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Reminders

Reminders

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20160911_160041_001“IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL SEPTEMBER MORNING WITH A BLUE SKY…JUST A NORMAL DAY.”

Joy Knepp, Teacher, Shanksville –Stoneycreek School from the display at the Flight 93 Memorial Visitor Center

On an early New England morning in 1775, on the common green in Lexington Massachusetts, a small group of patriots prepared to square off against a large invading British force of about 700 troops. Moments later a shot was fired, and the first battle of the war to establish our nation’s freedom had begun.

Two hundred and twenty six years later, on “a beautiful September morning with a blue sky…just a normal day” over the green mountains and hills of western Pennsylvania, another small group of brave Patriots waged the first battle of a new war to protect those freedoms fought so hard for many years ago.

“…a beautiful September morning with a blue sky…”

Much like today I thought,  as I left the Flight 93 Visitor Center and began the walk down the tree lined path to the impact site below.   Though the morning was cool, the now mid to late afternoon sun caused me to remove my Harley Davidson of Somerset PA sweatshirt and tie it around my waist.  Kim did the same with her Steelers sweatshirt.  The occasional large dark cloud loomed almost symbolically right over the Flight 93 Memorial Visitor Center, so low it looked like you could almost reach up and touch it.  I guess something in the sky had to be there to remind us of the darkness of that day, joining the reminders on the grounds around me.  Though it was a beautiful day, this day, September 11th would never again be just a normal one.

 

Needing to decompress a little, Kim and I decided to make a trip up to see the family on the farm in Markleton, Pennsylvania in Somerset County. It was a weekend of reminders.

I got my first reminder on Friday while still at home. I got an email via my website from Jimmy P. McLaughlin.  I stared at that email for long time before realizing that this Jimmy was a Jimmy P, so I opened it up.  Jimmy it turns out is a blogger who stumbled upon my website and sent me the following message:

I just discovered this–thanks for introducing me to a kindred spirit… see my blog at stateoflubbock.blogspot.com. Thanks, Jimmy P. McLaughlin  

Thanks Jimmy for helping me to remember your kindred spirit, another patriot, on this day.

By early Saturday morning we were in Western Pennsylvania. I have been to Somerset County many times over the last almost 20 years and thought I was fairly well versed in the farm community life and history.  I got my eyes opened on Saturday by attending the New Centerville Volunteer Fire Company Farmer’s and Threshermens Jubilee.  Another reminder for me, this time of the hard work and sacrifice it took our forefathers to build and feed this great country of ours.

Sunday was church at the Geiger Church of the Brethren. The Sunday school message that morning was about death; how do we prepare? Are we ready?  What in our lives can complicate that preparation? And another reminder…we don’t always get the opportunity to prepare.

After church we had lunch with Kim’s parents at the Eat’n Park Restaurant in Somerset and decided we would just jump on the Pennsylvania Turnpike to go home. As I was waiting to leave the manager at the Eat’n Park asked if I had come from the Flight 93 Memorial.  I explained we were here visiting family. The restaurant is next to the Harley-Davidson of Somerset motorcycle shop.  I told her about the photo my sister had sent me a few weeks earlier of that same spot as she and my brother-in-law participated in the 2016 America’s 9/11 Motorcycle Ride.

“Oh yeah” she said, “the motorcycles.” She then expressed her disappointment that this year’s ride was to be the last.

“They donated an ambulance you know.”

Now in the truck ready to go home, the idea of visiting the Flight 93 Memorial on this day in particular seemed like the appropriate thing to do. I had never been there.  We were directed to park in an overflow parking lot since the visitors were many and walked the paths up to the Memorial Visitor Center.  All around the grounds you could see what remained of the ceremonies that took place that morning or the evening before; the wreaths, the tents, the temporary bleachers, and stacks of chairs.

We waited in line almost an hour to enter the Visitor Center. Once inside it didn’t take long to be transported back to that day with a rush of emotion.  I lifted the “phone” receiver and listened to their voices, those final calls and goodbyes; I viewed their names and faces on the wall and read the stories as the video of the World Trade Center attacks played over and over.  Everyone was quiet and solemn.

