I kissed him on his forehead to say goodbye as I typically do, but this time, in his wheelchair, he raised his left arm and tried to reach around my back like he was attempting to hug me. I was surprised. I got closer to allow his arm to rest on my back and I put my face against his as he pulled me in. We stayed in that position for a while. It was comforting, it had been a long time.
Thanks, Dad, I really needed that.
Needs.
We all have them.
We all need them fulfilled.
Jesus once said, “It is written: ‘Man shall not live on bread alone…”
My mother would probably finish that statement by saying, “yeah how about I make a pork roll, egg, and cheese to put on that bread.”
That’s one way I suppose.
We might think our needs are all different, but they are probably surprisingly similar, never the less, they are ours.
And they change from year to year, month to month, and even day to day.
The truth is we are born into this world needy.
As infants and children, unable to take care of ourselves, we rely on others for even our most basic needs.
Feeding, housing, safety, learning, emotional support, and development, are provided to us by our mother, our father, or sometimes another family member or other loving person. They are our lifelines.
Let’s face it, even Jesus needed his Eema and his earthly Abba.
Then the day comes when we have children of our own and we become their lifeline.
And we begin to better understand what our parents did for us.
How much effort it took, how much time, and how much money.
How much joy it provided.
And as our kids grew and got more independent, we saw their needs change, but our needs changed too.
We still had those basic requirements needed in order to live, but as we aged life got more complicated.
And sometimes, as it might be with an aging parent, unable to care for him or herself, the parent becomes like the child again.
As a result of my father’s inability to care for himself, as his age advanced and his disease progressed, the decision had to be made to place him in a facility where he could be taken care of safely. My mom, not able to physically manage him at home, now spends each day with him at the nursing home providing those things the staff may not be able to. Things like conversation, memories, games for stimulation and thought, and of course, love. The rest of us, challenged by geography and the continued need to provide for ourselves, do the best we can.
The last few visits I had had with my father, I left feeling greatly depressed. My visits were met with silence, eyes that wouldn’t open, the inability to make any connection. On one visit in fact he was even trying to hit me with his fists, which I attributed to him acting out a dream, something not uncommon with my dad’s condition. Though I didn’t take it personally, it was another missed opportunity, and yeah, I guess I did take it a little personally.
Last weekend, however, he was different. His eyes were wide open though his sight is still limited. He was participating in conversation, smiling and laughing at things I said, and laughing at himself at times for things he said.
And he initiated that hug.
It was awesome.
I needed a weekend like that with him and, I am guessing, he felt like he had a similar need.
However fleeting the event or the moment may have been, or prove to be in the future, I was grateful.
We all have the need to feel loved, no matter how old we get.
Jesus said, “It is written: ‘Man shall not live on bread alone…”
But there is more, the scripture goes on to say “… but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.”
You see Ma? Not everything can be fixed by pork roll, even when you are from New Jersey.
It’s the word of God that fulfills our needs.
That’s what keeps us living and loving.
But sometimes a little hug doesn’t hurt either.
On Saturday I was trying to get him to look at old photos on my laptop. The next thing I knew he had his face planted in the side of my face. I asked him what he was doing and he said, ” I looking at your face.” Fair enough.
Postscript:
On the six Tuesdays during the period of Lent, I am participating in a daily writing that we are doing at my church, Sterling United Methodist Church. The daily themes are based on one word each day and some associated scripture. Today’s word is Needs . If you would like to keep up with the posts from others click on this link in the postscript.
I remember the first time I met Pastor Jim Snow. Kim and I were just starting to go out together and she brought me to a Sterling United Methodist Church picnic at Claude Moore Park in Sterling. As a kid, in my experience attending Sunday School at the Lutheran Church of the Reformation in West Long Branch New Jersey, pastors always wore long black robes, collars, and were a bit intimidating. Jim on the other hand had a mustache, was wearing jeans, a flannel shirt and a driver’s hat and he was cracking jokes. And best of all, I was able to call him “Jim”!
Kim had two requirements of me if I wanted to get to know her better, she wanted to be courted and I had to go to church.
I was prepared to do whatever it took.
The first time I attended church at Sterling UMC, I remember we sat about four rows back from the front on the center aisle on the left side. I think I wanted to sit on the end in case I had a panic attack. I don’t think that at the time I had attended church as a worshipper in thirty years. Hayley and Alexa were raised in the synagogue so I had spent some time in temple. But church, only for weddings and funerals.
I remember looking up at the ceiling and hoping the roof didn’t cave in. But when it was over, also I remember feeling good, like I had been lost, but now I was found.
I was supposed to be in this place.
We would continue to go to church as our relationship developed and I would continue to push my comfort levels as I got reintroduced.
I had never in my life taken communion and my hand would shake as I took the cup and raised it to my lips.
In April of 2000 Kim and I stood at the rail with our hands on Donny and Savannah as they were confirmed.
And thankfully, I met the requirements imposed on me as a suitor and our courtship worked out, because we had it all arranged for Jim Snow to marry Kim and I on the first day of July that year. But Jim’s cancer had other plans and he passed away that spring. Instead, we were married by Lee Crosby on his first official day as a pastor. And with Alexa, Hayley, Donny, and Savannah beside us, we stood in front of the cross and were married.
