SANTA, THE SPIRIT OF GIVING

 

Santa Present, Jamestown, NC

My daughter Beth walked grandson Leo over to a small neighborhood park this holiday season just before Christmas.  He was excited about the adventure.  The North Carolina weather was accommodating with warm breezes and sunshine.  He immediately broke into gales of laughter as he conquered every activity of climbing, sliding and swinging on all the activity features.  Of course, he was most excited about the advent of Santa’s annual arrival on Christmas morning, as he had selected a couple of toys from a Holiday catalogue and he knew Santa wouldn’t disappoint.

When they arrived back at the house, Leo was visibly upset which was out of character, especially compared to when he had left home.  When I inquired, she mentioned that a young teenager had driven past the playground and shouted “Santa isn’t real!” within earshot of Leo. He already has times of developing maturity, but that can obscure the fact that he is still a very young child.

I remembered having the same dilemma years ago when school children were spreading the same rumor.  Fortunately, we had prepared for the moment and explained that Santa is all about the spirit of giving.  And he has many helpers that are on his team, like the Santa in parades or the one at the department store where we get our picture taken.  We give presents to one another including strangers because we too like the good feeling of Christmas when we give to others.

Leo understood that reasoning and immediately wandered off to play with a couple of toys that were still present from Christmas’ past.  All was forgotten on Christmas morning when Leo excitedly opened that one present from Santa which he had requested from the catalogue. 

And we too were uplifted by revisiting the spirit of giving and celebrating the greatest Christmas gift of all.   

NEW YEARS RESOLVE

Stalwart Windmill, Western KS

The storms of life are not intended to discourage us,

but to develop a strong character which transcends this life.

Tough times don’t last; tough people do.

Welcome the New Year with the resolution of a stalwart Kansas

windmill standing firm against a threatening thunderstorm

and harnessing the winds into its own power!

Instead of showing rust and wrinkles like old barns,

show the world a shining attitude and character lines!

So don't pray for an easy life,

pray for a strong character.

STRENGTH OF CHARACTER

Windmill & Superstition Mountains--Sonoran Desert, AZ 

 DO NOT PRAY FOR AN EASY LIFE. 

PRAY FOR A STRONG CHARACTER.

The resolve of that windmill standing firm and facing the storms of life in concert with the strong land surrounding it immediately brought to mind one of my favorite wisdom thoughts and also good advice on prayer attitude. No loving Creator is going to zap us with an easy life, but revels in helping us to develop our strength of character as we weather the storms. Then, we don't develop rust and aging wrinkles like exposed iron and old barn wood, but a healthy tan and unique character lines as a tribute to successfully emerging on the other side!

THE BUFFALO NICKEL

 

Rare 1937-D Buffalo Nickel

Kansas Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve Herd 

I walked and rode over the Kansas Flint Hills as a youth with my dad and family members in pursuit of small game while the ever-present winds were part of my existence.  That experience taught me to understand that one cannot know a land or city unless you walk the trails and sidewalks and convene with both nature and the people.  I was vaguely aware of the distant past while walking over the prairies when encountering a buffalo wallow or wagon ruts that were destined for Oregon.

I never encountered a live buffalo until later in life at various zoos.  The animals were always out of their element in their loss of freedom and they languished in their reliance on their captors for survival.  I recently ran across the poster buffalo for this tragic end in Steven Rinella’s book on the American Buffalo.  At one point in our not too distant past around thirty-two million roamed free on the Great Plains alone.  Then upon the arrival of our ancestors to America, they were almost exterminated.  

In 1911 the U.S. Mint commissioned sculptor James Earle Fraser to design a replacement for the Liberty Head nickel which was considered to be too Romanesque.  He chose the buffalo as uniquely representative of America.  Fraser selected a buffalo in a New York Zoo named Black Diamond as his model.  The Philadelphia Mint began production in 1913 until 1938, making Black Diamond’s image widely distributed.  Ironically, Black Diamond was auctioned off in 1915 for $300 to a meat specialist where he was slaughtered and his head was prominently displayed in the owner’s office!

