a week ago, so we went over there on Saturday and I cut the grass for him while my brother fixed things inside and our wives cleaned and took mom shopping. It was a work day, but we also cooked out and visited a bit too.
Cutting grass at Papa James’s house is like running an obstacle course. James loves plants and loves to place them in the ground, but not necessarily in any sort of order or with my forethought. Apparently he just walks around and puts them in the ground whenever the spirit moves him. I’m not sure if he uses a divining rod or not, but trying to cut around that stuff is a major challenge. I could have probably cut off a good 30 minutes of cutting time if there were a 5 foot patch of grass anywhere in the acre or so of yard. Constant turning and adjusting the speed of the mower as well as circling every plant can really cut away on your time. And there was one part of the yard that had a plant placed about every 4 square foot and most them had either thorns or knife-like leaves that had to be carefully avoided lest you become skewered or sliced. This is in addition to the cactus hanging baskets in the back yard. Those are hung from large limbs and are about head level while on the mower. When I encountered the first one I reached out to move it and realized at the last second that it was a cactus. I’m so glad I’ve still got some reflexes left and managed to pull my hand away at the last second. I’m thinking of renting the yard to the military for an obstacle course. If they can make it through that yard without injuries they’re ready for combat.
I also did the weed eating around all of the plants (a neighbor helped in the front) and edged his driveway. I don't believe it had ever been edged before even though there's an unused gas edger in the barn. I used my edger that I had brought with me and realized after I was done that I need a new blade now.
But, he and mom were grateful for the help and the company Saturday. I’m just hoping that the yard won’t need much more work the rest of the year, because I still have to cut mine too and with the rain we’ve been getting it is a challenge to keep up with lately.
So, all in all the weekend was nice and productive. We got to see Joy and her kids on Sunday. The kids stayed with us overnight and that was nice. Taylor and I got up first on Monday and spent a while on the front porch talking. She talks almost non-stop and I had to make a mental note not to drift off and miss anything. Children that age are the most precious to me because they love spending time with you and don’t mind just sitting and talking.
She tried to sing "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" for me and got most of it done. She also explained the rules that Santa has, "You have to be good or he'll bring you rocks or sticks or mud. Not nice!" she said matter of factly and with a little role of the eyes.
When Chase finally arrived the three of us watered and fertilized all my flowers. The kids love to help doing that and I enjoyed the company. Of course, when Hunter wakes up it’s battle stations for everyone. For such a small bundle he seems to have been packaged with extra batteries. He is literally non-stop and demands to be involved in everything in the house hold. It’s as if he is afraid he’ll miss learning and doing something that the others are privileged to do and he’s determined to show everyone that he can do it too. We love to have him over, but always breathe a sigh of relief when he’s out the door. He’s a perfect example of why young people were designed to have children. The older we get, the less energy we have in reserve.
All in all it was a good 4 day weekend that leaves you refreshed and with a feeling of accomplishment. I’m not dreading the work week but I’m a little concerned about my after work schedule. I’ve something every night of the week and that’s not something I like to do. Oh well, it’s good to be busy and getting something worthwhile done I guess. I wish I could say I'll rest up next weekend, but won't. It's the Missions Conference weekend at church and my wife will be sure to keep me busy with that (she's the leader of the thing).
As I’ve mentioned recently, my step-dad had open heart surgery a week ago, so we went over there on Saturday and I cut the grass for him while my brother fixed things inside and our wives cleaned and took mom shopping. It was a work day, but we also cooked out and visited a bit too.
Cutting grass at Papa James’s house is like running an obstacle course. James loves plants and loves to place them in the ground, but not necessarily in any sort of order or with my forethought. Apparently he just walks around and puts them in the ground whenever the spirit moves him. I’m not sure if he uses a divining rod or not, but trying to cut around that stuff is a major challenge. I could have probably cut off a good 30 minutes of cutting time if there were a 5 foot patch of grass anywhere in the acre or so of yard. Constant turning and adjusting the speed of the mower as well as circling every plant can really cut away on your time. And there was one part of the yard that had a plant placed about every 4 square foot and most them had either thorns or knife-like leaves that had to be carefully avoided lest you become skewered or sliced. This is in addition to the cactus hanging baskets in the back yard. Those are hung from large limbs and are about head level while on the mower. When I encountered the first one I reached out to move it and realized at the last second that it was a cactus. I’m so glad I’ve still got some reflexes left and managed to pull my hand away at the last second. I’m thinking of renting the yard to the military for an obstacle course. If they can make it through that yard without injuries they’re ready for combat.
