A Number of Unrelated Thoughts

Congratulations!
First, I want to take a moment and congratulate my beautiful wife on the release of her second book. ‘Thurston T. Turtle and the Legend of the Lemonade’  She has worked so hard on these books and as a writer she has an incredible gift. She inspires me! Please stop by and have a look and buy five of each!
Growing up?
I seem to have managed a good ‘step in the right direction’ move yesterday. Having just recently celebrated a birthday, I have become more and more aware of my age in relation to some close friends who frequently reminisce about ‘when they were my age’. At the onset of my birthday weekend, I planned to spend my Monday off hanging with one of these friends who owns a garage, and fiddle with a hot-rod he’s been working on. All weekend I looked forward to it, but when Monday rolled around, I was painfully aware of the work that needed to be done around the house. I called him and explained with some chagrin that I could not in good conscious go off and have a good time only to come home and see that the yard still needed a lot of work. He understood, and said he guessed I may be growing up. I guess so too.
Golfing again.
One of my birthday presents this year was a gift certificate for two at a ritzy golf course not far from our town. My youngest was worried that I may not be very happy to receive this gift, since after our last outing together he felt sure I was done for good. I am not. Golf, on a fairly regular basis in our town is relatively cheap and very enjoyable. I’ll get better on the long shots eventually (I’ve been working on my swing everyday, in the back yard). Mostly I just enjoy hanging out with our youngest and look forward to being able to hold my own against members of the family who golf all season, or with my brother-in-law.
Complaint Department.
I am the Safety Officer and First Responder at work. That means that when there is any kind of safety issue, I am consulted, so that we can make whatever the problem is, go away and get back into compliance. It also means that if there is an emergency, I step up and take charge, even if it means giving CPR or basic first aid until the paramedics arrive. It’s a big deal to me, and something that I take very seriously, especially coming from a family of firefighters and EMS responders. I guess I have a nose for issues that could be potentially dangerous.
So the other day, when a couple of fellas were street racing on my street (both going the same direction on a small suburban street) in the middle of the day, I thought it best to point out this safety issue to the local authorities.
The 911 dispatcher was patronizing and rather rude. First, she said, it wasn’t an emergency, since no one was hurt. Second, she could tell an on duty patrol, but she couldn’t make them come down our street or even hang out near our neighborhood. Lastly, and most frustratingly, she made me feel as though I was an old man complaining about kids riding their bikes in my yard. Her ‘kids will be kids’ attitude really frustrated me. I think we need to take better care of our streets. Solve the problem before it becomes an emergency.
THANK YOU!
Coming away from my birthday weekend, I just want to thank Micki and each and everyone of you that shared birthday greetings, hung out and spent time, for the gifts and drinks and fun. I had an AMAZING weekend, and am so grateful for each of you out there. Friends close and far; family too, and those of you who are both, I am very blessed. Thanks so much! As my nephew says when he blows kisses: “Mmwah!”
Condolences.
Everyone always says: “Our thoughts and prayers are with you in this difficult time”. That or some variation which invariably includes thoughts, prayers and difficulty. Although I know the feelings are genuine, I always feel that the phrase is too ‘cookie cutter’ for me. Losing someone close to you is so very painful, and the healing process never ends. Our very dear friends lost a family member only a few days ago. They are such a wonderful part of our lives, and it hurts to see them in pain. We never know why tragedy occurs, and we never know how it will effect us. That makes it hard to convey true sentiments. Our best policy in these times is to be available and understanding. We love you. Depend on us to help you through this time in whatever way you need, day by day, until the dark clouds pass. You both are in our hearts.

