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We’re Going to Make It……

We’re Going to Make It……

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I haven’t told my wife yet.

How do I tell my wife this?

Do I just come out and say it?

Do I leave a note on the counter?

Maybe a photo?

Maybe write a blog?

 

 

This is a big weekend for me.

I am a big fan of horse racing as you may know and today is the Belmont Stakes.

Tomorrow, as you also know I am sure, is Father’s Day. And next to horse racing, yeah I think my kids are pretty special too.   So I am looking forward to spending some time this weekend  watching some horse racing and also spending some time with at least some of my kids.

Eighteen years ago the family wanted to do something for me that was special so they asked me what I wanted to do on Father’s Day and they would arrange that.

I said, “I want to go to the horse races.”

And so, they worked it out that they would take me to the races at Laurel Racecourse in Laurel, Maryland on Father’s Day.

Not having a vehicle big enough for the six of us, we took two cars.  Alexa at the time was attending the University of Maryland in College Park and recommended that on the way, we also go out for brunch at the 94th Aero Squadron Restaurant located at the College Park Airport which she had been to before. This restaurant was a theme restaurant based on World War I and II aviation and complete with replica planes surrounding the building with sections made to look like it was exposed to “air raids.” On the way out of the restaurant we asked a passerby to take what would turn out to be the last photo of all six of us together in front of one of the planes positioned outside the restaurant, before heading over to the racetrack.

That was a great Father’s Day memory from 2002.

Now it is Father’s Day weekend 2020.

And this year we happen to have a horse racing emphasis once again on this weekend. As a result, it made it a little bit more special, though still bittersweet.

The Belmont Stakes is typically run on the third Saturday after the third Saturday in May when the Preakness is run which works out to be normally the first Saturday in June.   This year, however it’s on the third Saturday in June.  And typically the Belmont Stakes is the third leg of the Triple Crown and usually follows the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness which are the three races that make up the Triple Crown, but this year the Preakness will be the third leg sometime in October.  Triple Crown races are limited to horses that are three years old.

 

Are you following all this?

 

Of course, all the confusion created this year is on account of the virus.

 

Although Father’s Day, on the third Sunday in June remains unaffected by the virus with the exception of the fact that unlike eighteen years ago, this year I couldn’t go to the races even if I wanted to because patrons are not allowed in the stands to watch the live races.  Not to mention, though we probably could go out for brunch if we really wanted to by following the limited outdoor seating rule, I would prefer to stay in my back yard.

 

So in honor of this special memory of horse racing and Father’s Day eighteen years ago I thought it important this week to do something different that was special and on my bucket list.

 

Which, I haven’t told my wife about yet.

 

But here goes:

“Honey, we own a racehorse…”

“Actually, we own four…”

“Remember the evening this week we were sitting by the fire pit and I was on my cell phone?…

“And, you said you were going to go in because I was on my cell phone and not talking to you anyway?…”

“I wasn’t talking because I was busy buying a racehorse.  Well, actually four.  Well, actually just a share of four racehorses.”

“ A very small share.”

“They are just two years old and they are all girls.  Just what we need right?”

“Isn’t that great?”

“Happy Father’s Day?”

“Right Kim?”

“I love you…”

 

Donny is gone, the 94th Aero Squadron Restaurant is gone, I don’t think I have been back to Laurel Racecourse since that day, but I still have a photo and a nice memory.

And still stuck in the door of one of our kitchen cabinets is another reminder of this same time not quite eighteen years ago.  This one came in a sympathy card at the time and reads:

“NO MATTER HOW TOUGH LIFE GETS, IF YOU CAN SEE THE SHORE OF HEAVEN, AND DRAW STRENGTH FROM CHRIST, YOU’LL MAKE IT………………..

Still a great reminder today, as it was that summer of 2002.

WE’RE GOING TO MAKE IT…………………….

 

Happy Father’s Day, aren’t they cute?
Photo of the same plane taken in 2007 after the close of the restaurant courtesy of Ben Sumner.
Boo Boos, Bert and Ernie, Jesus, and Me

Boo Boos, Bert and Ernie, Jesus, and Me

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Would You Like A Lime With That Week Eleven

 

“Curtis! Put that down! You will poke your eye out.”

If you are someone my age how many times growing up do you remember your mother saying that to you?