We walked down to the site of the impact. The large hemlock gate to the path where the boulder marks the impact site was open today. Only open once a year on this day according to the Park Ranger stationed at the gate.

We stood at The Wall of Names where fresh wreaths, flowers, and notes lay at the base of each stone panel honoring those that perished.

“Thank you for your sacrifice, God Bless You” read one note.

“Your sacrifice saved hundreds, Thank You!” read another.

I read the names again. The names of those patriots, who maybe with make-shift weapons of boiling water, a fire extinguisher, and who knows what else; made the ultimate sacrifice in what was the first battle of the new war threatening our freedoms.

They left their homes and their loved ones and boarded a jet not knowing how complicated their lives would be in a short while. How complicated their deaths would be.  They soon knew they were going to die; they had no time to prepare.

But they acted.

And they acted on our behalf.

And I was reminded once more.

And I will remember.

We should all remember.

 

“Are you guys ready? Let’s roll.” (Flight 93 passenger and patriot Todd Beamer)

Items left for flight attendant Sandy Bradshaw at the Wall of Names
Items left for flight attendant Sandy Bradshaw at the Wall of Names

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My Prayer For Hayley

My Prayer For Hayley

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Early one morning the sun was shinin’
I was layin’ in bed
Wond’rin’ if she’d changed at all
If her hair was still red
Her folks they said our lives together
Sure was gonna be rough
They never did like Mama’s homemade dress
Papa’s bankbook wasn’t big enough

And I was standin’ on the side of the road
Rain fallin’ on my shoes
Heading out for the East Coast
Lord knows I’ve paid some dues gettin’ through
Tangled up in blue

(Bob Dylan, Tangled Up in Blue)

 

On a day like today, it’s hard not to think about my own life, my own marriage.

I always thought this Dylan verse was cool having married a red head who changed it all on me one day.  And like in Bob’s song, our bankbook wasn’t very big either; at our wedding we had cold cuts from the deli at the local grocery store, a keg of beer, and a box of wine in the garage.

But it was beautiful.

And Kim, she was beautiful too.

 

My daughter Hayley gets married today.

That is no small undertaking as many of you know.  These days getting married the statistical odds are against you.   They say 48% end in separation or divorce.  Those might be great odds at the racetrack, not so good for planning the rest of your life.

I know that as well as anyone, because I make up part of that statistic.  I had one that didn’t cross the finish line and one that is like Secretariat winning the Belmont, going down the stretch ahead by 31 lengths and never having to look back.

My wife always says that marriage is like an egg, it’s fragile, you have got to cradle it in your hands.  That’s the truth because like Bob described in the song, lives together sure can be rough.  But not every day has to be rough, if you get all four hands holding that egg you can get through those hard times.  And life can be wonderful.

But today is about Hayley, not me.

I have great memories with all my kids. Since I love music, often those memories involved music.  The last thing Donny and I did together was go to Wolftrap for his one and only concert;  a Shania Twain adventure with Savannah where I would like to have a “do over”;  and Alexa, who was spoon fed Bruce from infancy and also shared a love of the Beach Boys and John Sebastian.

But I will say I have some distinct memories with Hayley.

Having beer poured on her head at a Jimmy Buffet show when the server couldn’t see her standing in front of the table because she was that little; front row seats at the Barns where the Subdudes dedicated a song, Sugar Pie,  to Hayley and after the show signed a CD for her; and I can’t forget the old Birchmere, where I was the only guy whose date was ten years old watching Lowen and Navarro who Hayley loved as much as I did.  They opened with “Constant as the Night” and I remember she was excited because that was one of her favorites.

And Hayley and I created some other memories as well.  We took some trips together; like the time Hayley and I went to Orlando for a vacation that still today remains one of my best; a trip to Gettysburg to dig into some history together (Hayley is a history teacher); but nothing tops the time Hayley and I drove the rental truck from Des Moines, Iowa to Fort Lauderdale moving Alexa to her new job with the Public Defender’s office, complete with a cowboy hat, truck stops, and non-stop country music.  George Strait’s Wrapped had just been released and we must have heard it a hundred times.  By the time we got to Fort Lauderdale we knew every word to that song.