I also did the weed eating around all of the plants (a neighbor helped in the front) and edged his driveway. I don't believe it had ever been edged before even though there's an unused gas edger in the barn. I used my edger that I had brought with me and realized after I was done that I need a new blade now.
But, he and mom were grateful for the help and the company Saturday. I’m just hoping that the yard won’t need much more work the rest of the year, because I still have to cut mine too and with the rain we’ve been getting it is a challenge to keep up with lately.
So, all in all the weekend was nice and productive. We got to see Joy and her kids on Sunday. The kids stayed with us overnight and that was nice. Taylor and I got up first on Monday and spent a while on the front porch talking. She talks almost non-stop and I had to make a mental note not to drift off and miss anything. Children that age are the most precious to me because they love spending time with you and don’t mind just sitting and talking.
She tried to sing "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" for me and got most of it done. She also explained the rules that Santa has, "You have to be good or he'll bring you rocks or sticks or mud. Not nice!" she said matter of factly and with a little role of the eyes.
When Chase finally arrived the three of us watered and fertilized all my flowers. The kids love to help doing that and I enjoyed the company. Of course, when Hunter wakes up it’s battle stations for everyone. For such a small bundle he seems to have been packaged with extra batteries. He is literally non-stop and demands to be involved in everything in the house hold. It’s as if he is afraid he’ll miss learning and doing something that the others are privileged to do and he’s determined to show everyone that he can do it too. We love to have him over, but always breathe a sigh of relief when he’s out the door. He’s a perfect example of why young people were designed to have children. The older we get, the less energy we have in reserve.
All in all it was a good 4 day weekend that leaves you refreshed and with a feeling of accomplishment. I’m not dreading the work week but I’m a little concerned about my after work schedule. I’ve something every night of the week and that’s not something I like to do. Oh well, it’s good to be busy and getting something worthwhile done I guess. I wish I could say I'll rest up next weekend, but won't. It's the Missions Conference weekend at church and my wife will be sure to keep me busy with that (she's the leader of the thing).
Friday, September 4, 2009
Coffee House Music – I have a short gig on Sunday at church. I’ll be doing some of my songs before service in the atrium. We have a coffee station there with some pastries available and there are chairs and tables scattered around which makes it like a coffee house experience. If you’ve never played something like this, it is a strange way to present music. People are not really expected to sit quietly and listen. They are sipping on coffee, eating their donuts and talking. We will play and sing and not expect much direct attention or feedback. This can be both enjoyable and disconcerting. It’s enjoyable in that there’s a certain amount of security in performing and not worrying if anybody cares or not. On the other hand, it’s disconcerting for the same reason, you wonder if anyone really cares if you’re there or not and whether it’s worth your time and effort. It doesn’t really matter to me. I’m just thankful I have a place to play and sing and I hope someone listens to at least some of it and enjoys it. I like playing with my buddies because their contribution makes the music come alive and makes it more fun for me. When you’re sitting at home alone writing music and then practicing it, it can sound a bit hollow and weak. But when you add a bass guitar and some ‘lead’ guitar behind it, it really becomes what you’re hearing in your head.
Dennis and I practiced a while last night. He’s played some of the songs so it didn’t take much to get them down pat, but a couple of the songs are written in a folk/country style and he’s never played that style before. It’s an alternating bass pattern that is used by finger pickers and I’m wanting to do 3 songs that use that pattern, so it took us a few times on each song before he got the hang of it. He’s very talented though and after a few runs through he had it down pretty well. I’ll record them tonight at home and email them to him so he’ll have something to practice with at home (the wonders of technology).