I like the way Rinella saw the buffalo symbolizing some of “our most confounding contradictions…At once it is a symbol of the tenacity of wilderness and the destruction of wilderness; it’s a symbol of Native American culture and the death of Native American culture; it’s a symbol of the strength and vitality of America and the pettiness and greed of America; it represents a frontier both forgotten and remembered; it stands for freedom and captivity, extinction and salvation.”

POSTSCRIPT:  

Senators Kassebaum and Bob Dole introduced a Senate bill in 1994 to begin setting aside a small segment of the once 170 million acres of North American tallgrass prairie that the vast herds of buffalo had occupied.  The Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve in the Kansas Flint Hills now occupies 10,000 acres and in 2009 the Nature Conservancy introduced a small herd of bison to roam free in their natural habitat.  

A rare 1937-D MS69 buffalo nickel now sells for $2,385—8 times the price of it’s model!

TATANKA OYATE, BUFFALO NATION

 

Tatanka Oyate, Buffalo Nation

Buffalo Stampede

Calling the Buffalo

As a youth growing up in central Kansas, I walked the tall grass prairies with a shotgun over my shoulder or grasped it in focused anticipation of the exploding rush of pheasants, prairie chickens, ducks and coveys of quail.  During one of those prairie chicken hunts we came across a buffalo wallow that was carved out of the peak of one on the rolling flint hills that were home to around thirty-two million of these large mammals on the Great Plains alone at their peak, according to Steven Rinella’s book, American Buffalo. 

But by the summer of 1872 the migrants that had begun to settle the country had discovered that buffalo leather with elastic tendencies was perfect for industrial belting and footwear.  Literally thousands of buffalo hunters converged on the Great Plains and began to decimate the great herds.  Individual hunters reported killing up to 250 in a single day.  Buffalo tongues were considered a delicacy and shipped in wooden barrels on rail cars.  The buffalo were almost hunted to extinction within a dozen years.  There was unprecedented waste generated at the time and the incredulous natives suffered the most, as the buffalo were their mainline sustenance.

The Native Indians had a sacred bond with the land and the animals that helped to sustain their lives.  They used every part of a buffalo for both food and shelter.  They would offer up a prayer of gratitude for the spirit of the animal that gave up its life to sustain theirs.  They constantly lived in nature and consequently were one with nature.  That understanding has now been lost on modern men who forage for food at a local supermarket and are totally removed from the animals whose flesh sustains them in neatly wrapped packages.

As I was walking one crisp autumn morning on a quail hunt along a stony creek bed, an anomaly appeared among the scattered rocks.  I readjusted my twelve-gauge shotgun and bent over to examine it.  A probable heavy spring rain had flooded the creek that meandered through these flint hills and had unearthed a beautifully crafted flint arrowhead.  That arrowhead had possibly been launched onto the south wind, flying on a feathered wooden shaft in pursuit of watering buffalo.  I was struck by the bond that now existed between the native warrior of the south wind and my own spirit which fortuitously crossed this same sacred path that day.  I still turn that fine crafted flint in my hand every now and then to relive that bond.       

THE PRICELESS CHRISTMAS BOX

 

Roi Tan Cigar Box, Emporia, KS

There’s a lot of wonderful children’s books to read to our kids during the holidays like the classic Christmas story of Jesus’ birth and childhood movies to watch like Toy Story 3.  The classic book about the Littlest Angel got my attention years ago and on the surface it’s a nice story about simple childhood treasures, love and sharing.  I do object to the notion that children die because God needs another little angel in heaven and I don’t believe we’re converted into angels, although many saints reside there. 

When the Son of God was born in Bethlehem and heavenly hosts were bringing elaborate gifts, God chooses the little boy’s earthly box because it contained his wonderful collection of a butterfly with golden wings, a sky-blue egg, two white stones and a leather collar that had belonged to his dog that had lived in absolute love and infinite devotion.  And His son was born to be king of both men and earth.

