The “Davids” and the “Goliaths”

The “Davids” and the “Goliaths”

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I was told a story recently.

One about a great person in the world of sports.

A tale of a player whose only concern was for his team.

A story of selflessness, and looking shame right in the eye…

All for the sake of his teammates and his coach.

 

What is it that makes one a great athlete?

What is it that makes a great leader?

Is it winning?

I do not think so.

Is it hitting that grand slam home run?

Nope.

Or throwing that Hail Mary pass to win the game with no time left on the clock?

Not on your life.

Or making The Greatest Header Goal Ever Scored in Soccer to take the lead while your parents were at the snack bar?

Well, maybe…

but back to the story:

 

It wasn’t just any game.

It wasn’t the playoffs.

It wasn’t the championship series.

It wasn’t like the World Cup.

No, it wasn’t like any game.

Because it was this game.

And to this player, this game was just as important as any game.

 

The proud parents were on the sidelines in their spot near third base cheering on their player and his team.

Their son stood at second base alertly waiting for play that might come his way at a moment’s notice.

The opposing team was one of the best.

They were like “Goliaths” in this particular league of Tee Ball.

And their team?

Well, they were like “Davids.”

The odds were against them even on a good day, but on this day three players were absent and they were playing with only eight on the field.

Every man counted.

And the second baseman knew that.

 

When the inning was over, the players began leaving the field for the dugout.  Watching her son, mom said to dad:

“I think he peed his pants.”

“No, no it’s got to be water,” said dad.

“I don’t think so, it wasn’t there before” replied mom.

 

Once the team was back in the dugout, intuitively as you would expect a mom to do, she went over to see if everything was alright with her player.

“Hey buddy, is everything okay?

“Yup,” he said, sitting on the bench as he waited his turn to bat.

“Is there anything the matter?”

“Nope,” replied her player.

“Okay,” said mom, “good job out there.”

 

Not satisfied but without wanting to call attention to her son, Mom returned to her place near third base.

 

Soon it was time for the second baseman to step into the batter’s box.

There he stood, bat in hand, and in his stance like a 3 foot 10 inch Babe Ruth.

Heck, he might as well have been pointing to the left-field fence with his bat.

Standing proudly, in front of all the spectators, the opposing team, his coach and his teammates, and his parents, he was cool and remained focused.

He got a hit.

But it was now obvious as he ran the bases, he had peed his pants.

Eventually, he scored.

 

When the inning was over the players and the second baseman returned to the field.

The third-base coach asked him “Hey buddy, did you like spill water on yourself or something?”

“No,” replied the player “I went to the bathroom.”

The coach inquired some more “what happened did you have an accident, do you want me to throw some dirt on it to kind of hide it?”

“No, I had to go and I didn’t want to leave the field so I just went,” he said calmly.

The coach turned to the young boy’s parents and said “oh my goodness I LOVE this kid!”

 

Now back in the dugout, some of the younger kids noticed it and began asking the second basement “Oh my, did you pee your pants?”

The more experienced player replied without hesitation “yeah, I had to go, but it was in the middle of the inning, and I didn’t want to let you guys down by leaving the field, so I just peed my pants.”

The coach was proud of his young player wanting to tell his other players “yeah, that’s right, the next time you have to go to the bathroom just do what that guy does!”

The story of the second baseman who peed his pants rather than leave the field and let his teammates down quickly spread through the team’s other parents.

The other dads were very impressed.

His dad was proud.

And his mom was too.

 

Professional athletes pee themselves on the field all the time.

They get paid millions of dollars to perform at a certain level and sometimes they can’t let bodily functions get in the way.

But what about when you’re not playing for millions of dollars?

What if you are not getting paid to perform at all?

What if you are just six years old?

And the most important thing to you at the moment is your team, and your younger players, those that are five maybe.

And not letting them down.

Putting the welfare of your teammates over your own personal embarrassment and potential future humiliation at school maybe or maybe the next game.

I don’t know whether that makes a great athlete.

Nor do I know whether that makes a great leader.

But it sounds to me like it might be the beginnings of the making of a good person.

And a local legend maybe.

Someone to be looked up to.

Even when you are six.

 

Postscript:

In October of 2001, Kim and I were in Virginia Beach on Columbus Day weekend.  Donny’s travel soccer team was playing in a tournament.

At one point in the game, Kim and I decided to go to the refreshment stand.

And that’s when it happened.

The Greatest Header Goal Ever Scored in Soccer.

And we missed watching Donny make it.

Because we were at the snack bar.

 

As far as the Tee Ball game, unlike the story in the Bible, the “David” team did not prevail.

The “Goliath” team won.

The score was 23 to 10 and as a result, the game was called early because of the number of runs made.  Something called The Mercy Rule.

But winning didn’t matter anyhow.

Because there are more important things than winning.

Even when you are six.

 

Because He Lives

Because He Lives

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Almost twenty years ago now, Donny’s accident occurred on Friday, July 19, 2002.  His funeral was Tuesday, July 23. Tired from grief and everything else unimaginable that week, we needed to “get out of Dodge.”   So we gathered up some kids and some close friends for support and headed out to my parent’s house on the Eastern Shore in Woolford, Maryland.

My dad was crabbing at the time so he still had his crab boat which made for the perfect diversion spending some time on the water, fishing, and crabbing.