We continued to go to church and I continued to get reacquainted with being a Christian.
For a brief period, because we wanted Donny and Savannah to be active in Youth Group, we started attending Herndon UMC because the kids had school friends in that group. But whenever I could, if for some reason I found myself alone on a Sunday morning, I would dip back into Sterling UMC and sit in the back row. It felt more like home.
I had never been baptized so in January of 2002 I requested of our pastor at the time, Alan Reifsnyder to join the church and be baptized on the next available date. On January 27, 2002 in front of my family, except for Donny who was away that weekend, but including my parents and my new church family, I was baptized at the age of forty five.
In June of that year we met the new pastor Ralph Goodman and his family, who would be starting on the first day of July. Donny was really excited because Ralph had two very pretty daughters.
Not too long after that, on July 23, 2002 Kim and I would stand at the rail again and place our hands on Donny, this time for the last time. A tragic accident had taken Donny’s life on Friday, July 19th. On that Tuesday we celebrated Donny’s life and gave his spirit up to God. The church overflowed with people that day. Even the Sterling Volunteer Fire Department came because mysteriously the fire alarm went off in the middle of the service.
Ralph Goodman, in his first month on the job, walked that walk with Kim and I, and with the Herndon community that surrounded Donny. He joined the impromptu gatherings of grieving kids, walked the neighborhood, spent time at “the rock” at Herndon High School. For that we will be forever grateful. I cried on his last day preaching at Sterling UMC.
A life event like that couldn’t be survived without friends, family, church family, and most important, God and faith. To this day however I struggle to attend funerals at the church and generally find myself staying as busy in the background as I can, and fighting back tears whenever I hear “Amazing Grace.”
But with Jesus and Kim’s faith as our rock we kept moving, becoming more active in church.
My level of comfort was greatly tested when Kim and Savannah signed up to participate in a week long mission trip to Jamaica and Savannah dropped out at the last minute.
“Curt will go” Kim said.
“But Kim, I don’t want to go on a mission trip” I pleaded.
But all she would say is “Then you need to pray about.”
So, I did.
But my prayers weren’t answered. I found myself in Jamaica that summer.
And in the end, it was a life changing experience.
And we even went back the following year.
Our church life continued. We would share our Jamaica experiences with Pastor Randy Duncan and his wife Robin and get to know them better. Randy came to Sterling after Ralph left and remained for eleven years, the years Kim and I were most active in the church.
I would have another “first” at the rail when we took Cameron up for Communion for the first time. He took the bread, but when offered the cup he said politely “no thank you, I don’t like grape juice.” The server told him “that’s okay, you don’t have to drink it.” But after some hesitation he did anyway, and when we returned to our pew in the back, he asked Kim and I if he could say another prayer. Then he had us bow our heads and fold our hands and Cameron prayed “Dear God, thank you for bringing me back to church, Amen.”
I cried that day too.
On Easter Sunday April 16, 2017, I was a proud dad whose family practically filled the whole pew. Savannah and Cameron were there. Hayley and her new family with her husband and two stepchildren were with us too. Pastor Steve Vineyard delivered the sermon called “Who Will Roll Away the Stone,” the stone representing the heavy weight keeping us from facing all those tough things we had going on in our lives. A month or so later I would get a phone call from Hayley asking for my assistance to help her get out of the physically and emotionally abusive marriage she was in. Hayley attributed the courage she needed to make that decision to Pastor Steve’s sermon that Easter Sunday. “Who Will Roll Away the Stone” may have saved Hayley’s life.
In October of 2021 our entire family would return to the rail once again and witness the wedding of Savannah and Leon performed by Pastor Linda Monroe.
Kim and I have been less active the last few years. The Pandemic, trying to care for aging parents in different states, the challenges sometimes of working and worshipping in the same place.
But I was blessed to have been given a second chance in life to find love in this church.
The love of a new marriage.
The love of a new blended family.
The love realized in the experiences of my kids, the joyful ones and the sad ones, and learning love overcomes the sad ones.
The love of a church family I had never experienced.
And most importantly, the Love of God.
For me, Love was lost, but then I found it again.
I was lost, and somehow, I was found.
Because God’s Love and God’s Grace,
Are Amazing.
Postscript:
On the six Tuesdays during the period of Lent, I am participating in a daily writing that we are doing at my church, Sterling United Methodist Church. The daily themes are based on one word each day and some associated scripture. Today’s word is Love. If you would like to keep up with the posts from others click on this link in the postscript.
As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”
“Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him. As long as it is day, we must do the works of him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” (John 9:1-5)
If you know me, you know I am big fan of horse racing. In the world of horse racing when you talk about works, it is referring to the training runs, the workouts the horse performs typically in the mornings. For instance, the trainer may have the horse “work” four furlongs (a half mile) to keep the horse in good condition in between races. These works are typically timed and published for handicappers. A bullet work occurs when a horse runs the fastest work of all the horses training that particular morning.
Bullet works are good works.
Afleet Alex like all other thoroughbreds born in 2002, as far as the racing world is concerned, turned three years old on January 1, 2005. After winning a couple of Grade One stakes races as a two year old, he went on to win the Arkansas Derby and qualify to be eligible for the Kentucky Derby.