I was cutting the grass this week at work.  Working within the evergreens with many cut off branches about eye level along the west side of the property, I was thinking about heeding my mother’s advice and my need to be careful that I didn’t “poke my eye out” when all of a sudden I was jarred back to reality by a sharp pain and my head being knocked back.

I felt the blood dripping down my eyebrow and watched it hit the sleeve of my shirt.  With my head hung out ahead of me so the blood would now drop down to the ground and not on me, I walked back to my truck to find a paper towel to apply pressure to the bleeding.

With my glasses now off and holding a towel to my head, I went inside the building and  to the first aid kit that I knew was on the kitchen counter  grabbing the first band aid I could find from the box that happened to be lying open on top of the kit.  I headed to the restroom to get a look.  The gash was about an inch and a half above my right eye.

Happy I didn’t “poke my eye out,” I washed the wound out thoroughly and applied my band aid.

The band aid I had grabbed was a Bert and Ernie band aid.

Back at my desk in the spirit of never letting a good crisis go to waste or, as it may apply to my kids, never let a good boo boo go to waste without getting some sympathy, I took a selfie to send to my wife.     Knowing that seeking some sympathy from Kim “No blood, no bones, no sympathy” Christiansen was a risk, I hoped for the best and sent the photo.

Upon closer inspection of the photo there was me, with Bert and Ernie, and over my right shoulder was Jesus.

How cool is that? I thought.

 

It’s already Memorial Day Weekend and we are, based on my beer bottle counting system, eleven weeks into this new world of Covid-19.

Along with my image of Bert, Ernie, Jesus, and me, photos seemed to be the theme of the week as reminders of this week from years past kept resurfacing.

My Facebook memories popped up this photo from 2018 of Ethan.

isn’t he cute?

Here is another from that same trip to Florida of Christian and Alexa and Namaan.

At the beach, isn’t he cute?
Alexa and Namaan

From Hayley, came this photo from  thirteen years ago  of the two of us on our adventure from Des Moines, Iowa to Fort Lauderdale, Florida when we joined other truckers on the road again moving Alexa to her  new home.  It was a hoot.  By the time we got to Florida we knew all the words to every popular country song at the time. I even bought a cowboy hat somewhere in Indiana.

Next to the rental truck somewhere on the road

Savannah posted a photo that goes back further than that of her and Donny with the McLaughlin boys.  She posted it on May 19, which  would have been Jimmy’s 32nd birthday.  Both Jimmy and Donny were taken from us way too young in life, both by tragic accidents. In fact Jimmy’s accident was four years ago this week as well.

 

Donny on the far left, Jimmy on the far right.

Courtesy of Google, here is when I accompanied Cameron on a field trip this same week in 2017.  Here he is showing me his grilled cheese.  That was a fun day.

On the field trip with Cam. Isn’t he cute?

There was the video from the Preakness in 2015 that popped up on my Facebook memories.  That was the year American Pharoah won in a downpour and ultimately went on to win the Triple Crown.  I can’t post the video here but here is a photo from that same day.

Baffert discussing the race with Victor Espinoza before riders up

And another from the Preakness in 2012.

Kim and I at the 2012 Preakness

And yet another Preakness in 2010:

Kimmy in the Winners Circle at the Preakness 2010. Isn’t she cute?

 

Memories of this week from the present and from years past.

All nice, but some bittersweet.

 

Another virus induced practice for me is that I have started to do video recordings of reading children’s books for my two little guys in Florida since I can’t go to visit yet.

This week I read them “Ralph Tells A Story” by Abby Hanlon.  The book is about how Ralph, unlike his classmates, struggles to come up with ideas to write his stories and about  how he overcomes this problem to become a very productive writer.  Ralph’s writing tips were to:

  1. Get comfortable.
  2. It’s okay to ask for help.
  3. You can always write about what you had for breakfast.
  4. And to eat lots of chocolate.

In other words, you can pretty much write a story about anything and it will be okay.

 

Even one about boo boos, and Bert and Ernie, and Jesus looking over your right shoulder.

 

 

 

The Coronavirus Post Script:

 

And remember to keep in your prayers:

Healthcare workers and their families. Remember “Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy” (Matthew 5:8);

All those sick or compromised from the virus and all other health issues;

Those non healthcare caregivers working to take care of a loved one while isolated at home;

Families who have lost loved ones;

Those who have lost jobs and businesses.

And keep reaching out to those who may need some attention.

 

 

 

 

To Every Thing There Is a Season

To Every Thing There Is a Season

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To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

(Ecclesiastes 3:1-2)

 

This is a bittersweet time of the year for me.