Outside of our world, the rest of the country was watching the events unfold in Somerset County, Pennsylvania where on July 24 eighteen coal miners were trapped in the Quecreek Mine. Somerset County was where Kim’s family resided so that crisis hit close to home as well and captured our concerns too.

Woolford is a small town about halfway between Cambridge and Taylor’s Island.  There is not much to the town but a small post office attached to the Woolford Store.  The Woolford Store had everything you needed for fishing, crabbing, and back then, hunting. You could also pick up your beer and groceries or have a seat at one of the few tables in front of the deli/grill and have breakfast or lunch. Camo was common or whatever you liked to fish in and pick-up trucks lined the road out in front.

Just a little ways further up Taylor’s Island Road was a small United Methodist Church named Milton United Methodist Church.

The Milton United Methodist church in Woolford at the time was part of the four church “Church Creek Charge.” The Church Creek Charge consisted of the Whitehaven UMC in Church Creek, Milton in Woolford, Madison UMC in Madison, and the Taylor’s Island United Methodist Church on Taylor’s Island.  The Pastor at the time was Reverend Bob Kirkley.  Kirkley was a preacher’s son who himself spent many years preaching in Baltimore and in St. Mary’s county on the Western Shore. Like my dad, he was born in 1929, so he could have easily been retired.  But instead, every Sunday morning Reverend Kirkley would start his preaching at 8:45 a.m. at the Whitehaven UMC in Church Creek, and once finished he would beat feet down the road to Milton at 9:45 a.m. then Madison at 10:45 a.m. finishing up the morning at Taylor’s Island UMC.

On that particular late July, Sunday, Kim and I felt like we needed to be in church and we convinced my parents to attend with us.  We sat down in one of the pews of the small very traditional-looking aging church sanctuary.  As strangers in church that morning, once we were acknowledged my dad very uncharacteristically stood up and introduced us and explained the circumstances with Donny.

Though I don’t remember what the sermon was about that Sunday, I do remember Kim and me thinking that it was speaking directly to us on that day.

At the end of the service, everyone stood and sang “God Bless America.”

Later that morning we went over to the Volunteer Fire Department in Secretary, Maryland for buckwheat pancakes and caught some TV replays of the miners in Pennsylvania being brought to the surface one at a time in their rescue capsule.

Answered prayers for those families.

 

Once we returned to Herndon Kim emailed Reverend Kirkley and explained that my parents really needed a church family and could he visit with them and try to get them to start going to church.

He did, and it worked, and eventually, my parents became active members of the Milton United Methodist Church.

The aging church building benefited from some of my dad’s carpentry skills and in addition, he would build a new church sign out front and a special Christmas tree-shaped stand for the poinsettias at Christmas in the sanctuary.

 

As my dad’s health began to fail and walking became more difficult, they eventually had to stop attending services.

Kim and I would attend from time to time while visiting.

 

Eventually, Reverend Kirkley’s health failed too and he had to retire, and just this past February, he passed away.

And the once four charge “Church Creek Charge” over time became a three church charge with the closing of the Taylor’s Island church.

Now with a new pastor, Pastor Ben, who is actually a police officer on the western shore when he is not preaching on the weekends, the same traditions of the small-town congregation continue.

 

Yesterday Kim and I returned with my mom for Easter services at Milton.  She hadn’t been to church in a while and they were happy to see her.

Most of the faces of the small congregation were familiar.

The sign on the wall said “last week’s attendance 31.”

With Easter, however, this Sunday’s attendance swelled to 46.

The stand my dad built for the Christmas poinsettias was still present in the corner now decorated with American flags.

And since the lady who used to play the piano moved away, the hymns are sung accompanied by recorded music and vocals.  We sang “He Lives” along with Alan Jackson and “Because He Lives” with Bill Gaither.

And just like it was twenty years ago, “God Bless America” still ends every service.  No accompaniment was needed for that one.

 

After church, we visited with my dad and tried to remember Easters of the past when the big deal was packing the family in the Corvair and driving all the way to Middletown to have dinner at McDonald’s.

Now with our visit over, Kim and I got back in the truck to head home.

But not before a quick stop at the McDonald’s in Cambridge to keep the tradition going.

 

It was a nice Easter.

“Because He lives, I can face tomorrow
Because He lives, all fear is gone
Because I know He holds the future
And life is worth a living just because He lives”

(From “Because He Lives” by Bill Gaither)

 

Postscript

The photo above was taken at the time the new sign that my dad built was installed at the church.

 

Pastor Ben leading the service
The poinsettia tree, now adorned with American flags
The sign my dad built, as it looked on Easter 2022
The Strongest Kid in Oceanport

The Strongest Kid in Oceanport

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“When are we going to go upstairs and eat?”

“Carl, we don’t go upstairs to eat, we eat here.”

“We always go upstairs and eat.”

“No, we don’t Carl, we don’t have an upstairs, we always eat here on the porch.”

“Yes, we do!  We eat upstairs!”

“Alright, alright.”

 

 

This past January I was going through a cabinet in my home “office” that was full of my old notebooks and journals, and I began to leaf through them.  I am not particularly organized so it’s not always clear if the entries are chronological or not, but in one notebook that contained most of my 2016 first-year Musings notes, I found a page dated April 29.  I am going to assume, therefore, that this was April 29, 2016. Here is a somewhat edited version of that day’s notes:

Yesterday my dad was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. His primary care had suspected he might have the disease and he sent him to a specialist in Salisbury who confirmed the diagnosis.  He was ordered to be put on medication to start treatment.