The Christmas box and the assortment of toys that the older boy was leaving behind in Toy Story 3 as he left for college reminded me of my grandfather’s cigar box that is still in my possession which contains the remnants of my own boyhood.  The sandbox my father made for me one Christmas was the scene of endless adventures for the cowboys, Indians, knights in shining armor and soldiers that I spent endless hours entertaining.  The skate key, birthday card signed “Mom and Grandpa”, arrowhead, model airplane alligator clips, game die, cat’s eye marbles, sand dollar and sea shells evoked precious memories.  The worn 1951 dog tag was given to me when my dad announced that our loyal family dog Patches had succumbed to being hit by a passing automobile.  That was my first encounter with death and losing a loved one—and the beginning of lost innocence.

I’d like to think that the contents of my priceless cigar box would be a good example of every earth boy’s Christmas toy story and a gift fit for a king who would be their savior!

SNOW GAZER HAIKU

Snow Gazer, Jamestown, NC

Snow flaking off clouds,

Silently drifting below,

Onto peaceful grounds.

 

ICY HOT SENIOR MOMENT

ICY HOT DEODORANT, Jamestown, NC

As I completed yet another trip around the sun recently, I’ve observed that the years, body aches and Senior moments keep moving faster than the end of a toilet paper roll. As I was mindlessly going through my post shower routine yesterday while listening to a compelling report on NPR radio, I reached for the deodorant stick and applied a quick swipe of Icy Hot analgesic to my left arm pit! I quickly grabbed a wash cloth to mitigate the immediate reaction but the dye was cast. The good news is that my arm pit has been pain free for the past 24 hours and I may do a TV testimonial!

GO-GETTERS

 

GO GETTERS, High Point, NC

As I was creeping along this morning in the never-ending Starbucks drive-thru, treating myself for a good workout at the gym, I passed this Jimmy John’s Go-Getters Hiring sign.  I amazed myself as my senior brain reached deep within its depths to retrieve an old fifty-year memory.  I was a young Industrial Engineer making one of my first visits to a remote production plant deep within the country.

I had just observed a news report on one of the Fitness Center televisions that there are now ten million job openings in this country that have gone wanting, as many folks are content to still rely on government handouts.  Paying people not to work is just fine until you run out of the working folks’ money and/or you need to stop printing money that devalues what’s already in circulation.

I remembered arriving from Kansas City at quitting time and was amazed at the line of cars that was picking up the mostly female workers.  It was reminiscent of the vehicle lines that gather at the end of a school day.  I incredulously asked the manager what was going on?  He matter-of-factly said “Why, all of these guys are Go-Getters.”  He could see that I didn’t get it, so he explained it in simple terms for me.  “Well, you see, right now most of these guys have probably spent a good part of their day deer hunting.  And they drop off their women at the beginning of the shift and then “go get ‘er” in the afternoon!” 

I don’t think these are the kind of Go-Getters that Jimmy John’s has in mind unless they’re in the drive-thru getting a sandwich.

EARN THIS. EARN IT!

 

Captain Miller and Private Ryan

Observations on Veteran’s Day 2021

Veterans Day was established on November 11 to recognize all veterans who honorably served in the U.S. military.  It acknowledges the armistice ending WWI which took effect on 11-11-1918 at 11:00 am.  Ed Rees. a congressman from Emporia, Kansas and a contemporary of my grandfather Ed Davis from Emporia, introduced a bill to make the date a federal holiday.  It was signed into law in 1954 by another Kansas native, President Eisenhower.

My great uncle returned home to Kansas suffering the ill effects of the trench gas of WWI and two uncles never recovered from the horrors of war suffered in the Pacific campaign of WWII, leaving my grandparents with the distinction of being Gold Star parents.

I graduated college and immediately began working as an Industrial Engineer at a Hercules solid rocket propellant plant at the outset of the Vietnam War.  My draft papers arrived as the war was winding down and were subsequently cancelled, so I was never exposed to war combat.  Just returning to the D-Day invasion and the fateful battle of Ramelle at the end of the renowned film, Saving Private Ryan, on the cusp of another Veterans Day remembrance was enough of an emotional roller coaster that I cannot imagine what any veteran experienced in actual combat.