That was a hoot.

When I was charged with picking a Father-Daughter dance song, of course I went to Google to search and I got the top 20 this and the top 50 that…somehow however Butterfly Kisses didn’t seem right for Hayley and me.

I got discouraged.

So I busted out the iPod and over a period of days I just listened.

Then one evening sitting on the deck all alone listening to my iPod,  something happened.

I got a tear.

Then I moved on to some more iPod songs, but getting no reaction, I went back to that same song.

And guess what?  I got some more winkage.

So that was that.

I will admit we are going to have a heck of time trying to dance to it, but you can be sure I will have a tissue handy just in case.

 

The truth is that all the joy and excitement of today will soon dim somewhat and the day to day challenges of making a life together will become the reality.  There will be many rough spots, some tough times even… some maybe unbelievably tough.  But those times can be overcome and made good and relationships made stronger in fact, if you have all four hands cradling that egg.

You see, marriage can be an answered prayer.

And so my prayer for Hayley is that God answers my prayer for Hayley the same way He answered my prayer for myself some years ago.

And may she never look back.

Hayley and I on the King Kong ride on one of my best vacations ever.
Hayley and I on the King Kong ride on one of my best vacations ever.
I think I might be getting a Butterfly Kiss here
I think I might be getting a Butterfly Kiss here
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I ripped this off from Hayley’s Facebook.

 

 

The Parable of the Yeast

The Parable of the Yeast

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Matthew 13:33

He told them still another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed into a large amount of flour until it worked all through the dough.”

I was the Liturgist again this morning at church.  I don’t know why, but being the Liturgist at church seems to inspire me.

Part of my reading this morning was The Parable of the Yeast.

According to my New International Version Study Bible, the yeast in this parable:

…is a symbol of growth.  As yeast permeates a batch of dough, so the kingdom of heaven spreads through a person’s life.  Or it may signify the growth of the kingdom by the inner working of the Holy Spirit.

A symbol of growth.

I like the thought of that.

After reading my scripture this morning, I was tasked with saying a prayer.

So I borrowed from a prayer I had read earlier in the week that meant something to me.  It was part of a longer prayer written by Leanne at #LifeFilledWithLaughter in her piece titled Unhinged.

It went like this:

God, please help me to remember my life; the life You’ve given me. To remember every part and role. Help me to not get wrapped up in small portions and to trust that everything is a part of Your plan for me. Please help me to leave things in Your hands and to enjoy the little things in life. God please help me to show appreciation, to shine Your light, and to be the person other people need. Thank You for planning my life and walking me through it. Thank You for Your unconditional love, when I very rarely deserve it. Thank You for the people in my life- an abundance of people who I can turn to and rely on.  (Leanne’s)

We ask these things in Your name

Amen.

 

Thanks Leanne, I needed to hear that.

I have spent some time the last couple of weeks re-evaluating my priorities.  Enjoying, quite literally, some of the littler things in my life.

Realizing I have been blessed.

And it’s all part of the plan.

Amen

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He’s Guilty, He’s Guilty Send that Boy to Jail!

He’s Guilty, He’s Guilty Send that Boy to Jail!

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One of the Fallen on the Battlefield

I suppose the story could have gone something like this:

Bailiff:  State your name please.

Curtis Christiansen.

Bailiff:  Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?

I Do.

Prosecutor:  Mr. Christiansen is it true you like to garden?

Yes that is true.

Prosecutor:  And is it also true that in the past you have referred to animals in your gardens as “the enemy?”

Yes I have.

Prosecutor:  And is it also true that in the past you have admitted that those animals in your gardens have made you angry, “Pissed” I believe was how you put it?

Yes that Is true.

"The Glove"
“The Glove”

Prosecutor:  Mr. Christiansen is this your garden glove?

I am not sure.

Prosecutor:  Would you mind trying on this glove for the court please, to be sure?

Maybe…if it doesn’t fit do you acquit?

Prosecutor:  Nice try Mr. Christiansen but that never works!  And can you tell me what you found in your gardens  when you came home from work on the Tuesday of the incident in question?