Since I have had a couple of weeks to process the possibility of this diagnosis, to some degree I am glad that it has been confirmed and possibly the medication will help him.  He has endured changes that have noticeably impacted his activities of daily living and maybe some of those changes can be relieved.

Last week he had my mother ask me over the phone if I wanted his bicycle.  He was told by the doctor he could no longer ride his bicycle. 

I thought that was sad and told him to keep it out there for me to ride when I visited. 

It must be really hard.

I don’t know much about Parkinson’s Disease at this point, but I suppose I will begin to learn. 

I guess only time will tell.

In the meantime, I will learn as my dad goes through this, at least as much as I can.

 

And so began the learning experience.  The journey of watching the life of a once-proud, confident, independent, talented, competent, most of the time charming, and all the time stubborn individual, whose life had impacted so many, begin to implode.

A guy who was known for his physical abilities, his sense of balance, his strength, and his accuracy.  He could cross a log over a stream with ease, he could lean comfortably over the edge of the roof of a building while pulling a roll of tar paper up on the end of a rope; he could climb a rope using only his arm strength, he could drive a 10-penny nail with one swoop of a hammer and cut through a branch with one chop.

“One Chop Mo” they called him in Boy Scouts.

He could ski, ice skate, windsurf, climb a ladder, carry a backpack over miles of the Appalachian Trail, drive a firetruck, fight a fire, and even deliver a baby.

He could build a house, build a fine piece of furniture, build a First Aid building, and build a community-free library.

And he could ride his bicycle.

But not anymore.

 

 

The conversation illustrated above became more common as his disease progressed. But it wasn’t always like that and before reaching the point of incoherent sentences or confusion, as much as I could, I asked questions and wrote things down.

Though some of those conversations reached long into the night and were sometimes blurred and marred by Manhattans and red wine, not to mention the progression of his Parkinson’s, I tried to do the best I could to document his comments.  The Manhattan’s were always good grease for the wheel on his end, but on my end red wine didn’t always allow me to capture those memories as well as I would have liked.

But we had fun.

 

My dad talked a lot about “going home” as his mind began to change.

He always wanted to “go home.”

“Home” to him, in his later Parkinson’s years, was in Oceanport, N.J.

Though he lived in Woolford, on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, and hadn’t lived in Oceanport in thirty years, in his memory, he lived back in the town he was raised in and where he raised his family.

His life was going full circle.

And in his defense, in the house that he built in Oceanport; he did go upstairs to eat.  The kitchen was on the middle floor, or more exactly the third level of the four-level split he built.  If he was in the basement where his workshop lived, or in the “rec” room where his bar was located, he went up the stairs to reach the kitchen and eat.

So in his previous house, the “home” he remembered best as being his home, he went upstairs to eat.

Except for the few years as a child when he lived in the Scandinavian neighborhood of Brooklyn’s Bay Ridge section, my father was born and raised in Oceanport.

My grandfather moved the family to Brooklyn in the 1930s to find work and for three years, my dad lived and attended New York’s public school system in the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th grades.

It’s been a while since we have had the ability to have those conversations when I could learn more about his life.  But interestingly, this past Monday, on his birthday, out of the blue, he shared another story I had not heard before.  You have to understand this was a big deal because most of his speech now is unintelligible.  On Monday, while we celebrated his birthday in the facility where he now lives, he shared the story of another birthday party he had in Brooklyn in 1939 when he turned ten years old.  He said he had just started to play guitar and they played “kissing games.”  He also mentioned that baseball was big back then.

I don’t know where all this came from but I got pretty excited and of course, took notes on my phone.

I have never heard him say anything about playing the guitar, but I definitely believe he played “kissing games.”  I did try to push him a little with some follow-up questions about the Brooklyn Dodgers but at that point, it was over.  The clarity had ceased.

I think he had a great birthday and for me it was awesome.

 

On April 29th in 2016 I wrote:

“I don’t know much about Parkinson’s Disease at this point, but I suppose I will begin to learn. 

I guess only time will tell.

In the meantime, I will learn as my dad goes through this, at least as much as I can.”

 

It’s now April of 2022.

I am still learning.

Though I probably still don’t know as much about Parkinson’s in the clinical sense as I should,  I do know how it has affected my dad and impacted my mother.

 

My dad once told me “At one time I was the strongest kid in Oceanport.”

I believe he probably was.

That strength is gone now.

And the sense of balance he was once so proud of, gone too.

It’s hard to believe it has only been six years that we have been on this journey.

Yet he still has those days when he amazes me.

So I guess I will keep on learning.

As long as he keeps sharing.

 

Postscript:

I shared his birthday photo on social media and he got many responses and comments.  I read as many of those comments as I could to him while I was with him on Monday and will follow up with the rest the next time I see him.  Thanks to all for helping to make his birthday special.

My dad enjoying his birthday ice cream cone. He hadn’t had an ice cream cone in about 10 months.
Society’s Child 2022

Society’s Child 2022

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Since last Friday was April 1st, it was time to switch the Guitar calendar on my office wall to May.  We always keep the Guitar calendar a month ahead and refer to a more traditional calendar hanging next to the Guitar calendar for those dates in the current month.

I took one more look at the April birthday list before inserting the pushpin into the corkboard and officially switching it over to May.