Tiger, Morality and Life

Everyone is talking about Tiger Woods’ comeback yesterday at the Arnold Palmer Invitational. For the first time since 2009, Tiger looks like he’s got game again.
For all of us who watched him climb to glory, a young man seemingly unstoppable in his rise to the top, the revelation about his extramarital and extra-golf issues was more than a crushing blow. It made us wince to know that the whole time he was winning on the course, the whole time we were cheering him on, he was leading a very questionable lifestyle.
He was letting everyone down the whole time, even though we didn’t know it. And when it was made clear, people, including myself, felt betrayed, to say nothing of his wife or family.
People denounced his behavior, abandoned their ‘Tiger Fever’ for other players with potential, and turned their backs on him.
The rising star fell like wormwood.
Nevertheless, it's important that we are aware of this arc in his life, because in so many ways it resembles something that we each deal with in our own lives every day. It illustrates a journey we all must face.
Tiger Woods is a representation of a man finding his purpose, using his natural talents and working very hard to be good at something. It should be this way with everyone. Our purpose here, at least in part, is to discover what we can contribute to this world. Some become presidents, and some become teachers. All of us, regardless of calling, have a chance to do something in our lives which makes a difference to the rest of the world.
But more so than this, Tiger is a representation of what happens if we lose sight of our purpose and calling. No one argues that he let everyone down. Everyone including himself.
So when we are tempted to become skeptical, to abandon him, for ‘moral’ reasons, it’s important to look at things from a more subjective point of view. I thought specifically of how it would seem to folks if my demons were revealed to the world. All of us have them, and in some ways distancing ourselves from those who’ve been exposed is a nod at that fact. I’m slightly amused by the fact that regardless of our own issues, we so quickly cast aside these heroes like Tiger, who are revealed as having major problems. Aren’t we all basically the same?
Tiger has gotten back to what matters to him. He’s gone through a real rough patch in playing golf, and in life. He’s had to face his demons, get help and get started again. At long last he’s coming back. It’s hard not to get excited to see him play like this. We all know what he can do.
What we must do is spend less time judging him, face our own demons, as he has done, and get back to the game of life.
Tiger is nothing if not hardworking. He’s the example of what talent and hard work can do. Each of us has this same truth in our own lives regardless of where the talent lies or how hard it is to get the work done.
If our heads are not right, we cannot accomplish the goals that we have set for ourselves. More than just a lightning rod on the golf course, Tiger draws in stark lines what it means to lose sight of our gifts and succumb to addiction, flaws and personality disorders.
Whatever our own personal issues may be, we can look at Tiger and know that we can break free, if we face them, get by them and then get back to the work of being who we are supposed to be.

The Hazards of Spring

I do love Spring. I was born at this time of year, and it seems to me that the very brilliant shades of green along with the vibrant colors of blooming flowers and trees against a bright North Carolina blue sky filled with big puffy clouds, fills me with a need to take a deep, deep breath.
If only I could breathe.
I’m an allergy sufferer. So when the weather warms, I feel a twinge of dread at the coming bout of sneezing, coughing and itchy watery eyes.
Green pollen coats every surface of every vehicle and building. The giant leaning oak tree in the front yard drops green tendrils that resemble hairy green caterpillars, which, during a good deluge, turn into a sludgy, foamy gunk that coats the brilliant white sides of our house.
Not to mention the drifts of Bradford Pear Tree petals, which like confetti, clog the sidewalks and streets, coating shoes with little white dots.
Sitting on the porch, the other night, I tried very hard to focus on my wife as she recounted her day, while some small, hard buzzing creature zipped wildly around in circles by the bright porch light, occasionally zipping by my face, or bashing into me.
And speaking of bugs, I narrowly missed being stung in the eye the other day, when a tiny bee flew right up and perched on the inside lense of my sunglasses.
I am also painfully aware that with the advent of warmer, wetter weather comes the need to pay attention to the length of our grass. It's invariable, especially with lots of storms and lots of sunny, warm days, my grass will invariably grow a foot in forty-eight hours. So, trying to get a head start on this trend, I pulled out the mower and worked on the lawn.
The back, which now has one less mowing surface since we’ve tilled it and prepped it for a garden, is less visible, and so I worked on the front first.
Finishing, and feeling motivated, I went for my four-stroke, heavy-duty weed whacker to tame the fringes. As I edged the dog lot, hiding beneath an over grown clump of grassy weeds was a goopy pile of not so fresh, albeit mushy wet doggy ‘doo’.
At something like a million rpms I hit the pile, and it was instantly sprayed right up the front of me.
Well, coated in a fine, stinky drizzle, I shut off my weed whacker, went in, stripped off the soiled clothes, and gagged and nearly sobbed as I headed for the showers.
Completely removed of my previous motivation, I shambled about the house the rest of the day, looking for indoor activities and chores, and praying for strength to overcome this Season of Terror- er, I mean, Spring.