Yes sir, most of our Beefsteak, Roma, and Big Boy tomatoes were gone, and all of our peppers including most of the pepper plants entirely.

Prosecutor:  And how did you feel after you found your tomatoes and peppers had been decimated.

I was pissed

Prosecutor: I am sure you were Mr. Christiansen, “pissed” enough to commit murder?

I did not, could not, and would not have committed this crime. 

I have made my mistakes.

I am not a crook.

Prosecutor:  Okay Mr. Christiansen what did you do then?

My wife and I went to Home Depot to buy some Deer and Rabbit Repellent spray.

Prosecutor:  And didn’t your route home take you on the same road as the incident in question at about the time the crime was committed?

Maybe

The Victim
The Victim

Prosecutor:  Do you recognize this animal, this dead animal?

No, he is not dead, he is resting.

Prosecutor:  He is dead!  And isn’t it true Mr. Christiansen that your vehicle suffered front end damage that evening?

I…did not have…vehicular relations…with that animal!

These allegations are totally false!

Prosecutor: Mr. Christiansen I would like to propose that on said evening after finding your tomatoes and peppers missing that you were very angry… “Pissed,” to use your word.

And in that rage of anger you carried out this dastardly crime murdering this helpless animal.  An animal you previously referred to as “The Enemy.”

Isn’t that what happened Mr. Christiansen?

Okay, okay!

Of all the vegetable gardens in the world, she had to walk into mine.

You got me, yeah I did it, see….

Those dirty rats!

They got my vegetables and I got one of them.

And I would do it again see…those dirty rats!

Prosecutor: Your Honor the prosecution rests.

 

Yeah, I suppose it could have happened like that.

Footnote:

On Tuesday evening we drove to the Home Depot where we purchased a gallon of Deer and Rabbit Repellent spray because we thought deer had wiped out a good portion of our garden.  On the way home a deer jumped out in front my vehicle and I hit it.

I am not without remorse for plagiarizing, misquoting, referring to tomatoes and peppers as vegetables, or killing this animal; but not only did deer rob us of most of our tomatoes and peppers and pepper plants, the one I hit cost me my $250 deductible!

Needless to say, I am “pissed.”

 

Bucket List

Bucket List

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Blind Lemon Jello
Blind Lemon Jello
  1. Happy marriage…check
  2. Half Marathon….check
  3. Website and write…check
  4. Savannah’s Cod Fish and Hamburger Casserole…check
  5. Mission trip in Jamaica mountains…check

I mentioned a few week’s back that I played the harmonica.

I also mentioned in that same piece that I wasn’t particularly good at anything.

That particularly applies to playing the harmonica.

  1. Music video…check and check

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-TVIiGLAcV8

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tWwxdxiyHUM

 

I had fun though.

Thanks Tom Fish and band

On Delivering Happiness and Grit

On Delivering Happiness and Grit

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Photo of Mr. Hirsch and his dog from the WUSA 9 post
Photo of Mr. Hirsch and his dog from the WUSA 9 post

My skin is burnt from the sun.  My lips chapped, and my mouth dry from partial dehydration.  The bruises on my thighs don’t tell the real story of the pain I am feeling in my legs and feet.  I haven’t slept in over forty hours and dizziness is now setting in making my gait unstable and I stumble at times.  The strength that I relied on the last few days is now gone and I struggle to lift the most minor objects, even the fork that is now in my right hand.  The device on my wrist reminds me of the almost 90,000 steps I have taken in the last 48 hours or so.

What happened? You ask. Did you go through some kind of survival exercise?

Nope…nothing like that.

It was the church yard sale!

My daughter Hayley gave me the book Grit, the Power of Passion and Perseverance,  by Angela Duckworth for Father’s Day.  Though I haven’t finished it yet, Ms. Duckworth defines Grit as the combination of passion and perseverance.

My church’s annual yard sale is an example of grit.

Matthew 25:40: “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”

Every year on this last weekend of June, a group of very passionate people, persevere through what was a grueling month of work, escalating in the days and hours leading up to and throughout the event itself; to raise money to support missions that help “the least of these brothers and sisters.”