April 7th, I noted, Janice Ian’s birthday.

That brought to mind the only Janice Ian song I could think of Society’s Child.

Unless you are my age or older you may not be familiar with Janice Ian.

A Jersey girl though not typically associated with the music we now identify as the Jersey sounds made famous by Bruce Springsteen and Little Steven, she was born in Farmingdale, not far from where I grew up, and went to high school in East Orange.

Janice Ian wrote the song Society’s Child (Baby I’ve been Thinking) when she was thirteen.  The song was about an interracial relationship between a young white girl and a young black boy, and the negative treatment she received from her mom, other students, and teachers.

Her “Society.”

By the end of the song, she says, “I don’t want to see you anymore” and gives in to the pressure.

But not before saying the line “When we’re older, things may change. But for now, this is the way they must remain.”

 

 

I heard a great sermon last Sunday.

One I needed to hear I think in my continued funk.

One that helped to put some of my concerns in perspective.

It was in fact, about perspective.

 

“How critically important it is for me to have to stop in these times when you seem to be being bowled over by shock, anxiety, trauma, and the need to find just a moment to breathe in, take a breath of the Grace of God; to just find some sustenance.  And it may not change what’s going on but it will give you strength.  And God intends us to know something of that peace in the midst of chaos…

The kind of peace that comes to us in the midst of crisis, tumult, and pain…it is strength to know the presence of God, and it’s wisdom,” said the preacher.

 

Unless you live under a rock, you know we have all these things in our world, and some folks may even be experiencing crisis and pain in their personal lives.

 

But what about in those quieter times?

Those times when we may not be experiencing crisis (but everything is a crisis right?), just the normal stresses of work, family, finances, and life in general.

 

A couple of thousand years ago near or maybe even on this day, Jesus stopped on his way to Jerusalem to hang out with some friends and enjoy some quiet time before what he knew was the inevitable.

You may be familiar with the story of Martha and Mary.

Martha runs around stressed and anxious as she prepares the meal in the kitchen while her sister Mary just chills at the feet of Jesus.

She even asks Jesus to tell Mary to help her.

But Jesus tells her “Martha, Martha, you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed…Mary has chosen what is better…

Mary understands the peace of God while Martha creates a crisis.

I am too often guilty of having the Martha thing going on I am afraid, and might be better served to take a seat.

 

According to what I have read, Atlantic Records recorded Society’s Child (Baby I’ve Been Thinking) but then refused to release it and when it finally was released on a different label many radio stations wouldn’t play it.

This was 1966 and 1967.

The world was different then.

Right?

And “When we’re older, things may change.”

Right?

I think so.

In 1966 and 1967 I was ten and eleven years old.

And through my eyes much has changed in the last fifty-five years.

I have changed.

People I know and love have changed

Our country has changed.

 

But nevertheless, if you look and live like me, and believe what I believe, society would have me labeled as a racist, a capitalist, a homophobe, and whatever else.

Yup, that’s me, Society’s Child of the 2020’s I guess.

And I will admit, I take some offense to that.

 

I watched video of former President Obama’s return to the White House this week.  It reminded me that it really wasn’t that long ago that we weren’t so racist in this country and that we had come a long way since 1966.

But now that has all changed again.

 

It is sad that we can’t put our world in a more realistic perspective, can’t recognize the change that has occurred in humanity, and in the hearts of individuals.  It just may help progress to continue.

I am older now, and I have seen that things do change, things have not remained that way in all circumstances. And I also recognize more change is necessary.

Yet, some want to create a crisis.

And some understand the peace of God.

Choosing what is better.

Sitting at the feet of Jesus.

But that is just my perspective.

 

Postscript:

The photo above was taken last week on my most recent visit to see my Pops.  Janice Ian isn’t the only famous person to have a birthday in April because Monday April 11 is my dad’s birthday.  He will be 93 years old.  So just in case I don’t get around to paying him some attention in words I will acknowledge him here.

“C’mon Everyone We Gotta Get Together Now”

“C’mon Everyone We Gotta Get Together Now”

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“Oh yeah, love’s the only thing that matters anyhow.”

Those lyrics are from the song Sweet Cherry Wine by Tommy James and the Shondells released in 1969.

I have been singing it over and over again lately, and with the help of my “Alexa,” listening as well.

 

I haven’t written anything to post on “Musings” in over three months.  I haven’t felt like it.  I have been in a funk since Christmas.  I don’t know why exactly.  Maybe it’s seasonal depression; maybe it’s the #PutinPriceHike on our gas costs; maybe it’s the massive losses in our retirement accounts at a time when I would like to retire; maybe it’s the Valentine’s Day card I bought for Kim that cost me eight bucks (8 bucks!); maybe it’s the threat of World War III and nuclear war looming over the futures of my grandsons; maybe it’s the weight gain I can’t blame on anybody but myself ushering in a new stage of my old age.

 

In 1969 I remember Sweet Cherry Wine as being a cool song that I liked.  At that point in my life, I wasn’t paying too much attention to lyrics in songs so I didn’t really get the message.

Having grown up on lyrics like “Makes my heart go run-run ditty”  or  “Down dooby doo down down, Comma, comma, down dooby doo down down,” what was the point of listening to lyrics.

Anyway, I just thought it was a song about drinking wine.