I’m also using a new set-up for presenting the music and that’s a little bit of a challenge. I have a new amp that I can play the guitar through with built in chorus, and I can run my vocals through it and use delay on them, plus it has an aux-in to use with my IPOD. That will be nice because I can record a drum pattern on my Mac using Garage Band, import the track into Itunes, then download them onto my IPOD. It’s really not as confusing as it sounds and shouldn’t take me more than an hour to have a track for almost all the songs we’re doing. But, the challenging part is to balance all the music coming out of the speaker while playing it live. I want to set the levels once and not have to tweak it during our performance because the amp will be on a stand about a foot or more above my head and will function as the P.A.
All of this takes careful planning, a lot of prep work, practice and more practice and not a small amount of fretting, but it will be worth it if it comes off like we want it to. We’ve been doing this long enough to be prepared for most any problem that arises and work through them. Plus, we’re doing it before friends and they are very forgiving.
Dennis and I practiced a while last night. He’s played some of the songs so it didn’t take much to get them down pat, but a couple of the songs are written in a folk/country style and he’s never played that style before. It’s an alternating bass pattern that is used by finger pickers and I’m wanting to do 3 songs that use that pattern, so it took us a few times on each song before he got the hang of it. He’s very talented though and after a few runs through he had it down pretty well. I’ll record them tonight at home and email them to him so he’ll have something to practice with at home (the wonders of technology).
I’m also using a new set-up for presenting the music and that’s a little bit of a challenge. I have a new amp that I can play the guitar through with built in chorus, and I can run my vocals through it and use delay on them, plus it has an aux-in to use with my IPOD. That will be nice because I can record a drum pattern on my Mac using Garage Band, import the track into Itunes, then download them onto my IPOD. It’s really not as confusing as it sounds and shouldn’t take me more than an hour to have a track for almost all the songs we’re doing. But, the challenging part is to balance all the music coming out of the speaker while playing it live. I want to set the levels once and not have to tweak it during our performance because the amp will be on a stand about a foot or more above my head and will function as the P.A.
All of this takes careful planning, a lot of prep work, practice and more practice and not a small amount of fretting, but it will be worth it if it comes off like we want it to. We’ve been doing this long enough to be prepared for most any problem that arises and work through them. Plus, we’re doing it before friends and they are very forgiving.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
The Grandkids
Two of our grandkids will be leaving for Greenville, SC on Friday. This is a rather difficult time for us as you can imagine. We are a close knit family and it’s hard on us, knowing we’ll not be able to see them as often as we’d like. Our son and his wife are divorcing and she’s moving there to apparently find work. I’m not sure if that’s all there is to it. We know her newest boyfriend has a job there, so we have to assume that’s a big part of it. I can’t imagine what my son is going through during this time, but I have to believe it involves tears.
Bottom line? He made a very big mistake when he married her. I don’t know why he married her, except he thought he could ‘rescue’ her. She was pregnant with another man’s son, on her own and she came from a broken family. You never know what’s going on in another person’s brain or heart and a lot of the time they don’t either, but, their relationship has been rocky at best and a nightmare a good bit of the time. He medicated himself during the whole thing until last year, which I’m sure contributed to the problems. But, after encountering her mood swings and dual personalities I don’t blame him. She can curse you one day and act like your best friend the next, which makes it difficult to know who she really is.
Of course, as his father, I naturally put most the blame on her and I’m sure that’s not fair. Theres always 2 sides to every story, no matter who you like best. Nathan has made some huge mistakes and is having to pay for them now.
There is rarely any good that comes with divorce especially if there’s children involved and now these kids will have some adjusting to do in life. Our family has never been involved in divorce and its new ground for us. It’s like an open wound that never fully heals. It stinks at times, hurts deeply at times, and you try your best to ignore it most of the time.