The greatest generation that lived through the Great Depression and won WWII is now all but gone.  I witnessed a deplaning honor flight in Washington DC years ago and it was very emotional.  Many were just then beginning to tell their story.  And it would be a great travesty to forget their immense sacrifice.  Every generation has their own unique challenges and one of ours is to constantly remind ourselves that freedom is but one generation away from being lost.  And freedom is not free.

Captain Miller and his band of brothers we sent on a mission after D-Day to locate and bring back Private James Ryan, whose three brothers had all been killed in action.  He had been ordered to return to his mother’s side on an Iowa farm as her only surviving son.  The film opens with an elderly Private Ryan visiting the Normandy Cemetery at the cross of Captain Miller who saved Ryan’s life but lost his.  Captain Miller’s dying words to Ryan were “James.  Earn this.  Earn it.”  The gut-wrenching response at the grave site as his family stood aside was “I’ve tried to live my life the best that I could.  I hope it was enough.”  The film switches back to this scene at the end when Ryan’s wife approaches and he implores her “Tell me I’m a good man.”  His wife replies, “You are.”

Small acts of decency in the hellish horrors of combat can be the only saving grace of humanity.  On the 11/11/2021 observation of Veteran’s Day, may we all understand the sacrifice that has carried us to this day. 

And vow to “Earn This.  Earn It!” 

OPENING SCENE:

https://youtu.be/0HUf68gFGEE

ENDING SCENE:

https://youtu.be/IZgoufN99n8

MEETING OTHER INTELLIGENT SPECIES

Homo Sapiens & Neanderthal Species

 Ever since I watched a rather crude science fiction movie as a young boy, I’ve had a fascination with the possibility of us Homo sapiens meeting other intelligent beings in my lifetime.  Scientists have now determined that Homo sapiens have lived among at least seven other human species in the past thousands of years.  Yet, Homo sapiens alone have survived.  Nature has a way of “thinning the herd” through disease and starvation as we’ve observed when animals such as deer populations exceed the ability of their environment to support them.  There is a cycle of growth and decline on the Kansas prairies for coyotes and rabbits—the hunters and the hunted.

Two of these human species on our family tree were Denisovans and Neanderthals that had a long run before disappearing from the historical record along with the others.  Mankind has a consistent history of violence and genocide, especially in times of shortages of food and territory.  Homo sapiens seem to have that “survival of the fittest” history imbedded in our DNA and now we only have our own species left to continue the struggle.

The Neanderthals in particular coexisted with Homo sapiens for thousands of years.  They actually had bigger brains than Homo sapiens.  Neanderthals lived in smaller groups but Homo sapiens had developed larger and better social networks that allowed innovative thinking through knowledge-sharing.  A small group of Neanderthals was no match for a band of 150 Sapiens.  And there is apparent evidence that although they may even have interbred, a war of attrition facilitated by conflicts eventually sealed their fate and dropped them from the family tree along with the other species that had emerged.  The crushed Neanderthal skull above is but one example of the conflict.

It’s been noted that for the Neanderthals to have persevered for so long, they must have held their own through numerous territorial battles, suggesting a comparable level of intelligence.  Nick Longrich has concluded “Today we look up at the stars and wonder if we’re alone in the universe. In fantasy and science fiction, we wonder what it might be like to meet other intelligent species, like us, but not us. It’s profoundly sad to think that we once did, and now, because of it, they’re gone.”

There has always been a concern, especially since the development of atomic energy, that our technological advancements by a minute segment have outrun the social and moral development of the masses.  If we are being monitored by other more intelligent beings, that may explain why Watchers have been noticed over many of our nuclear entities.  It may explain such setbacks as the great flood and worldwide pandemics.  It may explain why they are hesitant to make contact.  

 

I recall a sketch that I encountered some time ago that illustrated two incredulous wide-eyed aliens standing at the base of a cross where a crucified man was dying.  The caption read “I know what we’re going to do.  We’re going to get the hell out of here.”