We had a lot of division in the country in the 60’s and 70’s.  In fact in Tommy James’ book “Me, the Mob, and the Music” he writes “Before the 1968 election, there was very little left-right, conservative-liberal dichotomy.  That election, that year, was when we lost our national unity and became a red and blue country.  Divided we fall.”

We had Vietnam, we had Watergate, and not long after we had our first oil crisis.

My daughter Hayley reminded me this past week about a photograph I had taken when I was in high school that got published on the front page of a local newspaper called The Advisor on February 3, 1974.  The photo was taken during the oil embargo of 1973 and 1974 and she wanted to use it as part of her lesson for one of her classes.

The oil embargo of 1973 had some similarities in origin to at least a part of our current oil and gas situation (the Putin part) in that during the Arab-Israeli War of 1973 the Arab nations imposed an embargo on the United States in retaliation for providing arms to Israel thus banning petroleum exports to the US and other nations supporting Israel.  Domestic oil production had declined and we had become dependent on importing foreign oil.

We had long lines at the gas stations and prices jumped.  It was common for gas stations to run out of gas.  I happened to have worked part-time at the Shell station in my hometown of Oceanport where the photo was taken and therefore I had a pretty easy time getting gas.  I had taken the photo as part of an assignment for my high school photography class.

“Divided we fall.”

That may be true.  I think September 11, 2001, would tamp that division down a little but it is raging back.

We have climate change, social media, fake news, Build Back Better, Make America Great Again, socialism versus capitalism, and on and on.

Heck, even the Senate’s attempt to cure my seasonal depression is pitting family member against family member.

 

Though often thought to be related to psychedelia and drugs, Sweet Cherry Wine was more a song protesting the Vietnam War and according to Tommy James in an interview in 2010 the song “was about the blood of Jesus.“

 

“…yesterday my friends were marching out to war
…listen, now, we ain’t a-marching anymore”

“No we ain’t gonna fight
Only God has the right
To decide who’s to live and die”

 

I have always said that writing is great therapy.

I guess I should start practicing what I preach.

Maybe practice what I preach in more ways than just writing.

 

“To save us He gave us sweet cherry wine”

 

This is my blood, drink it, in remembrance of Me.

 

Pray for peace.

The Christmas Letter 2021

The Christmas Letter 2021

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It’s coming on Christmas
They’re cutting down trees
They’re putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on

From “River” a song by Joni Mitchell

 

I heard this song recently.

It’s a beautiful song.

But it’s kind of sad.

I guess we have all had times in our lives when we wished we had a river we could skate away on.

As I write this on an early December evening, I was reminded by a social media post that on this day one year ago, just a few weeks before Christmas, a friend of mine from my hometown of Oceanport, New Jersey had succumbed to complications of the Covid 19 virus.

His daughter posted a photo a few days ago also on social media, of this year’s Christmas decorations on their house with the comment “We didn’t even have a Christmas tree last year….but we decided to make up for it this year.”

Yeah, buddy.

I remember Christmases like that. The Christmas of 2002 when we had to have Christmas somewhere, anywhere but not at our home.  Too many memories for that, so we ended up in a house in Deep Creek, Maryland.  And the Christmas of 2018 when we didn’t put up a Christmas tree either for the first time in my life because we just weren’t feeling it.

But then in 2019, with the kids coming up from Florida we tried to regroup and be festive. And we had a nice Christmas.

Then just a few months later, the virus shut us down.

Christmas 2020 was spent spread out with Kim’s mom on Christmas Eve, my parents on Christmas Day, and the local kids a couple of days after Christmas.

Holiday distancing to allow for social distancing.

I am sure for Christmas 2020 there were probably many who wished they “had a river to skate away on. “

But this year, though not everything has returned to the way it was back in 2019, we are trying once again.

And like my friend’s daughter Michelle and her mom Linda and their family, again with the Florida kids coming up to Virginia for Christmas, we decided to try to make up for it this year too.

Kim and I were already a little ahead of the game preparing for this Christmas in that we had never taken our Christmas tree down from last year.

Yeah, I know that sounds weird, but it kind of fit in with all the other plants, even though it was artificial.

We decided we would enjoy it all year long.

So we decorated the tree for the Kentucky Derby, then the Preakness, and the Belmont. Then in July for the Haskell. Those Haskell hats remained on the tree until I finally took them down the weekend before Thanksgiving.

In fact, over the weekend in October when Savannah and Leon got married, Christian happened to find the one lone ornament from the Christmas before, that we overlooked taking down.

Appropriately so, it was an angel.

So, on the Sunday before Thanksgiving, with the angel continuing to watch over us, all those hats were replaced with Christmas ornaments.  And the decorating continued in the weeks that followed, inside and outside the house.

Joni, in her song “River,” goes on to explain she lives in a part of the world where everything is always green:

But it don’t snow here
It stays pretty green

Though the desire to escape is real, the hope of having a frozen river to skate away on, is just that, just a hope. A sad one maybe, we can’t always skate away from the unexpected.

Because the truth is:

It’s coming on Christmas
They’re cutting down trees
They’re putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace

Christmas is coming.

And the Christmas season is a time of hope, a time of renewal, a time of anticipation of what is to come as we prepare to celebrate the birth of Jesus on Christmas Day.  As well as to anticipate what that will mean for us in the coming New Year.

A time of joy and a time of peace.

And maybe… that hope, and that joy, and that peace is our “river.”