I’m honestly glad to see her leave. She’s caused us so much pain with her frequent tirades. I can’t stand having someone curse my wife. It just makes me boil up inside and I won’t tolerate it. And yet, she will curse her one day and call up the next like the previous incident was just dream on our part. But, even with all the mess she has thrown over the fence, she still is the mother to our grandchildren and we have to be careful to keep the relationship open if possible. She’s threatened us so many times with us never seeing the kids again, that we have to be careful how we respond.
So, we’ll call them weekly and perhaps set up a web cam so we can see them (if she gets some kid of internet access there). I’ll pray for them daily, that God will someone reach them and reveal Himself to them. I wish life were always rosy and nice and everyone got along, but that’s not how things are.
Bottom line? He made a very big mistake when he married her. I don’t know why he married her, except he thought he could ‘rescue’ her. She was pregnant with another man’s son, on her own and she came from a broken family. You never know what’s going on in another person’s brain or heart and a lot of the time they don’t either, but, their relationship has been rocky at best and a nightmare a good bit of the time. He medicated himself during the whole thing until last year, which I’m sure contributed to the problems. But, after encountering her mood swings and dual personalities I don’t blame him. She can curse you one day and act like your best friend the next, which makes it difficult to know who she really is.
Of course, as his father, I naturally put most the blame on her and I’m sure that’s not fair. Theres always 2 sides to every story, no matter who you like best. Nathan has made some huge mistakes and is having to pay for them now.
There is rarely any good that comes with divorce especially if there’s children involved and now these kids will have some adjusting to do in life. Our family has never been involved in divorce and its new ground for us. It’s like an open wound that never fully heals. It stinks at times, hurts deeply at times, and you try your best to ignore it most of the time.
I’m honestly glad to see her leave. She’s caused us so much pain with her frequent tirades. I can’t stand having someone curse my wife. It just makes me boil up inside and I won’t tolerate it. And yet, she will curse her one day and call up the next like the previous incident was just dream on our part. But, even with all the mess she has thrown over the fence, she still is the mother to our grandchildren and we have to be careful to keep the relationship open if possible. She’s threatened us so many times with us never seeing the kids again, that we have to be careful how we respond.
So, we’ll call them weekly and perhaps set up a web cam so we can see them (if she gets some kid of internet access there). I’ll pray for them daily, that God will someone reach them and reveal Himself to them. I wish life were always rosy and nice and everyone got along, but that’s not how things are.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Other Names I Like
Victoria – Like Suzanna is to Susan and Theodore is to Teddy, Victoria is so much more eloquent and colorful than Vickie. Victoria just oozes wealth and sophistication, doesn’t it? Even if she were not born to such a life she would hold her head up high and walk with such dignity that others would regard her as stuck-up and aloof. She would wear the finest dresses she could afford and would abhor dirt. Of course, she was not always like this. When she was a young girl she was a complete tom-boy who could outrun most of the boys in town; out-climb cats and out-fight the local bullies. Her transformation occurred in her 14th year when she met her great aunt whom she was named after, a proud but humorous woman who carried herself with such dignity and eloquence that young Victoria fell in love with her immediately and decided on the spot to become her study for life. She eventually found a man able to afford her lifestyle and she tolerated him and his money for over 30 years. Sadly, he died in his 50’s and she retired to a condo in Florida to quietly live out the rest of her days, although she still threw lavish parties once quarter or so.
Salem – Yes, like the city in West Virginia and like the cigarette that menthol lovers smoke, Salem is a unique name for an individual. It’s one of those names that’s hard to forget once you’re introduced to them. I knew a Salem once, and I think he is a fine example of the person who would carry such a label. Salem is a multi-faceted individual who nurtures a love of sports, cars, exotic lands and travels, movies, music and food with incredible balance. It’s as if he’s easily bored and must have his mind, body and soul fed with a new experiences constantly. Not really an adrenalin junky, he’s more of an experience junky, not having to be thrilled with what he does, but at least entertained. He’s a hard worker and quickly grasps difficult ideas and processes, so he’s chosen a career in computers and it fits him well. He always seems to excel in whatever he puts his mind to, mostly because whatever it is, he pours all his energy into it. Salem will retire early and spend the rest of his life traveling, if only on a shoestring budget. Fortunately, his wife did well in real estate and the stock market, so they will not have fly coach all their lives.