Trying to hold on to the last hint of summer, we spent a long weekend at the beach last week fishing, biking, and getting some rest.

This morning however the temperature was 34 degrees, signaling that it was the time of the year to give up the sanctuary of our back yard that we worked so hard in the spring to build, and begin to get ready for winter.

The time to pluck up that which was planted.

The first time I held my wife’s hand early in our courtship I remember saying to myself, “man, this girl has some rough hands!”

A farmer’s daughter, growing up working on the farm, created those tough hands.

And on a day like this, the time for plucking, that kind of wife comes in real handy.

So this morning the annual ritual of taking down the banana trees began.  This was the most prolific year we have had with our banana trees, and they produced many “pups.”  They also grew bigger than they ever had before.

One by one we dropped them down leaving about four to six inches of the plant above the ground.

We collected the leaves of the hardwood trees that had fallen, having served their purpose now laying in colors of red, orange, yellow, and brown in our yard.  These leaves will serve a different purpose now, to try to preserve the life of what was left of the banana in the ground as winter sets in.

So we covered the short stumps of the banana trees with the dead leaves.  On top of the leaves we laid the clippings of the tall grasses from our yard leaving some of the grasses up for the birds and as protection for the fish in the koi pond.  Then finally on top of the dead leaves and the tall grasses, we made a thick layer using the leaf of the banana trees themselves.  Some of these leaves were over six feet long.

Once the banana trees were tended to we dug up the bulbs to be brought inside for the winter and wrapped the palm trees with bubble wrap and a bed of pine needles.  This will be my first experience with trying to get a palm tree through a winter.  With bubble wrap and duct tape, the four trees I planted this year in the yard were ready.

It was a good day, and now as I sit on my deck without the privacy of my banana trees, I realize they had served their purpose all summer long, and today we served ours, working hard all day to hopefully bring them back again in the spring.

 

Yesterday our mail contained an envelope addressed to Donny from the Franklin Mint.  After seventeen years to get a piece of mail addressed to Donny caused a bit of a pause.

Because I guess I realize that to every thing there is a season.

And I understand a time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted.

But sometimes it’s hard to understand why that to those who are born, the time to die could come so quickly.

Couldn’t we have just wrapped them in bubble wrap and duct tape just that one time and protected them?

I don’t suppose.

I guess there is a time to every purpose under heaven, even if we don’t understand.

I Wish I Had

I Wish I Had

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Donny

Today is July 18th.

This morning Cameron and I were sitting on the deck making fart noises into our walkie-talkies and laughing hysterically.

When you are seven and sixty-one it is okay to make fart noises.  Though I will admit this is the first time I have ever made fart noises through a walkie-talkie.  If you were monitoring channel 21 earlier today I apologize.

From my journal, I read this from July 16,  2015:

This is the text message I got from Kim today:

“Thirteen years ago today was the last time I saw Donny”

When Kim took the kids to the airport that morning of July 16, 2002, to put them on a plane to Las Vegas to see their father who they hadn’t seen in a while, she was scared.  She hated to fly, and the decision to let Donny and Savannah make this trip in the first place was a difficult one.  Now she was at the security gate about to send them through to the area only ticketed passengers were allowed to go.

Security was tight, after all it had been less than a year since 9/11.  When Kim encountered the security agent checking tickets she begged and pleaded and told the man about her kids and that it was their first time flying, the situation in general,  and most of all her anxiety.  Would he just let her go through and wait with them at the gate?

This nice man, at the risk of his job probably, let her go through.

In the gate area they ate food at Friday’s and at some point Donny said she could leave, that they would be fine.  Though she walked away, Kim didn’t leave the area and she watched them until they boarded the airplane, they were unaware.

Coincidentally, on July 16th, 2002, President George W. Bush announced his plan for strengthening homeland security in the wake of the September 11, 2001(911) terrorist attacks on New York and Washington, D.C. He created the Department of Homeland Security and the color-coded warning system that different levels of threat.

Thanks to the pre-Homeland Security airport employee who took a big risk, Kim had the small consolation of a moment and a memory.

Tomorrow it will be 15 years since Donny’s accident and it is still difficult.  We have never yielded to the advice to “get over it” or to “move on”.  And though we were told that God wouldn’t give us more than we could handle, there are many times when we can’t handle it.  Time doesn’t heal, it just changes the pain.