In Defense of Music

I was born with music inside me. Music was one of my parts. Like my ribs, my kidneys, my liver, my heart. Like my blood. It was a force already within me when I arrived on the scene. It was a necessity for me-like food or water.
Ray Charles

I have been tempted to hit someone only a very few times in my life. Last week, I nearly did. It’s painful for me to admit that, since I believe typically in non-violent solutions to conflict. But this particular situation was not conflict so much as insult.
A person was trying to get me to buy into some principles of ‘needed change’ in our world. He said he recognized me as being of the correct mindset to be a part of this change. He continued to tell me how much my contribution of thought to this change would aide our community and our society. Then he dropped the bomb. He said “ The real mind of genius abandons all luxuries, but especially  the frivolity of music.”
My fist was coming up before I knew what was happening. I turned rapidly, and walked away, before I could be charged with assault.
I know that I am not a genius. Far from it. But music is very central to who I am, and it has helped to define my family.
You see, even before I was outside of my mother’s womb, music was being piped into my brain. She would put the big bulky earphones from our Hi-fi set onto her belly and play all kinds of music for me. She sang to me constantly. As I grew, I was exposed to all sorts of music.
My brother, who is much older than I, and who, thanks to this fact, was exposed to a much earlier era of music, also shared his own favorite music with me. My dad played the trumpet for years. Every where I went, everything I did, every aspect of my life was completely and totally saturated with music.
Later, when I could wiggle my fingers independently, I started to pick out melodic tunes on my tiny little 12 key keyboard. Later, on my 32 key keyboard. When I was fifteen, my dad bought me an extremely expensive, full-size 88 key electric piano.
I taught myself to play the drums, and the guitar, and played in at least three bands throughout my late teens and early twenties. All throughout my school career, I sang in choruses, quartets, trios, and even in a few (very rare) cases, solos.
Even now, there are two pianos, at least five guitars and a plethora of other instruments in our home. When the boys were little we would sing together in the car. My wife and I sometimes sit around the piano or with my guitar and sing our favorite songs. Our boys all have very well developed senses of style and preference, and are always sharing their newest musical discovery with us. All of the family vehicles are chock full of mix CDs we’ve made for each other.
It goes on and on and on.
Music is one of the central pillars of our lives. It is such a deep and meaningful part that even one day without music seems unfulfilled.
I am not passionate about politics or current events. I am not outspoken about the beg issues of our world. I have opinions, but they are usually ill-prepared and lack logical construction. But when it comes to music, I have, do and always will have a solid well-defined and very passionate opinion. I cannot imagine a world without music, would fight to prevent such a place from coming into being.
Lately with schools cutting funding for Art and Music education, I begin to wonder if the mindset of ‘needed change’ hasn’t taken a very dangerous turn.
My mind is full of music and there is nothing anyone can say or do to change that. I will always be making music of some sort, even if it is just whistling or humming or snapping my fingers.
If being a genius means giving up music, I am glad not to be considered one.

Work, War and Comedy

On a daily basis, I get to work with two gentlemen that I admire and respect quite a lot. This is a rare thing with work, because you invariably have ‘colleagues’ who drive you nuts. We all do. But what a great thing it is to have a few work comrades to speed the day along, or at least help to commiserate with you about how slow the day is going.
In my case, one of these gentlemen, I have known for a long time. He and my wife are both authors and columnists in our little town. They share the Saturday Op-ed page in the city paper. So, after we read her column, we read his. When it became time for me to find a new career, I was pleased to find out that I would be working with him on a daily basis.
The other of these two men is an actor, author-poet and artist who is quite well-known in our tiny burg.
We are all ‘comedians’ of sorts, and we spend a great deal of time spreading good-natured harassment between ourselves and some of our other colleagues. Yet, between these two men is a camaraderie that I could never dream to share with them. Not because of my age (I am considerably younger and more handsome than both!) but because of their own history in the Vietnam Conflict.
It turns out that, though they did not know one another at that time, they both served in the U.S. Army, about 100 meters from each other in Saigon. A coincidence? Yes. But an amazing reality that has given them both a very interesting perspective on their shared experience.
I cannot hope to ever understand the tragedy of war. That it changes those people who serve is undeniable. How it changes them, unmeasurable. It is wonderful that these two men who have such a keen albeit irascible relationship because of this common history, can talk it over, share memories and feel as though that common history links them.
We insult one another, play tricks and place team propaganda on each other’s desks. I have been the recipient of a can of unmentionable fish parts from one, and the finder of The Stuffed Mouse, from the other (I cannot explain it any better than that, or I would).  
We joke with one another relentlessly, and I know that I am the butt of a whole host of jokes I haven’t even heard yet. We all share a fondness for Amish Romance novel titles, as well, and frequently make up new ones with my name in them.
I don’t mind at all, though. It’s good to laugh, be laughed at and laugh with one’s work friends. It’s a great honor to work with these two men. I admire them and look up to them in their advanced years, because I know that they both suffered the fears and terrors of war, and that their kinship with one another because of that common background is precious to them, even though they show it with practical jokes, dare I say ‘wit’ and comedy.
It helps me to look forward to work every day.
Which reminds me; I wonder where I’ll find The Stuffed Mouse today?