MONDAY MORNING DRIVE BY

Office Park, Greensboro, NC

 I like to go for a short drive after working out at the fitness center.  Sometimes I’ll swing through Starbucks for a drink and other times I’m just in the mood for a drive if the weather is accommodating.  The weather was ideal this morning as I left the building, so I simply headed to a nearby business park which has a pleasant wooded drive through.

I’ve seemingly made that drive to work early on a Monday morning at least one gazillion times.  Some mornings my mind was on autopilot and many others it was focused on the goals for the day.  There were a few mornings that I simply forced myself to make the drive since the agenda for the day was distasteful.  Not every day in the life of a human being is a pearl, but you suit up for all of them and it’s bearable if the majority can be considered productive, adventurous and in relationship with coworkers that you enjoy being involved with in a shared goal that has a good outcome.

I remember driving to the office on those difficult days and looking forward to the day that was still too many years in the future when I would no longer have to turn into the parking lot.  Of course, those were character building days that challenged our ability to “keep your head while all about you were losing theirs”, to quote Kipling.  So, now that I’ve been blessed to reach that seemingly unreachable brass ring of retirement, a drive through a pleasant business park with no intention of stopping has to be another one of those sweet perks.  And a quick flash prayer is uttered for a great workday for all the folks inside the buildings that have left their parked vehicles outside.

It’s the reward of a Monday morning drive by that is exchanged for our prime days in the sun and the rigors of battle in the trenches.   

LAST ROSE OF SUMMER, FIRST RAIN OF FALL

Rain Rose, Jamestown, NC

Tomorrow marks the first day of the fall season with shortening days of sunshine and cooler nights.  Summer enjoyed one last surge of hot and humid days without much relief to ease the parched land.  This year’s arrival of another season has perfect timing as abundant rains have arrived ahead of a cold front that will transform the ambient air to cool and dry.  These are the kinder, gentler rains of fall that lull one to sleep at night with a smile on your face.  They serenade you during the day and provide just the right background music for reading a good book. 

A pair of Blue Jays out my window screech at one another as they move among the tree canopy announcing the imminent change.  Many of the birch tree leaves have already turned yellow and the wet rain has added just enough weight to dislodge them from their moorings high above.  They drift to the resurgent grasses below in silent waves on the northern breezes.  The familiar sound of the Jays in a gentle rain triggers the memory a more innocent time as a child in Kansas when I sat on the back porch and wondered at a similar scene, as I lamented the end of summer vacation. 

I wandered out onto the back deck during a lull in the rain and nature did not disappoint.  Rain droplets were randomly falling from the tree leaves and dripping off of nearby rooftops.  The skies were still ominously dark and the air was much cooler than yesterday when I was preparing the yard for the coming melancholy season of harvest and the winnowing down of fallow fields.  A departing airline’s jet engine in the storm clouds breaks the silence and its alien sound rises and then falls as it passes overhead, giving way to a distant drone and then silence once again.     

You can sense the seasons changing the guard as summer acquiesces to fall.  Then my eye caught the red glow of one of the last rose blooms of the summer season peering through the railing.  It was bejeweled in diamond rain drops that glistened in the faint light of day as if to celebrate the occasion.  

Dark shadows silently descend on the motionless land as gentle rain drops once again quench the thankful earth.  Another circle of life has marked the earth’s passage around the sun.  And in the midst of the peaceful calm, God whispers through the stillness, “Well done, rest and be at peace”.

FOUND MONEY

Lost Money

I ran across a Facebook post this week that had a photo of this wad of bills laying on the ground with a caption that asked “If you found this money in the lawn of a church, what would you do with it?”  Many people commented on the challenge and a few said they would take it inside, but most comments were like these below:

“I would pray, Lord I'm going to throw this money up in the air, you take what you want and then drop down anything you want me to have! Then do it.  Amen.”

“Pay tithing with 10% and donate the rest to the "Save Alby from Destitution Fund” . . . problem solved!”

 The challenge rang up a memory from many years ago after a professional baseball game in Kansas City at the old stadium.  I had been given five tickets to the Athletics game in a choice location. So, my wife Karen and I decided to ask her mother and two nuns she taught school with in the area. We were all big baseball fans, but chose to leave during the seventh inning stretch to beat the sellout crowd traffic leaving after the game was over. 