In the traffic of the Kentucky Derby Afleet Alex finished third. Two weeks later in the Preakness Stakes, Afleet Alex, stumbled at the top of the stretch and nearly dropped to his knees with his nose almost going into the dirt, but miraculously he recovered. Jeremy Rose, the jockey, had no idea how he was able to remain on the horse. He did, and not only did they manage to recover, but they also went on to win the Preakness Stakes by almost 5 lengths.
Three weeks later Afleet Alex would win the Belmont Stakes, the third leg of the Triple Crown by exploding in the final turn and winning by seven lengths.
Three of the children of the ownership syndicate of Afleet Alex were named Alex or Alexandria which is how the son of Northern Afleet and grandson of Afleet earned the Alex portion of his name.
Alexandra “Alex” Scott was born in January of 1996. Shortly before her first birthday Alex was diagnosed with neuroblastoma, a type of childhood cancer. In the year 2000 after her fourth birthday, she received a stem cell transplant and told her mother if she if she got out of the hospital, she wanted to have a lemonade stand. She wanted to give the money she earned to the doctors to “help other kids, like they helped me.”
Later that year she held her first lemonade stand and raised $2000.
Despite her battle with cancer Alex and her family would continue to hold lemonade stands to raise money to fight childhood cancer. As news spread about the little girl with neuroblastoma who was dedicating her frail life to raising money to help other sick children like her, more lemonade stands popped up with the proceeds going to Alex’s cause.
The owners of Afleet Alex had become aware of the efforts of young Alex and her lemonade stand by reading an article in a local newspaper one day. They felt some connection between their Alex and the little girl working to help fight cancer and they began to donate a portion of Afleet Alex’s winnings to Alex’s Lemonade Stand. At first the donations were anonymous but as Afleet Alex became more successful a partnership was established and little Alex’s cause was shared with the world.
In August of 2004 Alex passed away at the age of eight years old. Up to the time of her death, her charity had raised more than one million dollars.
But even after her death, Alex’s parents continued the Alex’s Lemonade Stand Foundation Through their association with the owner’s of Afleet Alex they were invited to set up Alex’s Lemonade Stand at the 2005 Kentucky Derby, the Preakness, and the Belmont thus exposing the foundation to world.
After winning the Belmont it was determined that Afleet Alex had a leg injury that would end his racing career and he was retired to Gainseway Farm in Lexington, Kentucky.
When Afleet Alex stumbled and jockey Jeremy Rose surely should have been thrown from that horse, he would say “An angel kept me safe.” That angel in his mind was little Alex.
Alexandra Scott was very special, and to many so was Afleet Alex.
One of the owners tells a story of a visit to Gainseway Farm where she found two women openly weeping while standing in front of Afleet Alex. They were sisters and one of the sisters had recently been diagnosed with cancer. They had driven all the way from Maine to see this horse. The owner explained that the sister with cancer truly believed that if she could just touch the horse, she would be cured.
We don’t know why Alex Scott developed the cancer that took her life after just eight short years. But as the scripture above explains it wasn’t because she sinned, or her parents sinned. With her cancer Alex recognized the need to help other sick kids and the doctors working to find a cure. She answered her call to perform good works. As a team, the two Alex’s raised a lot of money to help to find cures for pediatric cancers. You might say the works of God were displayed in the efforts and generosity of the pairing of Alexandra Scott and her family with the owners of this horse and Afleet Alex himself though surely, he didn’t understand how much his work mattered in the cause. But others, like the sister who thought touching him might cure her cancer, understood how special he was.
I have read that Methodists believe “Faith is necessary to salvation unconditionally. Good works are necessary only conditionally, that is if there is time and opportunity.” We might find some comfort in that since we don’t always have the time or the opportunity to serve at certain stages of our lives, yet our faith remains strong.
For Alexandra night came sooner than expected, but she made the best of her opportunity.
“As long as it is day, we must do the works of Him…”
And they did.
You might even call them bullet works.
To find out more about Alex’s Lemonade Stand Foundation or to donate here is a link.
Afleet AlexPhoto of me and my son in law Namaan in the Paddock at Gulfstream Park with other owners of Iron Works this past Sunday.
Postscript:
On the six Tuesdays during the period of Lent, I am participating in a daily writing that we are doing at my church, Sterling United Methodist Church. The daily themes are based on one word each day and some associated scripture. Today’s word is Works. If you would like to keep up with the posts from others click on this link in the postscript.
Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” (John 4:13-14)
Spring.
A word that can have many interpretations and meanings.
A mechanical spring tightly coiled ready to burst out with energy at any moment or one that is stretched and returns back to the shape it started from.
Maybe it is the time to “spring” forward providing more hours of daylight and more time for outdoor activities such as exercise.
Or maybe for you it brings to life images of daffodils, digging in the dirt, planting your gardens, and cutting the grass.
Or for you it might be pollen and allergies.
Since I have grown to dislike winter so much, I have used the analogy of winter for me to be like Jesus’ time in the wilderness and spring marking the end of my wandering.
Or maybe it makes you think of the reason I am writing this…Lent, the Holy Week, and Easter.
The Merriam Webster dictionary defines spring in many ways as well. As a transitive verb and an intransitive verb, or as a noun.
I don’t know all about that transitive and intransitive stuff so my simple mind will stick to the noun.