So put your skates on.

 

Postscript:

Kim and I would like to wish all our friends and family a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!  And a special Christmas blessing to all our new friends at the Laurel View Village in Davidsville, Pennsylvania, and Signature HealthCARE at Mallard Bay in Cambridge, Maryland.

It’s a Thursday evening and as I sit here writing wearing my vintage Troy Polamalu Bumblebee Pittsburgh Steelers jersey, I will soon need to put down my pen to prepare to watch the Steelers play the Vikings on Thursday Night Football, in hopes that by the time I rest my head on my pillow tonight I will not be wishing there will be a river, or maybe three rivers that I and all other Steelers fans could skate away on.

Lastly, I will leave you with another thought from another post I saw on social media today from our friends at Christ Church in Easton, Maryland that I thought was fitting:

Life requires many responsibilities of us each day, and so many of them don’t go according to how we had planned or expected. Joseph was required to go with Mary, his wife, back to his hometown of Bethlehem. We can wonder about his thoughts as he was navigating this tedious trek home. But what we know of is the miracle that took place there, after they arrive!

Heavenly Father, help us to keep our eyes on you as we respond to the many responsibilities that we face each day so that we don’t miss the blessings that you pour out. Amen.

 

Amen.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from all of us.

Namaan, Alexa, Cameron, Savannah, Leon, Christian, Ethan, Kim, Curt, Hayley, Malcolm, and Donny too.

 

Post Postscript (added for this post December 21, 2021)

Shortly after finishing this letter, my aunt, Joan Christiansen passed away.  I have referred to my Aunt Joan a couple of times before in these musings in You Are My Sunshine and Hello In There.  She was special.  We are all familiar with the proverb “it takes a village to raise a family.”  But more often, it takes family to raise a family.  When my sister, my brothers, and I and my cousins were kids, aunts and uncles were more like deputized parents.  They stepped up as they needed to cover one another and keep us all safe.  We shared our Christmases and Easters and other holidays too.  We shed some tears and lots of laughs.  We have many memories and on December 11 we had a little more of that sunshine taken away.

We sang “You Are My Sunshine” at her gravesite.

Prayers go out to my cousins and their kids and their kids too.

Here is “You Are My Sunshine” featuring my Aunt Joan.

Enjoy

My aunt, Joan Christiansen

 

The Haskell tree in July

Happy Thanksgiving Pop!

Happy Thanksgiving Pop!

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Thanks, Pop

Thanks for giving.

Thanks for giving me life, a home, and safety.

Thanks for giving me a family and holding it together to this day.

Thanks for loving my mother and for giving me a sister and a brother, and another brother too.

And thanks for giving us Jesus by making us go to Sunday school.

 

Thanks for giving me a life where everything wasn’t just given to me.

Thanks for giving me a chance to make up my mind,

And for giving me the freedom to learn and make mistakes.

Thanks for not giving me everything I wanted and for teaching me to appreciate what I have earned.

Thanks for teaching me to respect work and those I work for, and that all work is important.

 

Thanks for giving me your blue eyes but not your hairline.

Thanks for giving me Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and Weary Willie on Halloween too.

And for making all those holidays memorable as a child.

Thanks for giving your time in service to our country and me the advice to join the Army even though I didn’t listen.

And thanks for not giving me shit when I knocked the lights off the top of the firetruck with the overhead door of the firehouse…and when I did it the second time too.

 

Thanks for giving me your attention when I required it.

And thanks for giving others your time even though there were times I may have felt I needed it more.

Thanks for giving me your hand and your strength when mine wasn’t enough.

Thanks for giving me patience…patience I can now give back to you.

And thanks for whatever you felt you did for me, even though I might not have realized it at the time.

 

And especially thanks for giving me another Thanksgiving when we can share some time together and make another one of those holiday memories.

And for being a good sport once again when I make you wear goofy stuff like Turkey Sunglasses.

Thanks, Pop.

Thanks for giving.

Happy Thanksgiving!

My dad’s Weary Willie act. It was a rite of passage for Carl, Gary, and I to share one Halloween as his sidekick.
A Thanksgiving from the past. Maybe 1965 or 66?
The Joy of My Life

The Joy of My Life

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“… First time that I saw you
Mmm, you took my breath away
I might not get to Heaven
But I walked with the angels that day”

 

I will admit, I wasn’t always a big country music fan.

When Kim and I first started hanging out together I knew one thing for sure, Kim was going to have to begin to like the music I liked.

Well, at least some of it.

So while I was introducing her to Lowen & Navarro, the Cowboy Junkies, the Bodeans, Don Dixon, and Joe Jackson; she was working on me with her country music.

And gradually we had some success on both sides.

Except maybe for the Cowboy Junkies.

Kim didn’t like the Cowboy Junkies.

That resulted in one very memorable and very funny evening at the Barns of Wolf Trap sitting seven rows back from the stage when she blurted out “You’ve got to be kidding, just shoot me!” after Margo Timmins finished singing a song.  We had to make a hasty exit, laughing all the way to the parking lot.

But in fairness, I allowed myself to be exposed to Kim’s country music and began to listen and like it more and more.

In fact, Kenny Chesney’s “Me and You” became very special to us and we even had it sung at our wedding.

 

But it seemed lately I hadn’t been paying too much attention to country music’s current direction.