On Being a Golfer and All that Entails.

“Golf is a game whose aim is to hit a very small ball into an even smaller hole, with weapons singularly ill-designed for the purpose.”
-Winston Churchill

“It took me seventeen years to get three thousand hits in baseball. I did it in one afternoon on the golf course.”
-Hank Aaron

I am not a golfer. There is something to be said, however, for those that can carry that title around with them, and say proudly, when the appropriate time arises, “I am a golfer.”
This past weekend my wife’s aunt and uncle made a three day stop-over at our house on their way back to Minnesota. They are both avid golfers, spending many days on their local courses during the seasonable times of year.
Two years ago, they came through just before Independence Day, on their way back from the warmer Florida climes, and brought me and our middle son golfing at our local ‘ritzy’ course.
I was looking forward to it, even though I wasn’t looking forward to how I would play. Sometimes it’s fun just to hang out and try and be a good sport.
I told myself after that visit, that I would go more frequently to our municipal ‘cheap’ nine hole course, and practice up. Get good enough to be slightly competitive the next time around.
Two years goes by fast. So when it came time for me to ‘suit up’ in my collared shirt and doff my duffer hat, and head out to the links, I was even less practiced then the previous time. I swallowed down any reservations that I had, grabbed a spare set of clubs from our collection and went to face my fears.
You see, I don’t have a lot of athletic skill to depend on at these times. My grandfather was an avid golfer. He had some skill, too with a bowling ball. He used to play baseball as well. All I got from him was the ability to throw and catch a baseball (I couldn’t run the bases very well, and I have trouble connecting with the ball at the plate). I did play soccer, but that was much different, and since I grew up with step-brothers who played, I got a lot of practice, and many sore shins.
I still have PopPop’s clubs and golf shoes, although they hold only a memorial place in my shop, and I wouldn’t dream of taking them out on the course for anything. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything happened to them.
So standing there at the first tee, waiting for the group in front of us to finish up on the green, I tried to list the points of a good golf swing: head down, hips move in figure eight during the swing, don’t smash the ball, breathe and so on. And then I was standing there taking a few practice swings. My turn. My mind raced, I tried to remember how to stand, I tried to ‘sight in’ my ideal ball placement on the fairway. I took my swing.
Well, needless to say, I topped the ball, and it rolled lightly onto the lady's tee.
Luckily my wife’s aunt is a wonderfully patient and encouraging person. While uncle and nephew made their way to the lead with the fewest points, all the while being good sportsmen and speaking encouragingly to me; I chopped, woofed and whiffed at the ball as best I could. Always she gave me compliments, suggestions and helped me keep my head up, that is to say, down.
We discovered fairly early that I was strong on the ‘short game’. I can putt, and I can get the ball onto the green. My partner has an amazing 'long game'. She can whack the ball and really set it up for a good lie. Soon we were at least treading along with some semblance of game play.
I had so much fun the whole time, and although our team 'lost' I learned some very valuable lessons. Even the most practiced golfers make bad hits occasionally. Even the worst golfers can make a great shot now and again. And that seems to be the point. Those good shots feel so good you want them to happen again and again. Most importantly I learned that no matter how good your are, you earn the label of golfer one way or the other. No one ever steps to the tee and is able to play. It takes work and practice.
This summer, I will take the boys to the golf course and we will play more. I’ll work on my swing in the meantime, and maybe read up on my ‘Golf for Dummies’ book.
It was fun, and though I cannot yet claim to be a golfer, I look forward fondly to the time when I can.
I also look forward to impressing my wife’s aunt and uncle and everyone else, the next time we hit the links.

Uncertain Health Scares Away Birthday.