Tony Hsieh, in his book Delivering Happiness, says that happiness is about four things:

Perceived Control

Perceived Progress

Connectedness (number of relationships and the depth of those relationships)

And, most important, being part of something bigger than yourself

I can tell you that the folks who I worked with this last month and especially these last few days have both Grit and Happiness.

 

I finally arrived home Saturday about 7 pm after being up since Friday morning at 6 am and sat down on my deck to eat the nice dinner that Savannah had made.  My neighbor came over to ask if we also had noticed the odor, the smell of a dead animal, evident from time to time in our yards.  Since I hadn’t been home in 36 hours I hadn’t really noticed it but Kim had as well.

Our yards back up to wooded area, and we have many animals that we see in out of the trees and brush fairly routinely.

A few minutes later my neighbor came back, this time visibly a little shaken and asked me to come with him,  he thought he found something suspicious in the woods behind his house.

 

Kenneth R. Hirsch, left a home on around 4:45 p.m. Tuesday in the 1400 block of Kingstream Drive around 4:45 p.m. His dog was with him. He was reported missing to authorities on Wednesday.

Police said Hirsch “may be experiencing emotional distress and be in possession of a firearm,” police said. They warned “he should not be approached.”

This was reported in the Washington Post on Friday.

 

On Saturday evening my neighbor and I found Mr. Hirsch and his dog.

Sadly, according to the police officer I spoke with, it was presumed that Mr. Hirsch took his own life and the life of his dog.

In August of 2014 after the suicide death of Robin Williams, I was reminded in my Happier, Healthier Me blog that not everyone was happy, not everyone was healthy.

Like Robin Williams, I am guessing that Mr. Hirsch didn’t have those four components of Happiness that Tony Hseih defines for us.

Unlike the physical pain I experienced this week in my quest to pursue happiness, Mr. Hirsch’s pain was different.  And at least for a moment he couldn’t control it.

And that’s all it took.

There are many around us who don’t have perceived control; who don’t feel like they are making progress; many that don’t have lots of strong relationships or friends; and aren’t part of something bigger than themselves.

They don’t have a passion for life anymore and the strength to persevere.

We need to help these brothers and sisters too.

 

 

 

Father’s Day Epilogue

Father’s Day Epilogue

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My Pop the Waterman
My Pop the Waterman

The day started out to be just as I imagined, the best Father’s Day ever.  Who would have ever thought it would end so horribly surreal.  The kids were fishing off the dock.  Suddenly one of the fishing poles dipped strongly from an obviously heavy force and the line took off.  With tremendous effort the reeling in began.

Surely this had to be some great fish.

Suddenly the beast crested the surface and came crashing down like the very sea monster I imagined it was.  Huge wings flapping and slapping the waves, its tail thrashing, it dipped back under the surface diving deep, no doubt wanting to take one of us with it.  What seemed like hours went by and now near exhaustion, the great beast was at the dock when it came crashing down on the deck.  Its huge tail swung around and I raised my foot to block it, saving the girls, but its long spear like razor sharp stinger with its poisons ripped through my skin and pierced the bottom of my foot.  Pain gripped me as the blood spurted; the gore was now evident over the freshly painted deck boards.  Now half delirious I could feel the pain creeping up my leg and into my groin.  I grabbed my six inch fishing knife and plunged it deep into the belly of the beast.  Now crab bait, I lay back exhausted and dizzy from the toxins that were raging though my blood stream.  I did the only thing I could think of, with all the strength I could muster, I screamed for help…

“MOMMY!”

Okay it didn’t exactly happen like that.

Now sitting on the steps of my parent’s deck, my mother was spraying peroxide on the puncture wound in the bottom of my foot.

My wife was busy sweeping grass off the deck.  You see when you are from western Pennsylvania these sorts of things seem trivial.  “No Blood, No Bones, don’t bother me” is what my wife always says.  My brother in law once cut off the end of his finger while milking cows.  He placed the severed finger piece on the window sill and finished milking the cows.  It was only after he went home and the family asked where his finger was that he went back to barn picked it up and had it sewed back on.  That’s grit.

I am not that tough.  I am from the Jersey Shore.  We have Boo-Boos in New Jersey.