So one evening recently when Kim was running late and I was preparing dinner I said “Alexa,  play some country music” and for the next hour or so I listened.

Then a few nights later we were watching TV and flipping channels and happened upon the last hour of the CMA Awards, and it was evident that country music wasn’t what it was twenty years ago.

So over the weekend on another Eastern Shore road trip with Kim, I decided to make a point to listen to what was cutting edge country music in 2021 hoping to find another “Me and You” and caught the better part of the country top 30 countdown on Sirius XM.

It was interesting.

Back in the 70’s Steve Goodman wrote “You Never Even Called Me By My Name,” a song made popular by David Allan Coe, touting that the ingredients to the perfect country song were: “Mama, trains, trucks, prison, and getting drunk.”

Well, I learned that in the perfect country song now fifty years later you still have to be getting drunk.

Yeah, drinking is still a requirement.

And beer songs are real big.

“There’s a cold beer calling my name….”

“The Beer’s on Me…”,

And sometimes it’s just “Wishful Drinking,” which I guess just happens when you run out of beer money.

 

But it doesn’t have to be beer, it can still be bourbon, or “three shots of whiskey,” or tequila, or even “me and you time with a little bit of red wine.”

I liked that one.

But trains aren’t cool anymore.

Nope, nowadays you gotta have a boat in a country song.

And it’s better too if you are drinking that beer on that boat, or “tequila on a boat” works too.

Yeah, boats are big.

But there is a limit to the number of drunk songs you can hear and after yet another “drunk as a skunk” on a boat song we had to take a break and turn the radio off.

That was my “Just shoot me” moment.

 

The next day on the way home I continued my research.

Of course breaking up, cheating, and pickup trucks are still big stuff too.

Shoot I guess you have to have a pickup truck to pull the boat right?

But not so much singing about your Mama, or being in prison.

The other big progression in country music is integrating Rap music into songs.

But I suppose you have to do what you have to do to be commercially successful with the younger fans.

Needless to say, though I still am a fan, I wasn’t too impressed with the current sampling of songs I listened to.

Ah, but then I found it.

Country music redeemed for me.

Because just like “Me and You” was the perfect country song for the beginning of my marriage, Chris Stapleton went and recorded the perfect one for my marriage today.

“The Joy of My Life.”

 

“…Some may have their riches
Some may have their worldly things
As long as I have you
I’ll treasure each and every day

… Just take me by the hand
I am the luckiest man alive
Did I tell you, baby
You are the joy of my life
Did I tell you, baby
You are the joy of my life”

 

Yes, you are.

And you still take my breath away.

Now when can we get to that “me and you time with a little bit of red wine” part?

 

 

Postscript:

The song “The Joy of My Life” was written by John Fogerty of Creedence Clearwater Revival fame.

 

And here is a little bit of that perfect country song from fifty years ago written by Steve Goodman:

“I was drunk the day my mama got out of prison
And I went to pick her up in the rain
But before I could get to the station in the pickup truck
She got ran over by a damned old train”

 

The photo above is one of my favorites from that “Me and You” era not too much before we got married.

Hearing With Our Hearts

Hearing With Our Hearts

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Kim shared a message she received from Greg Laurie, a pastor,  this morning that kind of hit home to me of late.

“So many of us tend to run around in our self-made circles of activity instead of wisely and calmly sitting at His feet” and that “We need to be ready to hear what God has to say.”

The author goes on to use the parable of the sower from Matthew 13 where Jesus describes four reactions to hearing the truth.

First, there is the hard heart and the seed on the path or the roadside. The hard heart doesn’t receive the Word and therefore doesn’t produce any fruit.

Next is the shallow heart, which is the seed that fell on the ground filled with rocks and with shallow roots, the emotional who have no depth in their lives, thus bearing no fruit.

Then there is the crowded heart, the seed that goes into the soil embedded with weeds. This seed may take root and bear fruit initially, but the worries of life choke it out.

And of course, lastly, there is the seed that bears fruit, one that sows deep and therefore those will hear the truth in their hearts.

And it is up to us to decide whether we will have a hard heart, a shallow heart, a crowded heart, or a fruitful heart. We determine how we will allow God will affect our lives.  It’s up to us.

We decide if we want to hear with our ears, but not with our hearts.

 

Yeah, I get it.

 

I haven’t written in a while because I have been busy.  I guess I have been running around in my self-made circle of activity again.

 

That is not to say everything has been bad, not at all in fact.

 

Covid cases popping up in the Rehab facility my dad is in and at the Assisted Living where Kim’s mom resides has restricted our ability to visit our parents in the last month.

Though that has been hard we took advantage of our time off from worry and used one free weekend to bottle our newest vintage of Little Chickens Winery called  “Wedding Blend.”

Little Chickens Winery “Wedding Blend”

Then I had to accompany Kim on a trip to Orlando sponsored by her company. I will admit that was hard, but I got through it.

 

Once home from Florida, we had the main event, which you might guess from the “Wedding Blend” was, a wedding.

Yup, Savannah and Leon finally tied the knot.

 

Now, you have to understand in my family, weddings haven’t historically been events to celebrate over the years, and typically when we have a wedding in my family, that means there is a divorce coming.

However, I don’t really believe that will be true of this family wedding or ever again.  And in fact, I said in my father of the bride toast, that finally on this day, I feel like all my girls are in a good place, they are all safe, and they are all happy.

And that makes me happy.