Amber – There’s not many other colors that people wear as names, are there? Let’s see, there’s Ruby (who takes her love to town), Cinnamon (who chases the moonlight), Fawn, Lilac, Scarlett (who loves the ground she was born on), Sienna (a great name), Slate (mostly a last name I think). Not sure why I like the name Amber so much, but it’s such a colorful name (pun intended). Poor thing, she’s just a lost little puppy in a world full of wolves. She is so naïve and childish in her ways and she’s always being eaten up by the more worldly around her. She loves to draw and paint and lives with a clod of a loser who’ll never do anything but live off her meager income. She shops exclusively in the retro stores and should have been born in the 60’s because she would have been right at home then. She works as a cashier in a chain bookstore and waitresses at a local pub when money gets tight. She’ll eventually end up on her own and will be seen wandering aimlessly down the street pushing her shopping cart and trying to find a place to keep warm. So sad, she is such a sweet, harmless thing. But, those are the ones who get beaten up in the city I’m afraid. If only she had been named Cynthia, things would have turned out so much different.
Victoria – Like Suzanna is to Susan and Theodore is to Teddy, Victoria is so much more eloquent and colorful than Vickie. Victoria just oozes wealth and sophistication, doesn’t it? Even if she were not born to such a life she would hold her head up high and walk with such dignity that others would regard her as stuck-up and aloof. She would wear the finest dresses she could afford and would abhor dirt. Of course, she was not always like this. When she was a young girl she was a complete tom-boy who could outrun most of the boys in town; out-climb cats and out-fight the local bullies. Her transformation occurred in her 14th year when she met her great aunt whom she was named after, a proud but humorous woman who carried herself with such dignity and eloquence that young Victoria fell in love with her immediately and decided on the spot to become her study for life. She eventually found a man able to afford her lifestyle and she tolerated him and his money for over 30 years. Sadly, he died in his 50’s and she retired to a condo in Florida to quietly live out the rest of her days, although she still threw lavish parties once quarter or so.
Salem – Yes, like the city in West Virginia and like the cigarette that menthol lovers smoke, Salem is a unique name for an individual. It’s one of those names that’s hard to forget once you’re introduced to them. I knew a Salem once, and I think he is a fine example of the person who would carry such a label. Salem is a multi-faceted individual who nurtures a love of sports, cars, exotic lands and travels, movies, music and food with incredible balance. It’s as if he’s easily bored and must have his mind, body and soul fed with a new experiences constantly. Not really an adrenalin junky, he’s more of an experience junky, not having to be thrilled with what he does, but at least entertained. He’s a hard worker and quickly grasps difficult ideas and processes, so he’s chosen a career in computers and it fits him well. He always seems to excel in whatever he puts his mind to, mostly because whatever it is, he pours all his energy into it. Salem will retire early and spend the rest of his life traveling, if only on a shoestring budget. Fortunately, his wife did well in real estate and the stock market, so they will not have fly coach all their lives.
Amber – There’s not many other colors that people wear as names, are there? Let’s see, there’s Ruby (who takes her love to town), Cinnamon (who chases the moonlight), Fawn, Lilac, Scarlett (who loves the ground she was born on), Sienna (a great name), Slate (mostly a last name I think). Not sure why I like the name Amber so much, but it’s such a colorful name (pun intended). Poor thing, she’s just a lost little puppy in a world full of wolves. She is so naïve and childish in her ways and she’s always being eaten up by the more worldly around her. She loves to draw and paint and lives with a clod of a loser who’ll never do anything but live off her meager income. She shops exclusively in the retro stores and should have been born in the 60’s because she would have been right at home then. She works as a cashier in a chain bookstore and waitresses at a local pub when money gets tight. She’ll eventually end up on her own and will be seen wandering aimlessly down the street pushing her shopping cart and trying to find a place to keep warm. So sad, she is such a sweet, harmless thing. But, those are the ones who get beaten up in the city I’m afraid. If only she had been named Cynthia, things would have turned out so much different.
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