I have a birthday coming up. It’s more of red flag in my list of major events of the coming year, as opposed to previous years when I looked forward to it for all the reasons that birthdays are looked forward to.
This year, though, I felt a bit nervous at the impending step up in age. I wasn’t so sure that my previous good luck, both physically and mentally and generally would hold up. No, I wasn’t suffering from a bout of despair, or even having a ‘blue day’. I was suffering from a medical misunderstanding.
Our insurance requires us to get a ‘Health Screening’ check-up once a year to make sure that we are in ‘good’ shape. I was required to fast after midnight, but my appointment was early enough not to get me too grouchy about missing my first cup of coffee.
At the ‘Health Screening’ there are a series of ‘tents,’ little cloth partitions and cubicles for the tests and consults. They do a finger stick, check blood pressure and measure Body Mass Index. Going in, I wasn’t nervous, because we do, in general, eat quite well at our house. Lots of fish and whole grains, rice instead of potatoes and very little red meat. I do enjoy a cheese burger once in a while, but never with high frequency.
So when the lady stuck my finger, I joyfully proclaimed that she could stick away at any time, (though she had already) I was ready for the youch. She struggled to get the tiny driplet of blood and squeezed my finger until I nearly did say ‘youch’. Next, it was on to the BMI tent. That lady was particularly friendly. She checked my blood pressure, sympathized with me about my finger (which throbbed, more from the squeezing than the stick) and asked me to step on the scale, took my weight and then measured my waist.
I don’t weigh very much. In fact, for my height, my weight is excellent, and so, it was not a point I was worried about either.
Finally, after a jovial farewell from the BMI lady, I was dismissed to sit with the other slightly disgruntled group, who had all had their fingers pricked and squeezed, and were waiting to meet with their respective ‘Health Councillor’.
Unlike my comrades, I was positively buoyant. I walk a lot. I walk to and from work, twice every day, and most weekends we hike just shy of eight hilly and beautiful miles. I was at a particularly good weight, and my BMI was non-existent. My insurance would continue to be free, and I looked forward fondly to my impending cup of coffee.
Suddenly the room seemed to darken, and a thick fog rolled through the tents. A large woman, whose BMI I wouldn’t like to guess, came over to me and handed me a sheet of paper. With a smile that seemed more a sneer, she told me that my ‘Health Councilor’ would see me now. Had she been wearing a black executioners hood?
I stood woozily, and stepped toward the ‘tent’ where I now had the feeling my doom would be pronounced. As I walked, I thought I heard a solemn crow cawing to his friends that soon there would be fresh carrion. Did I see a gallows through the mist before my eyes?
The lady in the tent was very genuine. She had a thick Caribbean accent, and a very warm manner. She told me, with the gentleness of delivery that only health professionals know how to muster, that my health may not be as good as I originally thought.
I began to protest, but she gently quelled me. “Doon’t woory, no. Just got a few areas oov concern,” she said, “Every tin gone be arright.”
Apparently my blood pressure was higher than it should be for someone with my physiological status. My Good Cholesterol was in the toilet, and my Bad Cholesterol was flying high. My triglycerides were neatly following the Bad Cholesterol, and my glucose was high, even though I hadn’t had one stitch or scrap of food for over eight hours.
The gallows came clearly into view. I heard a dirge being sung by mournful voices.
I was shattered (and now I desperately needed a cup of coffee).
What happened? I walk and eat right almost all the time! I maintain a healthy weight, and I walk for heaven’s sake!
My mind turned immediately to my dear friend, our family physician, who knew better than even I did, the ins and outs of my health. As I called to schedule an appointment, I felt as though I was petitioning the governor to commute my sentence.
Finally, a week later I sat there with our beloved doctor, listening as she went over my results.
Yes, in both arms my blood pressure was a mite high, nevertheless, given our lifestyle, it was nothing to be medically concerned with, yet. “Keep walking, less beer, more red wine and avoid those cheeseburgers more.” Okay, I can do that.
She was certain that a drastic change in my cholesterol numbers as they appeared on the form bearing the results my Health Councilor had given me, was a math error only. So, I rolled up my sleeve, and gave a good bit more blood for the measurement.
In a few moments, I was back in the consulting room with a Snoopy bandaide in the crook of my arm, and fingers crossed.
When she came in, she positively beamed. My Good Cholesterol was better than Good, it was Great. My Bad Cholesterol was slinking around shamefully and my glucose was perfect for only having had a apple for breakfast.
Walking out of the doctor’s offices, I felt a great sense of relief. The camp of ‘tents’ and and councillors seemed a bad memory, and I felt the sunshine on my face, having been freed from a terrible doom, with a relish I can hardly describe.
Still, my Blood Pressure was a mite high. And beginning now, with my birthday on its way, I will have to monitor those numbers more and more. It’s worth mentioning that at my age, these things become ever more common. Something else to look forward to, I guess, along with my birthday.