 As we walked out into the outer boundary of the dark gravel parking lot, I glanced down at the ground and noticed something that looked oddly out of place.  I bent over for a closer look and realized it was a wad of bills laying out in the middle of nowhere.  I picked it up and as I rose, I found myself looking directly into the smiling face of one of the nuns.  Without even giving it a second thought, I handed her the wad and told her to use it to do something for the school children.  She didn’t think twice as she retrieved the money from my grasp.

We called the stadium the next day and no lost bills had been reported, so it went to a good cause.  I’ve always wondered where the bills came from and just how much was there.  That old ballpark was located in a tough part of the city and I had lost a set of hubcaps there earlier.  The experience became even more weird for me after I watched the movie thriller, No Country for Old Men.  There may have been a hit man on my trail!

 

STARDUST BONDS

Falling Leaf, Jamestown, NC

 All matter in the universe is composed of the stardust from the Big Bang.  A tree leaf that is released from its bond in the Fall has lived a symbiotic relationship and is not limited by its form.  Its being was sustained by the tree and it in turn nourished the tree.  Once the leaf is torn loose by the winds and resides in the soil for a season, it’s stardust returns once again to bond and become one with the tree.  

Human beings are souls with stardust bodies.  And mortal death cannot break the bond between soulmates.  All it can do is pause it for a season.

RIGHT QUESTION, WRONG ANSWER--WRONG QUESTION, RIGHT ANSWER

Wrong Question, Right Answer

 Have you ever asked someone a question and not received the answer you were expecting?  Politicians are schooled in redirecting the question to something else if the correct answer is not in their best interest.  Many television personalities won’t push for the correct answer if they are convinced that the respondent probably wasn’t going to produce a straight answer anyway.  But of course, an informed audience can see that the person was evading a well-crafted question and that alone is answer enough, even though it was the right question but the wrong answer.

And sometimes the issue is not asking the right question.  I don’t interview people for a living so my experience is limited, but I still remember a great example a number of years ago in my front yard.  My neighbor had her young grandson outside and she introduced the boy to me.  I noticed that he was wearing a sweatshirt with the brand of OLD NAVY emblazoned on the chest.  So, in the interest of interacting with the child, I innocently asked him what that was on his sweatshirt, expecting him to proudly announce his allegiance to the brand all the kids were wearing at the time. 

The young boy looked down at his sweatshirt and pondered my question for a few seconds.  Then he looked up at me and proudly gave me his unfiltered reply; “LETTERS”!  Needless to say, I was completely caught off guard because that’s not the answer I had expected.  Then I laughed and said “That’s absolutely correct, even though I was expecting something else!”  Later I reflected on the moment and realized I should have asked what those letters on his sweatshirt spelled?  I had asked the wrong question and received the right answer!  We’ve got to think before we speak (and be specific).  That applies to BOTH the questions and the answers!

THE VOYAGEUR

Bleu De Chine, Bruno Catalano

I recently stumbled across an evocative sculpture that immediately captured my attention and my imagination.  The artist had created a series of these “imperfectly beautiful” travelers as part of a commemoration for Marseille, France in 2013.  Bruno Catalano explained his unique work below:

“From years of being a sailor, I was always leaving different countries and places each time and it’s a process that we all go through. I feel like this occurs several times during life and of course everyone has missing pieces in his or her life that he won’t find again. So the meaning can be different for everyone, but to me the sculptures represent a world citizen.”

Viewing art for most people is a very personal experience and a piece can evoke completely different reactions and impressions from even the artist that created the work as Catalano observed.  I’ve had the good fortune myself to travel extensively and build a home in three different locations, but my reaction to these sculptures was quite the opposite.  In my view, all of these adventures and experiences of knowing a wide range of individuals has actually completed me.  It’s been said that we are not a body with a soul, but a soul with a body.  Our life’s work is to develop the soul and make it whole through our interaction with our creator and the world’s inhabitants. 