The act of moving forward.
A time or season of growth or development.
A device that recovers its original shape when released after being distorted.
A source of supply as it applies to water from the ground or action or motion.
The days and the events leading up to what we now call Good Friday and Easter in Jerusalem may have felt like a coiled spring ready to burst out at any moment.
And for the world there was little chance it would ever return to the shape it was before.
It was the fulfillment of prophecy.
Jesus’ mission on earth was winding down.
He had shown them many signs, yet still for some, their eyes were blinded and their hearts hardened.
But we know the story.
We know how it ends.
We also know that was just the beginning.
The spring of water Jesus describes is not one found in Merriam Webster. Being born again in the spirit, drinking the water that has us never thirsting again.
“A spring of water welling up to eternal life.”
Spring.
Postscript:
On Tuesdays during the period of Lent, I am participating in a daily writing that we are doing at my church, Sterling United Methodist Church. The daily themes are based on one word each day and some associated scripture. Today’s word is spring. If you would like to keep up with the posts from others click on this link in the postscript.
I can only imagine
What my eyes would see
When Your face is before me
I can only imagine
(from the song “I Can Only Imagine” by Mercy Me)
Exodus 34 verse 29 tells us that “When Moses came down from Mount Sinai with the two tablets of the covenant law in his hands, he was not aware that his face was radiant because he had spoken with the Lord.”
Moses went up the mountain, and when he came down, his face was radiant.
Dazzling, you might say.
Moses had spoken to God.
Many years later Jesus took Peter, James, and John up a high mountain. This story is told in Matthew 17:
“There he was transfigured before them. His face shone like the sun, and his clothes became as white as the light. 3 Just then there appeared before them Moses and Elijah, talking with Jesus.
4 Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here. If you wish, I will put up three shelters—one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.”
5 While he was still speaking, a bright cloud covered them, and a voice from the cloud said, “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him!”
6 When the disciples heard this, they fell facedown to the ground, terrified. 7 But Jesus came and touched them. “Get up,” he said. “Don’t be afraid.” 8 When they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus.
Jesus’ face “shone like the sun.”
His clothes became “as white as the light.”
“A bright cloud covered them” and then God spoke.
Once again dazzling.
Me?
I can’t even imagine, witnessing all this.
And Peter didn’t show fear until he heard God speak.
I think I would have been halfway down the mountain seeing Moses and Elijah appear.
But Peter was ready to set up tents!
Hearing God speak.
Seeing Jesus transfigured before them.
Seeing Moses and Elijah appearing with Jesus.
We can only imagine.
Our image of God is through Jesus.
Our images of Jesus are shaped and formed by the imaginations of others long before us.
However the way we picture or imagine Jesus to look, we can speak to him daily through prayer.
So talk to God.
Pray.
And when you speak to God in this way, let your face shine like the sun.
Be radiant, lit up, dazzling.
As you give up to God those burdens that may be dimming the brightness in your life.
And give thanks for the blessings.
And imagine yourself “Standing in the Son.”
So get up.
And don’t be afraid.
I can only imagine
When that day comes
And I find myself
Standing in the Son
On this Tuesday and the next five Tuesdays during the period of Lent, I am participating in a daily writing that we are doing at my church, Sterling United Methodist Church. My assigned day is Tuesday. The daily themes are based on one word each day and some associated scripture. Today’s word is dazzle. If you would like to keep up with the posts from others click on this link in the postscript.
Five years ago today, my good friend Joe passed away. I wrote a couple of essays about Joe at the time. One was called “Hey Butch…Get Me a Beer.” Joe’s grandfather used to say that. Joe’s family-given nickname was “Butch.”
My daughter Alexa called me one evening recently.
Christian had just come in and pointed out to her, “you don’t have a nickname for me like Ethan,” (Ethan is often called Ethie).
And so, Alexa explained to Christian how my brother Carl was called “Chrissie” because there were two Carls in the family.
My father’s name is Carl, so when my parents wanted to call my brother Carl, in order to avoid confusion, they began calling him “Chris” right out of the gate. My brother Carl was called Chris or Chrissie by our family members and most others who knew him as a kid, all his life.
And when Alexa finished explaining how her Uncle Carl got the nickname Chrissie to Christian, he pondered that and as he left the room he declared that he too would also like to be called “Chrissie.”
A good choice of a nickname in my opinion, but some big shoes to fill.
I always wanted to have a nickname growing up.
I thought having a nickname would be cool.
There were a couple of older girls who lived on the end of my street who, when I was young, called me “Curtie.”
But that really wasn’t what I was going for.
I wanted something way cooler like Dusty, or Kid, or Tex, or Chick maybe.
No, “Curtie” wasn’t going to cut it. But that is pretty common, right? You add the “ie” sound to a name and you get Joey, Matty, Patty, or even Chrissie.
Or maybe it’s a modification of your last name. Like if your last name is Knepper, they might call you “Knep”. Or maybe it’s Natale and they call you “Nat.” I think all of us in my family got called “Chris” at some time or other as an abbreviation for Christiansen. But since my brother’s family-given nickname was Chris that had the potential to cause some confusion. We couldn’t all be called “Chris.”