The real story is Savannah caught a small skate.  While trying to get the hook out of its mouth, it wacked the bottom of my foot with its tail.  Skates, even small ones,  have this razor sharp defense mechanism in their tails.  So after my mother patched me up, the pain did get a bit unbearable and started traveling up my leg.   My wife drove me to the Your Doc’s In Urgent Care in Cambridge Maryland where they were very concerned and took very good care to relieve the pain and ward off infection.

Savannah Holding the Great Beast
Savannah Holding the Great Beast

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Mom administering First Aid while Kim sweeps
My Mom administering First Aid while Kim sweeps

 

 

 

 

 

 

Me Soaking at the Your Doc's In
Me Soaking at the Your Doc’s In

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So today I am home as advised, soaking and elevating and will have the local Patient First take one more peek at it, also as advised, later today.

And though I lost three hours in the middle of the day yesterday it surely was the Father’s Day weekend I will always remember, and that memory won’t have anything to do with that skate.

Hope you all had as good a Father’s Day as I did.

My Dad with Alexa and his newest great grandchild Christian on the best Father's Day ever
My Dad with Alexa and his newest great grandchild Christian on the best Father’s Day ever

 

 

Oh Daddy

Oh Daddy

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Me and my Pops
Me and my Pops

Oh Daddy

If I could make you see,

If there’s been a fool around,

It’s got to be me.

Why are you right when I’m so wrong,

I’m so weak but you’re so strong,

Everything you do is just all right

(Christine McVie)

 

Yeah right.  Can you imagine one of your kids singing that to you?

The Shore Regional High School Class of 1974 yearbook was called the Voyager.  Towards the end of the Voyager was a section that may be all yearbooks contain, I don’t know; but it listed a couple of personal characteristics and predicted your status in ten years.  It was the Is/Can Be Found/Status in 1984 section. Well at least in my case it was 1984, but you are probably familiar.

Mine went like this:

Christiansen, Curtis

Is: Reliable?

Can be Found:  Playing his harmonica

Status in 1984: Daddy

I remember at the time, I wasn’t so sure I liked the Reliable with the question mark tag. But now I acknowledge my ADD tendencies and totally understand.

I thought that the Playing the harmonica was cool.  I still do a little of that.

I particularly liked the Status in 1984: Daddy.  You see I was looking forward to being a father.  I thought at the time, I would make a good one.

I recently read the autobiography of Mick Fleetwood, titled Play On.

In fact I read it twice.

I have always been a big Fleetwood Mac fan.  Most people are familiar with Fleetwood Mac from the Rumours album, the one that featured the song “Oh Daddy” written by Christine McVie.

I found myself drawn to this book and his story because I found many parallels to my life; the music I remembered; the sixties and seventies and everything good and bad that went along with that; family struggles; raising kids; raising girls.

But there was another thing I thought interesting, he admitted to feeling that he was never particularly good at anything.

That’s interesting because I have always felt that same way about myself.  I have always felt that I was never particularly good at anything either!

In just a little over a week I will turn sixty years old.  And just as my yearbook had predicted, in 1984 I was a Daddy.  I became a father in November of 1982.

You would expect that by my age I would have had the opportunity and the ability to be really good at something. You might expect, for instance, with that many years of parenting experience I would at least be good at that.  Good at being a father.  But the truth is everyday continues to be a learning experience, some days with struggles; some days with victories, others with regrets; but inevitably there is that nagging doubt and the thought that I could have done better, I should have done better, or I should be doing better.

I once thought the best thing I could teach my kids was how important it was to work hard; working hard no matter what the job.

I had always felt that way and lived that way, I have no guilt there.  But I have learned,  maybe too late in life, that working hard wasn’t the most important thing after all.

Because now I realize the most important thing in life is learning.  And I know now that I should have spent less time at working hard and more time at learning and growing.  Maybe if I had done that I would have had something I was good at by now.

And if I had worked less  I could have spent more time with my kids growing up and as a result, I would have been more prepared for changes in their lives and changes in mine that I didn’t foresee or expect.

This Father’s Day is special because I get to spend it with all my kids and my Dad gets to meet his newest great grandson for the first time.