Mr. and Mrs. Boone

Of course, the side benefit of having a wedding is having all my kids and all my grandchildren together at the same time which generally doesn’t happen but maybe every other Christmas, in fact, Christmas of 2019 was the last time we were all together.

And that made me happy too.

Me and my little guys

Normally this past Saturday, November 6th being both Alexa’s birthday and Kim’s mom Faye’s birthday, one or both of us would be traveling maybe in the same direction, maybe not.  Though we had planned to be with Faye on her birthday, the covid restrictions wouldn’t allow that and since Alexa was having to endure her own trip to Orlando and in her case, Disney World this past weekend, Kim and I stayed home.

Instead, we used that time to perform the annual felling of the banana trees.  With Harry Belafonte, playing “De-O The Banana Boat Song” in the background on YouTube, I felled the bananas…trees that is and stacked them in my truck for a trip to the landfill.

Then to end the weekend on a nice note we spent the late afternoon bowling with Cameron, Savannah, and Leon.

Cameron bowling in 2016

In February of 2016, I wrote about bowling in an essay entitled Bowling for Cameron. Being around all my grandchildren on the days surrounding the wedding and also with Cameron on Sunday and my bowling reflection, I realized how much time does not wait for you to find your way out of the weeds. You can miss a lot.

Cameron bowling in 2021

So this morning on my way to work I thought about where my heart has been the last couple of years, and maybe the last many years.

Somewhere between being on ground filled with rocks, and being embedded in the weeds is my guess.

 

But this morning I felt different.

Our parents are in safe places.

My girls are in safe and happy places.

My family shared some way overdue time together as a family (and will do it again this Christmas.)

 

And I am happy.

And best of all, I am calm.

And I am not used to calm.

It is very strange.

 

But maybe that will allow me to pay attention more.

Maybe that will allow me to hear better now.

And not just with my ears.

 

 

Banana trees before the felling
SIGHT WORDS

SIGHT WORDS

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WARNING: This post contains strong language and may use words that may be unsuitable for younger audiences. Reader discretion advised.

 

If you have read some of my posts, you know that my family and particularly my grandchildren often provide the inspiration for my writing.

You might remember Cameron and I sitting on the deck making fart noises into our walkie-talkies; or him telling me that “when I am not alive anymore, he wants my truck;” or the evening I was tucking him into bed after Christmas when he asked poignantly “Pop Pop, why didn’t Santa bring me a tuba?”

 

Then there was Christian providing me the profound “Everybody in Hollywood farts;” or the beating I took with his dramatic “Pop Pop, I haven’t seen you in years and years;” or the Easter Pageant when asked which part did his friend play and he said, “He was Matthew the cash register.” (But I think he meant tax collector).

 

This week it was Christian again who provided some comic relief and writing inspiration.

Christian, who is now in the first grade, attends Hollywood Hills Elementary School in Hollywood, Florida.  This is his first year in an actual live classroom.

After school he attends the Hollywood Hills United Methodist Church Pre School and After School program.  He has been attending this school for a few years now.

This week, he volunteered his time at the church aftercare program to provide some free classes.  His first class he offered was MAP CLASESS.  They were offered at 3:15 ESTERN to 4:00 PM on WENDSDAY & FRIDAYs. And he offered an area where you could SiAN UP HERE but he cautioned “DON’t CROSS the City BORDERS” and to “ASK Christian BEFORE SIANING UP.”

As you can see clearer in this second photo his sign-up white board was displayed prominently on an easel in the church.

 

Christian loves maps and loves tracking hurricanes on his maps and drawing maps as well.  I still have some drawings on my refrigerator from Christmas 2019, the last time he was at my house.

 

But it was the second class he offered this week that gained the most attention.

Those would be his Sh*t WORD CLASESS for grades K – 1 offered on TUESDAY ThURSDAY & FRiDAYS.

After some research it was learned that his intention was to have classes for Sight Words for grades K – 1, but innocently, of course, misspelled Sight as Shit.

I have to admit, I don’t know sh*t about what “sight words” are…I had to look it up.

But I do know some sh*t words!

 

Wouldn’t we all want to be holding a class on Sh*t words?

 

I can just imagine my class:

 

“Okay class, today’s word is “Sh*tshow.”  Would anyone like to volunteer to use the word sh*tshow in a sentence?”

“OOO” “OOO” (Bobby raising hand and waving excitedly).

“Okay Bobby, what is your sentence?”

“This Congress is a real “Sh*tshow!”

“Now, now Bobby, you know we don’t like to talk politics in this class.”

Bobby, thinking to himself “it’s about sh*t words…how do you not talk about politics?”

“Well okay then, how about ‘this class is a real “sh*tshow!’  “And not only that, you are a real “Sh*thead.”

“Very good Bobby! You will get extra credit for using two “Sh*t” words in your presentation!”

“Now class, before I lose my “Sh*t”…would anyone like to talk about maps?”

 

I would like to thank the Hollywood Hills United Methodist Church Pre and After School teachers for not correcting or removing Christian’s white board ad and encouraging his efforts.

 

I am very proud of all my grandsons; Cameron, Christian, and Ethan and I would encourage and support them in whatever venture they would like to pursue.

Yup, I am one proud Pop-Pop.

 

And that ain’t no bullsh*t.

 

Postscipt:

By the way that school photo of Christian above is hot off the press and received just today.