 

I never made fart noises with Donny.  He was a little older and I was a little younger and we were way too cool for that.

But you know what?

I wish I had.

I wish I had done a lot of things.

So if Cameron wants to make fart noises through our walkie talkies, I’m going to be right there with him.

I never want to “wish I had” again.

Tubas and Saxophones, The Dave Clark Five, and I Love You

Tubas and Saxophones, The Dave Clark Five, and I Love You

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My first saxophone, circa 1965, but it was already old when i got it.

It was The Dave Clark Five in the early sixties that caused a young “want to be” rock star at seven or eight years old to begin to fantasize about playing the saxophone one day in a band.

Our grandson Cameron,  age six, asked Santa for a tuba for Christmas.

A tuba.

We don’t know why he wanted a tuba for Christmas.  Not that there is anything wrong with that or the tuba,  I just can’t think of any cool current bands with a tuba player.

Our ritual for putting Cameron to sleep includes Kim and me each individually going in to visit him to say goodnight. The other night while I was in saying good night to Cameron, he asked me:

“Pop Pop, why didn’t Santa bring me a tuba?”

“I don’t know,” I said.  “Maybe he wants you to first learn to play your guitar, your drums, your harmonica, and your piano.  Then it will be easier for you to learn how to play the tuba.”

So because of the Dave Clark Five, when I turned nine years old and was able to start the music program in grammar school (sorry that is elementary school for those of you who aren’t from Jersey),  I got my first saxophone.    I was in the fourth grade and played it until I was in the seventh grade.

When I was twelve I got my first harmonica.

When I was sixteen or seventeen I put my first guitar on lay-away at Jack’s Music Shop in Red Bank New Jersey.

I now have six guitars, a number that equals the number of chords I know how to play on those guitars. I have two saxophones, and I have about twenty harmonicas.

Though I have a deep love of music I think my self-diagnosed attention deficit disorder never allowed me to master any one of those instruments beyond the point of just being able to have fun.

Last night, while listening to some music, I started thinking about Cameron and his tuba.

Then I started thinking about me and my musical instruments.

So naturally that led to the thought that I had to write something about all this.  Next, I remembered I had once written something that I thought at the time was really cool, that might fit somewhere in this developing concept.

So I started searching my spiral notebooks,  and then my computer files,  but I never did find those really cool words I once wrote that I thought would be so fitting.  Though it was definitely way cooler than this,  what I wrote back then had a similar theme to this:

I don’t know why I never learned to play harp like Delbert.

And I don’t know why I never played saxophone like Clarence.

Or learned to play the guitar like Bruce, or sing like Richie Furay, or write songs like Hiatt.

 

And I don’t know now what any of this has to do with anything…except maybe confirming my ADD tendencies.

But there was something else.

Because while I was searching for those really cool lyrics that were never found, I did find this:

My Mom Often tells me

By Donny

 

My mom often tells me, I love you.

When I am in the most miserable mood ever, and my mom is yelling I still know all of this yelling will later be followed by I love you. 

This saying reassures me that everything will always be alright.  It lets me know that somebody cares for you.  This saying makes you feel like everything I’m doing is fine and I should keep up the good work.  I don’t understand why when my mom says I love you, it means a lot more than when anybody else on earth says it, I love my mom.  She is my mentor, my friend, and someone I look up to.  I couldn’t ask for a better mom.  I thank God for blessing me with a gift like this

 

I don’t know why Santa didn’t bring Cameron a tuba.

And I will never know why God took Donny away from us either.

But I am happy that I found this essay of Donny’s since Monday is Donny’s birthday and sometimes we just need to get these messages.

A message that “reassures me that everything will always be alright.” 

So happy birthday Donny!

I can assure you that your mother still loves you.

And that everything will be alright.

Oh…and tell somebody that you love them, it means something.

Donny and cousin Josh

 

 

On Cameron, Uncle Jim, and Me

On Cameron, Uncle Jim, and Me

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IMG_7550
This is Cameron. He recently lost his second tooth.

When my almost six year old grandson Cameron arrived at the memorial service to celebrate Jimmy, he asked if Uncle Jim was there.

A little while later when the long lines of visitors extended down the driveway, he asked Savannah if Uncle Jim was in that long line.

With everything else that was going on, I don’t know that Cameron’s questions were ever properly addressed by Savannah or I.

So my answer to Cameron would be this;

Yes Cameron, Uncle Jim was in the building.

And yes Cameron, Uncle Jim was in the line too.