These sculptures have an obvious surreal and ethereal appearance due to the omissions of vital parts of their bodies that seem to levitate in space.  Their baggage adds the needed length to support and give them proportion, but more importantly, it conveys that they are on a journey.  And everyone carries a different collection of baggage on the journey.  Still, the gravity defying fragility of these figures is mesmerizing.  They are beautifully incomplete.  They demonstrate that even a broken soul can still stand resolute and move about this broken world with courage and faith in the future.  Perhaps we’re wired to subliminally perceive that this imperfect world is not our final home and we are all just sojourners renting space, regardless of where we keep our stuff.     

As we answer the call to adventure, emerging out of a worldwide pandemic, our own heroic journey enters the final phase of moving from our potential to full actuality of our true self.  Life is a great adventure as we follow our bliss in pursuit of the divine that is within all of us and the fulfillment that the adventure brings.  Hopefully, we will contribute not only to our own positive character development, but that of our fellow voyagers as well. 

 "We're all just walking each other home." --Rumi

EARLY MORNING STILL LIFE

Still Life, Jamestown, NC

 A laser beam of early morning light made it’s way through the trees and the edge of a window blind as I read today’s newspaper.  It caught my attention as it was encapsulated and reflected in a thin crystal disc for only a relatively few seconds.  Fortunately, I was holding a device that was also able to encapsulate and reflect its “good morning” presence before it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

THE PHANTOM TOYOTA

Drive Thru, High Point, NC

I normally head out on a Saturday morning for a mind cleansing drive after picking up a rejuvenating coffee.  I lingered too late this morning and my first choices were slammed, but McDonald’s had recently installed a two-lane drive thru that looked reasonable.  They still aren’t as efficient as Chick-fil-A, but it’s an improvement as I watched a driver in the other lane with their arm out the window pointing at the menu while giving instructions to the formless Oz wizard inside the audio speaker box.

As I waited behind a seemingly driverless Flying Dutchman Toyota with a missing crew aboard, I did notice a small dog’s head randomly appearing over the headrest on the passenger side.  This ghost vessel did haltingly move forward when the traffic alternated between the two lanes toward the single-lane cashier and food delivery windows.  However, there was always a full car length left in front of the phantom land yacht.  Consequently, two consecutive vehicles from the other lane entered the single merge lane while I was blocked from placing an order once I finally crept up to the order station. 

There can be only three plausible explanations for what I observed this morning as I foraged for caffeine:  1) This car was equipped with the latest and greatest in driverless technology that still had a few bugs to work out in drive thru lanes or 2) The yippy little dog in the passenger side was actually driving a European import and ordering a supersized McTreat or 3) A very short human that actually moves among us was driving the Phantom Toyota and could not comprehend the intuitive concept of a fast food drive thru.  

We’re doomed.      

APPARELED IN CELESTIAL LIGHT

Celestial Light, Vail, Colorado

William Wordsworth's 'Splendor in the Grass' is the poem we hear in the 1961

movie by the same name.  Natalie Wood and Warren Beatty starred and Wood was

nominated for an Academy Award for her role as Beatty's girlfriend.

 

The poem is from Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early

Childhood, which begins with the majestic:

 

  There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,

  The earth, and every common sight,

            To me did seem

        Appareled in celestial light,

  The glory and the freshness of a dream.

 

And who can forget Natalie Wood struggling to read it in

her English class, then hearing her recite it again, this time much wiser,

at the end of the movie?

 

FIELD OF DREAMS

Chihuly Dreamscape, St. Louis, MO 

Field of Dreams, American Heartland

There’s been a lot written and discussed about the dreams we human beings have in life. Many of those dreams of course get translated into prayers. And much has been written about unanswered dreams and prayers because the answer can be no, or maybe, but let’s wait and see what happens. In the movie Field of Dreams, the old country doctor gets another opportunity to turn back the clock and fulfill his earlier dream of spending his life as a professional baseball player instead of a health care professional. When confronted with the chance to replay his life differently, he still chose the healing path instead of the base path. If he had gotten a hit on his one big chance at baseball, many people whose lives he had touched in such a positive way would never have known him. 