My dad has a cool nickname. His nickname is Mo. I asked him once how it is he got the nickname Mo but at the time he couldn’t remember. He once told me in the Boy Scouts they called him “One Chop Mo” because he could cut through a branch with an axe with one swing. Maybe the fact that my grandfather’s name was Carl as well had something to do with him being called Mo.
There were motorcycle gang nicknames like “Nails” and “Dirt.”
And organized crime has some cool ones too like “Joe Bananas,” “Scareface,” “Bugsy,” or “Ice Pick Willie.”
How about the Top Gun nicknames? “Maverick,” “Ice Man,” “Goose,” and “Hangman.”
And we can’t forget the Jersey Shore music scene nicknames like “Mad Dog,” “The Boss,” “The Big Man,” or “Miami Steve.”
Nope, no “Curties” in that bunch.
Then of course there are those nicknames that were bestowed on kids by other kids. As kids, we thought them to be harmless. Looking back maybe they weren’t always so.
Maybe they were in fact, mean.
Those would be nicknames like “Babbles” for a friend who stuttered, “Oafy Tom” for a friend who was larger and clumsier, or “Rabbit” for a friend who might have had some distinct facial characteristics.
I guess it’s true that not all nicknames are cool.
I never did get my cool nickname, though for a time back when I was still in Jersey I was being called “Little Mo” by some. And my good friend Joe or “Butch” modified that a bit, he called me “Moses.” He would always draw out the Mo part.
Maybe if I had stayed in Jersey something might have stuck.
Some years ago Savannah started calling me Spunky. That kind of stuck with the kids anyway.
And I suppose Curt is a nickname for Curtis, so I guess I had one all along.
I am still just happy it wasn’t “Curtie.”
I am sure Christian will live up to his new nickname should he choose to keep it.
Maybe we will have a couple of Chrissies in the family.
And it was nice to remember my friend Butch on this day and my brother too.
It’s hard to believe it has been this many years already.
When we were kids, thankfully the hot summers seemed to go on forever, but of course, they didn’t.
Now whole years fly by like they are just passing seasons.
And though the prayer below reminds us “it is in dying that we are born to eternal life,”
still, I miss them both.
Postscript:
I was Googling a little while writing this and I found the website of The Mob Museum in Las Vegas. On the Mob Museum website you can answer a number of questions and based on your responses they will generate a mob nickname for you. I did it a couple of times.
One time it came back Curtis “Trigger” Christiansen.
That one sounded too much like a horse.
But then another time it generated Curtis “The Gun” Christiansen.
I have written before about my “word of the day” that comes in my email every day. One day last week the word was Funambulism.
Okay so I admit I had no idea what this word meant, but it looked like a really fun word.
Right?
Fun…ambulism.
So, I knew what “fun” was…I mean I do, I can be fun sometimes.
And then I looked up “ambulism,” and learned that meant “a disorder involving walking.”
Ah okay, I thought, having trouble walking after having too much fun, that makes sense to me.
Fun-ambulism.
Even I may have funambulated once or twice before in my life.
But then, to my disappointment, I got deeper into my email and learned the word wasn’t funambulism at all, it was funambulism pronounced fyoo-NAM-byə-lizm.
And this funambulism meant “the art of walking on a tightrope.”
Back in November, I was repairing a picnic table the kids used on the playground at the church by replacing the top and benches with pressure-treated wood after the original plastic parts had broken.
During the process of attaching one of the boards, I hit my left thumb with my hammer just below the thumbnail.
Even though I was at church, I reacted pretty much as you might expect anyone who has hit their left thumb with a hammer to react.
Only I asked for forgiveness after.
Anyway, I finished the table and after the pain went away, I forgot about the incident with my thumb and the hammer.
Until one day, as my thumbnail began to grow, the blood blistery kind of thing that shows up under your nail after you hit it with a hammer began to take shape.
Sitting at the bar of the Hard Rock Café at Baltimore’s Inner Harbor on New Year’s Day as we ate dinner while preparing to go watch the Steelers versus the Ravens game at M & T Bank Stadium, I realized I had something very unusual looking on my thumb.
“Kim,” I said, “look at my thumb…who does that look like to you?
“Oh my gosh,” she said, “Donald Trump! You have Donald Trump on your thumb!”
I did.
I had a caricature of Donald Trump, blood blistered tattooed on my thumbnail!
Not that there is anything wrong with that.
But I realized that to share this remarkable occurrence, was kind of like funambulism!
Because let’s face it, there are a lot of people out there I am sure, and some might even be reading this, that would probably like to tell me where to stick that thumb with the Donald Trump image on it!
But I would have to decline because that’s not nice and I need that thumb, and in fact, that might cause some of that ambulism I was discussing earlier since it would be hard to walk like that.
And the sad thing is, trying to write something that mentions Donald Trump, or anything political, or anything that might mention the differences we might have with one another really is kind of like funambulism.
Though the holidays were officially over, with the weekend coming and a couple more loved ones still to visit, she dipped into a Harris Teeter to pick up a few things. She took her place in line at the self-checkout behind an older woman who was already scanning her groceries. With the help of a young clerk the old woman carefully took her items out of her handbasket and slid them over the scanner and into her bag.
She watched as the old lady, barely skin and bones and looking disheveled in a tassel cap, an old sweater, and baggy sweatpants continued slowly processing her groceries.