This Father’s Day is also special because I also get to spend it with my Dad.  There was a time when I wouldn’t have been able to sing those Oh Daddy lyrics to my father either. But I could now.  So maybe I have learned one thing, how to be a better son.

Maybe that will make me a better father too.

And maybe my prophetic classmates were more right than I would like to admit.  Maybe there are some aspects of my life I can be more reliable at.

And I don’t mean playing the harmonica.

In the mean time I will keep trying and keep learning.

Oh Daddy,

You soothe me with your smile

You’re letting me know,

You’re the best thing in my life

 

Happy Father’s Day Pop!

The Great South Florida French Bread Incident

The Great South Florida French Bread Incident

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french bread one

By definition, a French Bread is a yeast-raised bread distinguished by its thick, well-browned crust, made in long, slender, tapered loaves.

I am a huge French bread fan.

HUGE!

But let’s get to the story.

It was early April.  I don’t remember which day exactly; it’s all a blur now.

Kim and I were visiting my daughter and son in law in South Florida and spending some time with our newest grandson.  One afternoon, I was preparing dinner and needed to go to the grocery store.   It was a Publix, a grocery store chain prevalent in South Florida.  I picked up what I needed for the dinner I was planning, and then I found a French bread.  Not a perfect one I thought, but not bad either.

I placed my French bread in the seat of the shopping cart like I would have done if it was my infant grandson Christian; very carefully and safe and sound away from the other items.

So now having completed my shopping I went to the check out.  I put all my groceries on the belt saving my French bread for last.  Now safely behind the other groceries, I put the little divider out so that the customer behind me wouldn’t encroach on my bread.

The nice young lady scanned and bagged all of my groceries.

Then she got to my French bread.

I watched.

She picked it up from the middle as I would have wanted her to do, so the weight would be distributed evenly.

She scanned my bread.

Then, she very calmly grabbed it with two hands, one on each end, snapped it in half and shoved it in the bag with some other groceries.

I felt the blood draining from my skin as my face got pale.  I think my bottom lip began to quiver as I stared trying to make sense of what had just happened.

I was speechless.  I didn’t know what to do!

Then, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened, she calmly asked me to swipe my card, which momentarily jarred me out of my shock and I fumbled around to find my debit card, now just reacting to commands without thinking.

Shock gripped me…was this a South Florida thing I thought?

Should I just act cool like I knew that every check out person in South Florida snaps their customer’s French breads in half to be able to fit them in the bag?

I come from a part of Jersey where snapping someone’s French bread or Italian bread in half could have dire circumstances.

Still dazed and confused I took my receipt and my bags, including my broken baguette, and went back to my daughter’s home to tell them the story of the girl who folded up my French bread and put it in the bag.

 

I waited to share The Great South Florida French Bread Incident because I thought that one day I would understand; one day it would have some meaning, some moral to a story that would serve as a metaphor for one of life’s indignancies.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I knew the moral of the story already.

The moral of the story is… hey South Florida; don’t be snapping people’s French breads!

If I had bought a bouquet of long stem roses for my wife from the floral section would the stems have been snapped in half and the roses shoved in a bag?

What if I got one of those long family size packages of chicken thighs, would she have busted them up so they wouldn’t poke out the top?

I don’t think so!

Why then did she disrespect my French bread?  If I had wanted my bread in smaller pieces I would have bought the bag of dinner rolls instead!  I want my French bread as a long, slender, tapered loaf like the definition says!

Maybe there is a message here.  Maybe it is about respect.  Respecting those things that are important to others or that belong to others.

It’s like going out day after day to find that your neighbor’s dog has peed on the plastic bag that contains your Washington Post as it rests on the sidewalk (me).

Or coming home and finding teenagers you don’t even know sitting around your patio smoking cigarettes and helping themselves to your cooler (yup, my patio).

 

Yes, I think it is about respect.

Surely, that is the moral of The Great South Florida French Bread Incident!

And I also think that there might be times when we just need a reason to laugh little again.

 

 

 

On Cameron, Uncle Jim, and Me

On Cameron, Uncle Jim, and Me

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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.