And I would add that Uncle Jim was in the Coomber Farm back yard as well.

And when me and all of you nice people left and went back to wherever it was we came from, Uncle Jim is now there too.  And that’s where he will live from now on.

And after seeing many familiar faces and speaking to many friends, I think it’s safe to say Cameron,  that your Uncle Donny was there too.

 

And finally I would like to express my personal gratitude for everyone’s assistance in helping to share our stories in all of our ways; and for the encouraging on line and off line comments that I personally received.  Some of those comments even came from folks who didn’t know Jimmy and wished they had, or felt like they do now; some in fact didn’t know either one of us.

When you are used to getting 30 or 40 views of one of your posts, and then you get 5000, that is sort of akin to having a best selling book in my little Musings world.  Hard to imagine. I have heard of people who have written a classic or a best seller only to never write again for fear of failure in a follow up.

Sorry,  that won’t be me.

And besides, I’ve been inspired.

Do you think that is a coincidence?

I don’t know.

Maybe………maybe not.

Mother’s Day Angels

Mother’s Day Angels

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Picture1

Lying in her bed, early in the morning

The cell phone rings with a message that reads

“Thinking of you, have nice day”

She puts her head back down on the pillow and starts to cry

Here we go again this year

It’s another Mother’s Day

 

I don’t remember which year, which Mother’s Day I wrote that, the opening paragraph of a longer piece I never finished.

It’s another Mother’s Day.  They are all a little different and unfortunately all have their similarities.

Today started with the similar, some sadness, some tears.

Kim decided to make a visit to the cemetery to visit Donny, and this is where it got different.

While there she felt a hand on her back.  It was a woman.  The women explained she had been walking by and saw Kim there.

And her heart felt heavy.

She started to walk back by again but again she didn’t stop.  And again she said she felt the Lord heavy on her heart and she felt like the Lord wanted her to stop and talk.

And so the third time she decided to walk up to Kim.

She told Kim “your son is always going to be with you even though he is with the Lord.”

And she said “It’s okay to cry.”

 

I don’t know who that women was who felt the need to stop and talk to Kim on this Mother’s Day, but for today to me she was an angel.  Like the young person who sent the text messages to Kim for many years on Mother’s Day, “Thinking of you, have a nice day.”  That act of thoughtfulness was huge.   To me,  he was also an angel.

And though the day started very similar to many other Mother’s Days I remember, this one had its story that made it different and as a result helped make it better.

Because just like the stranger in the cemetery said “it’s okay to cry,” it’s okay to be happy too even though you might feel like you shouldn’t.

So Happy Mother’s Day to my wife and to all the mom’s out there.  I am sure you all have your angels too.

 

A Very Special Unexpected Birthday Gift

A Very Special Unexpected Birthday Gift

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Dear Donny,

Today was your birthday.

It was a Saturday and much like any other Saturday we got up early because we couldn’t sleep. We had our coffee, checked our email and our Facebook, and did some work-work leftover from Friday.

We remembered your birthday on Facebook.

Many times I have described that time after Thanksgiving when the Christmas decorations come out of the trunks and down from the attic as bittersweet, as the memories are unpacked one at a time and placed on the tree or on the mantle. It is our darkness in the brilliant light of the season; fourteen seasons now to be exact.

And though we celebrated, laughed, and enjoyed this holiday as much as anyone, there will always be something that will be missing in our hearts as hard as we try to ignore it each year. That one thing we can’t unpack, hold in our hands for that short time, put away and wait anxiously for next year when we can take it out again and hold it once more.

If only we could.

But we do have our memories and each year we work hard to make sure we keep them alive because we don’t ever want to forget.

And normally by New Year’s Eve the lights are out, the tree is down, and the ornaments are packed away.

This year however was different, we were late. This year…..your birthday….. today, was the day that the ornaments were taken down and the lights rolled up, and everything returned to its place in the attic for another year.

And it really was different. Your mother and I were busy. We found some old CD’s and we listened to music that we listened to when we were dating. We were singing, we laughed,  and we were not sad.

“Tonight I ask the stars above, how did I ever win your love.
What did I do, what did I say, to turn your angel eyes my way”

We were happy.

And now as we prepare to sleep, we put this, yet another nice memory to bed. You see?  You can still make them!

Thank you for sharing, what would have been your twenty ninth birthday with us today. And thank you because on this birthday, it was us who received the gift.

Happy Birthday Buddy