Three tomatoes, not even in a bag and all on one stem, half a loaf of bread, lunch meat, and a half gallon of ice cream. When the total approached twenty-five dollars, the old woman told the young clerk “tell me when I get to thirty dollars.”
Soon after, the clerk put the lunch meat aside because it was going to put her over her thirty-dollar limit.
The woman in line observing all this thought back to a time when she was younger and a struggling single mom of a couple of young kids. She would take her calculator with her when she would go grocery shopping to stay within her budget.
“Ma’am, can I just pay for your groceries?” she asked the old woman.
Hearing the offer and turning towards the voice, a bit surprised she replied “Would you? I am 90 years old, and things are getting harder.”
“Ma’am I am blessed, and I would like to help you,” and with all the old women’s groceries now scanned and in the bags, she swiped her card and paid the bill.
After checking out her own items and leaving the store, she looked for the old woman, but she was gone.
Yesterday was January 10th.
I have come to realize January 10th is the real New Year’s Day in my house.
It’s not always obvious, you can’t always feel it, and sometimes for short periods maybe even you forget it exists. It seems to surface when you least expect it and sadly and sometimes inexcusably, it might even go unnoticed.
And it’s particularly ugly and insidious starting sometime before Thanksgiving and ending in early January where it lives deep in your expectations of joy and happiness, and the inner peace we search for in the story of the birth of a child, then in the anticipation of the new beginnings and opportunities of a new year.
And as hard as you try to deny its effects, no amount of wine or eggnog, happy or sentimental seasonal movie binging, or decorations and holiday celebrations are going to keep that thing under wraps.
It’s called grief.
And it doesn’t matter how many awesome sons-in-law, grandchildren, or kids you are blessed with, there is still always going to be one missing.
And sometimes even a bonehead husband and father like me who should know better doesn’t always read the signs at the right times or know when it’s time to take a step back; because sometimes it takes me until January 10th to realize that was the reason that the joy schedules didn’t always match up, that the attempt at the special moment fell flat, and mentioning that Santa Claus had come didn’t quite have the impact expected.
On Monday, January 9, on what would have been Donny’s 36th birthday, Kim put up a nice post on her Facebook page remembering Donny. She received many nice comments, many of those coming from others who had also lost children.
I have read them all, several times really.
Comments like “Thinking of you Kim. Donny was one of a kind. Much love to you and your family.”
Donny was one of a kind.
And like the good person who helped the old lady in the Harris Teeter that day by paying for her groceries, Donny was a good person too.
And though situations like this always bring to mind the old adage “why do bad things happen to good people,” the truth is, bad things can happen to anyone.
But there really are good people we know or have known, in our lives.
And that brings to mind another old adage and just goes to show you, sometimes…
The apple doesn’t always fall far from the tree.
Postscript:
I have referenced this before and Kim mentioned it in her Facebook post, these words were sent to us twenty years ago and remain displayed in our kitchen:
She told me I needed to start writing more about my family and grandkids maybe, and less about the cranky old guy stuff I have been writing about.
I won’t tell you which daughter told me I was cranky because I don’t want to throw one of them under the bus because I am a dad who is cool like that.
But I am sure it’s okay if I tell you she lives in Florida.
It’s December 6th and I am home alone again.
Kim is attending the Laurel View Village Christmas party with her mom in Pennsylvania.
Home alone, that sounds kind of Christmassy right?
Because again this year, I decided I wasn’t going to write a Christmas letter.
Once again, I didn’t feel like it.
Too cranky I guess.
But since I am home alone, what the heck, maybe it will help.
Kim and I watched Christmas movies over this past weekend; It’s a Wonderful Life, White Christmas, and How the Grinch Stole Christmas, the one from the year 2000 with Jim Cary as the Grinch.
I never liked that one. I would always get to the scene early on in the movie with the sorting of the mail and presents at the Whoville Post Office and then I would shut it off. It was just too much overstimulation.
But this past weekend Kim and I watched the whole thing.
And I still didn’t like it.
But this movie has that song.
The Where Are You Christmas? song.
That song always gets to me, in fact, I featured some of the lyrics in my 2018 Christmas “letter” that was never sent but just posted online, another Christmas we struggled with.
So while Kim went upstairs to bed, I watched the credits and listened to Faith Hill sing that song once again. And as it always does, even though I like it, it made me a little sad, bringing back memories from Christmas 2000, our first Christmas married and as a blended family and those that would follow; the events that changed our family, how we have changed, how our Christmases have changed, and how I have changed.
But that is life, things change, and every year is different, as it should be. Traditions are nice, but there are new ones that need to be made too.
And in fact, already this year we made some holiday change ups and did some things differently.
The weekend before Thanksgiving we had an early Thanksgiving get-together with Savannah, Leon, Cameron, Hayley, and Malcolm. That was nice, we did a very non-traditional Thanksgiving meal with charcuterie, meatballs, Italian sausage and green peppers, baked ziti, and some other stuff. The photo on the card is from that day.
Then on Thanksgiving Day Kim and I flew to Florida to have Thanksgiving dinner with Alexa, Namaan, Christian, Ethan, and some extended Florida family and had the more traditional turkey and fixings. Friday morning we all packed in the car and picked out a nice live Christmas tree and added some more decorations to the outside of the house. Then we built a gingerbread house that the kids decorated. So we were able to have Thanksgiving and jam some Christmas in there too with the kids.