 That scene brought back a childhood conversation I had with one of my uncles after we had all played a pick up baseball game at a family reunion. Even then, my dad had displayed a proficiency at shortstop that was still impressive. I was told in that short exchange that my dad had been asked to try out for the Saint Louis Cardinals farm club. The scout hit him scorching line drives and grounders for a couple of hours with none getting past him. He then offered my dad the chance to leave home and join the baseball club. But times were tough, and he passed on the dream, stayed at home and helped the family. When I questioned my mother about the decision, she noted that baseball simply didn’t pay the kind of money in those days that it does today. 

 That major decision in my father’s life quite probably resulted in our family’s creation. And mine. It’s good to have goals and dreams in life, but when life throws you a curve ball, it just might not be strike three. It might be ball four and a pass to begin a new path around the bases that leads to a new home. Only later after his too early death did I begin to also understand the time and patience he spent with me to teach me the baseball skills he had acquired. I didn’t become a professional baseball player either, but I learned that we’ve got to work hard at something to be really good at it, sportsmanship, a love for athletics, how to be a team player, developing lasting friendships with teammates, the thrill of competition, how to be a good winner as well as a good loser, and the love of a father to impart his dream to his child after he had chosen another path so that the dream remains alive. 

 And like the movie, the best times involved the simple act of playing catch in the backyard. It’s a very human act of “I give to you and you give back” connectedness, many times discussing something about life and many times in serene silence, with just the sound of the rawhide ball hitting the leather glove. The final act of redemption in the movie unfortunately doesn’t happen all too often in real life. The prodigal son gets a second chance to say, “Hey dad, you wanna have a catch”? And his dad replies, “I’d like that”.

THE COLORING ASSIGNMENT

 

Coloring, Wrightsville Beach, NC

We were on vacation and having dinner outside on the pier of a great seafood restaurant in Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina with my four-old grandson.  A smart, well-trained hostess will bring along a coloring sheet and crayons with the menus when seating an active child.  The image on the coloring sheet was a beach scene with sand, ocean, sun, palm trees and sea life.   He dove right in coloring and was only slightly distracted by the hovering pigeons that were waiting for the opportunity to swoop up any food that might hit the deck.

He did a good job completing most of the image and then asked Papa if I could help finish the sheet.  Of course, when a grandchild asks for assistance, the answer is automatic!  I filled in all but the sky and water, since the color blue had already been used for some of the other details. 

But when I returned the sheet, I was rebuked for not completing my assignment in the sky and water!  My coloring critic was not happy with the task entrusted to me and it was promptly returned to my embarrassment in such a public setting.  So, I immediately went back to work on my coloring art with a renewed fervor and commitment I hadn’t mustered since retirement!

I finished the work by carefully staying within the boundaries and returned it to my young mentor for another critique.  And then I breathed a sigh of cautious optimism when I saw his eyes light up as he scrutinized my coloring talent.  My daughter asked how he would judge my artistic work on a scale of one to five?  Then the surrounding tables fell silent and the pigeons stopped dead in their tracks as the verdict was contemplated.  Finally, after an anxious eternity the judgement was rendered with a resounding 10! 

I was so relieved and excited to receive such a prestigious ranking in Olympic coloring that I almost spilled my gin and tonic!

P.S.

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THINGS YOU CAN’T GET BACK

Sunset, Wrightsville Beach, NC

The toothpaste from the tube.

The opportunity once it’s gone.

The words uttered in anger.

The day after the sunset.

The life as the spirit leaves.

The planet that can’t recover.

The human race that can’t coexist.

VANISHING FOOTPRINTS

 

Footprints in the Sand, Wrightsville Beach, NC

Vanishing Footprints, Wrightsville Beach, NC

Many of us are familiar with the poem Footprints in the Sand, but have you ever considered what became of those footprints after the winds or waves followed after them?

I was following after footprints in the sand at daybreak this morning and the waves made short work of erasing them. But those footprints in the poem have left an indelible impression on the world for 2,000 years!