We had a nice long weekend. It’s kind of fun Christmas tree shopping in shorts and sandals.
But for Christmas this year, unlike last year, we won’t have any of the kids and grandkids together.
And as I sit here thinking about it, I suppose that is my problem. That is why this year it’s tough to get in the spirit.
And though each year in this letter, I try to corner the market on holiday self-pity, I realize in the end I need to count my blessings and recognize that we are not unlike most families. Families change, some are called home, and we can’t keep our kids young forever. And sometimes we have to share the grandkids, or the nieces and nephews and as much as we would like to keep all of our traditions, there are those times we have to let some go or make new ones.
I heard a crazy story about a guy who started a movement where he writes and advocates for human extinction saying children are so damaging to the planet, the only answer is to let the human race die out by not having any more children.
Wow…talk about a Grinch.
Can you imagine not having any children around… especially at Christmas?
I am dealing with that issue right now.
It’s sad, he doesn’t know what it’s like to have kids.
He doesn’t have any daughters.
But on the other hand, he doesn’t have any daughters to tell him that he is cranky and what he should and shouldn’t write about.
Nor does he have daughters who tell him how much they love him.
I feel bad for that guy.
I hope he has a Merry Christmas.
But now it is getting late and though sometimes I find it difficult to sleep when I am home alone, I must not give in to the temptation to stay up, I must go to bed.
And I am reminded of another song from another movie we watched over the weekend, Irving Berlin’s White Christmas and Count Your Blessings (Instead of Sheep).
When I’m worried and I can’t sleep
I count my blessings instead of sheep
And I fall asleep counting my blessings…
Counting my blessings.
Well, there you have it, I think it did help a little.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from Kim and me. We hope you and your families have a blessed Christmas too.
Postscript:
Okay so it’s now closer to Christmas, and to make my daughter Alexa happy, in more traditional Christmas letter fashion, in case anyone is interested, here is a report on all my “Little Blessings”:
Savannah and Leon are doing great, living in their “new” house in a nice friendly neighborhood in Leesburg. Leon is still teaching at Open Arms, a private Christian school and Savannah working for a surgical practice in Dulles called Surgical Specialists of Northern Virginia.
Cameron is awesome, twelve years old, and in the seventh grade. He is now as tall as me, and his voice is really lowwwwww. That’s kind of hard to get used to. He is actively developing his basketball skills and in spite of his almost teenage status, he still pays attention to his Mimi and Pop Pop.
Hayley and Malcolm also are enjoying life in their “new” house in Leesburg, very close to Savannah and Leon. They have been busy doing some renovations and keeping up with the yard. I keep telling Malcolm I know a guy when he is ready. Hayley is in her 15th year teaching at Broad Run High School and Malcolm is an IT Project Manager for government websites.
Alexa and Namaan are still in Hollywood Florida where life at home is like being in Disney World. Alexa still lawyering for GEICO and Namaan investigating claims for State Farm, they both mostly work on personal injury claims and investigations.
Ethan and Christian are growing up, Ethan is five and in Kindergarten and Christian is seven and in the second grade. Christian plays baseball in a coach pitch league and is taking art classes. Ethan is earning his stripes and belts in karate.
Kim and I are doing fine and managing to keep busy. Kim is in her 29th year at Lincare and enjoys the relationships she has built over all those years. I am enjoying my semi-retirement continuing to work part-time at the Sterling United Methodist Church and managing purchasing (auctions) and sales (Ebay) for Kim’s Vintage Cool Stuff while waiting patiently for Malcolm to hire me to cut his grass.
We spend as much time as we can with Kim’s mom in Pennsylvania and my mother and father on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Faye is doing great at Laurel View Village in Davidsville. Lady, my mother, is like the energizer bunny and is practically on the staff of the Mallard Bay Nursing and Rehab in Cambridge as she helps to take care of my dad, who all things considered, is doing okay too.
So as you can see we are blessed with daughters and great sons-in-law, grandchildren, parents, and Donny in our hearts.
And as that song that gets to me says “If there is love in your heart and your mind, you will feel like Christmas all the time.”
Maybe so…
And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Luke 2:10
PPS:
I am not going to send too many cards and letters out in the mail this year. I am going to keep it to folks who I think may not otherwise see it, mostly older folks like my sister who may not be active “online.” So please feel free to share.
Christmas 2000 our first family Christmas card, complete with my name spelled incorrectly
Faye and her good friend Nancy at the LVV Christmas Party
On a warm November day, Lady and Pop out for a “walk” in his new wheels.
Me and Cam
Me, Ethan, and Christian
Ethan
Putting up the Florida Christmas tree
Cam is now way taller than Mimi
Happy Thanksgiving charcuterie from Broad Run Boards
Our Little Chickens Winery has been busy this fall producing a sangria called Hurricane Sangr-IAN, a pinot grigio named “Pee? No!”, a California Mixed Blacks simply called Red, and a happy holidays Merlot.
Tom Brokaw, the well-known NBC news anchor is credited with coining the phrase The Greatest Generation in his book titled “The Greatest Generation.”
Generally defined as those born in the early 1900s to mid to late 1920s, this is the generation that experienced life during the Great Depression, and fought in World War II or worked in the industries that supported the war effort.
The generation that followed the Greatest Generation were those born late 1920s to 1945 and are referred to as the Silent Generation.
And of course, the children of those two generations make up the group commonly referred to as the Baby Boomers, those born between 1946 to the early 1960s.
If you are my age, your parents are most likely to be of the Greatest Generation or the Silent Generation. Their efforts to establish and build their families following what they experienced in the Depression, World War II, and the Korean War set the stage for our country today.
My dad straddled the Greatest Generation and the Silent Generation having been born in 1929.
Today is Veteran’s Day and I was happy to have had the opportunity to visit with my dad.
He was wearing his Korean War Veteran hat.
My dad once told me “I had a lot of fun in the Army.”
I have told the story before about the time my dad tried to get into the action of World War II by going up to New York City when he heard the British Merchant Marine was taking on sailors his age. That turned out not to be true so he and his friend returned home to Oceanport.
And how instead, his World War II service was to participate in a program called the Crop Corps working on farms that grew food for the armed services.
My dad finally did get into the action when he was drafted into the Army during the Korean War. He was first stationed at Fort Dix in New Jersey, so there were times my mother and my grandparents would visit him at Fort Dix. This was before he and my mother were married.
Trained to be a radio operator, after his first assignment at Fort Dix, he wanted to learn how to operate landing craft and was planning to be transferred to Aberdeen Proving Ground in Maryland for his next assignment.
Unfortunately, he got the flu and didn’t make that transfer.
Once he recuperated, he was transferred to Fort Drum in upstate New York. At Fort Drum, he participated in war games. His instructor was an ex-tank commander and my dad was assigned to drive the commander’s car.
He enjoyed that.
He seemed to have a knack for getting sick in the service and while at Fort Drum suffered a bad case of tonsillitis.
It was during his time at Fort Drum that he took leave to go home and marry my mother.
As fate would have it, he was never deployed to combat in Korea. He thought maybe his blindness in his one eye might have made him not combat worthy. My dad was basically blind in one eye from birth (which probably should have kept him out of the Army to begin with).
So after Fort Drum and getting married, he was reassigned to the coastal defenses of New York City in Brooklyn and Staten Island; and Connecticut and Rhode Island with an anti-aircraft battalion. According to my dad, they were big guns, 120 mm, and though they were assisted by a computer, a human had to” match the needle” he said. This assignment, though it was stateside, was considered combat duty.
He told me they would have target practice by having a pilot pull a target behind an airplane for them to shoot at.
“Man, I used to feel sorry for those guys,” my dad once said.
Though I never asked him, I often thought that hopefully my dad wasn’t the guy “lining up the needle.”
They named their gun “Marilyn Monroe” and had it painted on both sides. Just the name in letters though, no images of Marilyn.
From his station in the New York City boroughs, he would go to Sandy Hook in New Jersey to pick up shells and to Cape Cod in Massachusetts to practice with the guns.
He told another story of the Ford Club Coupe he had fixed up and installed a new rear end. One night he fell asleep and wrecked it while traveling with his army buddy Frankie, who was knocked out of the car. My dad had a shotgun in the back seat and as a result they were both put in jail. When finally released they had to hitchhike back to camp in Rhode Island.
He liked his experiences in the Army.
As he said, he had “a lot of fun in the Army.”
The facility where my dad now lives had a program today to recognize their veterans. There were about a dozen residents who were recognized with certificates of appreciation, and their names and service branches were announced. They served cake and juice. You could pick out many of the residents who were veterans by the hats they wore embroidered with the name of the conflict or the service unit they were assigned to like Airborne or Naval Aviator.
I spoke with the “Captain” which is what my mom calls him, the Naval Aviator whose mission at the Nursing Facility is to visit his neighbor’s rooms on a daily basis in his power wheelchair delivering lollypops as a gesture of kindness. He told me in the war his mission was to fly “dive bombers” off of aircraft carriers in the Pacific conflict of World War II and logged many missions.
Our once proud members of the Greatest Generation and the Silent Generation who did everything they could to get into the fight and defend our freedoms are still proud, but their members are dwindling. Many are in facilities, like my father. Many are in wheelchairs, like my father. Some can still proudly tell their stories like “the Captain,” but some like my father, can’t.
And then there are still some, like my daughters Hayley and Alexa’s “Papa Jack” who served in the Army during World War II in Europe and just turned 100 years old in September, that are still driving and enjoying activities like the race track.
We should be proud of them, what they endured and what they did for us.
We should be proud also of those of the other generations who responded to our wars and conflicts, and our defense like Vietnam, the Gulf War, Iraq, Afghanistan, and the many others less discussed.
We should be proud of all of our veterans.
Yet I hope that when the Greatest Generation is gone, and the Silent Generation is gone, someone other than their children remembers.
Remembers who they were and what they did.
Enduring the hardest of times and loving their country so much that they couldn’t wait to get into the fight to protect our freedoms, then return to build a better life for their families and their future.
So thanks to all our veterans for your willingness to serve.
And thanks Pop for all that, and for the better life part too.
Jack and my son-in-law Namaan enjoying Veterans Day at Gulfstream Park todayMy dad in the Army with his mom and dad
