Browsed by
Author: curtisc27@gmail.com

Fat Tuesday Musings

Fat Tuesday Musings

Comments 0 Comment

At my job, on the day before Ash Wednesday the talk around the water cooler would not be about how many beads you received.

No, it would be more like this:

“Ash Wednesday reminds us of our mortality and of our need for repentance and amendment of life, so that we are truly ready to meet our Maker,” a quote I read from a publication I received in my email.

I work at a church in case you didn’t know.

I don’t know that I need too many more reminders of my mortality especially lately, but maybe the need for “amendment of life” on this Fat Tuesday eve of Ash Wednesday wouldn’t hurt.

And thanks to social media that’s been reinforced by a couple of recent reminders of just how many years have gone by for this aging nobody that in some weird way have made me a little depressed.

I was contacted on Facebook Messenger by someone I went to high school with who had posted an old photo on a Shore Regional Alumni Facebook page that she thought might have included me in the picture. Shore Regional is the name of the high school I graduated from in 1974. I went to the page and checked it out and it was me, in 1973 or 74 probably.  So I messaged her back and confirmed it was in fact me and she encouraged me to join the alumni page which I did.

A few days later another old photo was posted on the Facebook page of my hometown’s 100th anniversary organization Oceanport Centennial.  My hometown of Oceanport, N.J. will celebrate its 100th anniversary this year and so the page is for information and the sharing of old photos.  This photo, I would guess, was taken around 1975 and was a group photo from an Oceanport Hook and Ladder Fire Company event of some sort.  I was a volunteer fireman back in those days.

Where did all those years go?

Though my hair is getting a little long it’s certainly not that long.  And the once blonde locks are now white and gray and a lot thinner.

But it was fun that the photo also included by father, my brother Carl who also needed a haircut, and two of my uncles.  And upon closer examination, those same blonde Frye boots I was wearing that evening in that photo from 1975 or so, were actually on my feet that Thursday all these years later as I carefully examined the cast of characters from my past with a rush of memories.  Those same blonde Frye boots I wrote about in “He Restoreth My Soles” that I bought in 1973.

But the reminder on this Fat Tuesday that the “need for… amendment of life” might be on account of some other things that also might be characterized as “fat” and getting larger, like my body.   Those amendments included the introduction of plain yogurt and strawberries for breakfast and tuna fish on super whole grain bread with seeds that could practically choke you.

And while mixing up that tuna fish this morning I was also reminded that there some things in life that aren’t getting larger like my can of tuna fish.  I remember when I was a kid you could feed yourself and your buddy lunch with one can of tuna and a little Hellmann’s (of course) mayonnaise.  Like my flat stomach, those days are gone.  You get one sandwich from the little cans now.

Though I long for my loaf of French bread, I don’t really think that losing ten pounds is what the author of the quote was referring to as proper preparation to meet my Maker on this eve of Ash Wednesday.  And I don’t need any more reminders of my mortality.

Or the areas of my life where I need to change.

I have my wife for that.

But the truth is I probably could do some repenting after all those years.

But there is a lot to be thankful for as well.

On that same Thursday, the day of that photo post, I got a call on my cell phone from my Dad.  It’s always unexpected when my Dad calls, and once I realized there was nothing wrong that triggered the call, we tried to have a conversation.  Unfortunately, since my father’s hearing is no longer good, we eventually agreed to hang up to try again some other time.  But I was still glad he called.  It’s a blessing that I can still receive phone calls from my dad even though we can’t have a conversation.

And hey it’s also kind of cool to know I have a pair of boots that may outlive me.

Recently I was surprised to find out that I may actually live on in one of the happiest places on earth.  Because you see the photo of me with the mandolin is me in likeness but really not me.  That photo was taken a few weeks ago by Alexa on a trip to Disney World where she found me immortalized as an animatronic in the Spaceship Earth Ride in Epcot.

So, I guess I can thank Jesus for everlasting life, and Disney for my everlasting likeness and for preserving the flow.

I hope your Tuesday was fat and happy.

That’s me front row second from left. My dad is front row four from left. My brother back row center under the light. This photo courtesy of Oceanport Centennia Facebook page.
Pass The Doritos Please

Pass The Doritos Please

Comments 0 Comment

Friday evening Kim and I took Cameron to dinner.  He told us about something that happened at school that day where one of his classmates was having some trouble completing his work. Cameron said he told his friend that if he needed help, he should just ask Jesus and He would help him.

You got to love that.

Super Bowl Weekend.

Since we are Steelers fans we didn’t really have any skin in the big game.  However, Donny was a big San Francisco Forty-Niners fan back in the Steve Young, Jerry Rice, Deion Sanders early 90’s so we saw the Super Bowl as an opportunity to share a moment with one of our kids even though he wasn’t able to physically share it with us.  So we got a couple of Forty-Niners tee shirts and busted out some of Donny’s San Francisco 49er gear that we had stored away in the house.  Then we got a bag of Doritos and sat down on the couch to watch the game.

It was a good game though we were a little disappointed, the 49ers didn’t win and I thought the commercials were just okay.

Ah, but the half time show sure caused a big stir.

I certainly understand, the game is in the Miami area and you have two dynamic Latina singers and dancers appropriately scheduled as the half time show.

In the end, the debate ensued as to whether the show was appropriate for prime time national television audiences.

I don’t know about you, but I can tell you sitting on the couch watching Shakira and Jennifer Lopez performing with my wife right there next to me, yeah,  there might have been a time or two I wanted to pick up that bag of  Doritos and read the Nutrition Facts with something like:

“Hey, honey did you know these Doritos have 150 calories per serving?”

Or say something I have used before like, “Hey how about those Nat’s?”

I could see how some folks were squirming a little.

But the most ridiculous thing I read the next day was a piece by a young Latina writer who insisted she knew what the whole issue was really about.

Racism.

Yup, racism.

In an article titled “Dear White People: The Super Bowl Halftime Show Wasn’t Too Sexy, You’re Just Racist” she argued that if you were uncomfortable watching the Super Bowl Halftime show you are a racist.

Imagine that?

That would be like somebody telling me “Dear white person Curt:  It’s Not That You Don’t Like Bean Burritos Because They Give You Gas! You are Just a Racist!”

Come on.

Maybe you have young kids and don’t want to explain in the middle of a Super Bowl party what all that was about.  Maybe you would prefer to wait until they were ready to go to college.

I was told by my daughter that my four-year-old grandson watched with his mouth open then commented on what Shakira was able to do with her butt.   Though he is part Latino,  I think it better that he have a little more time to understand these things.

Or maybe you’re a mom watching with a couple of your teenage boys and had to sit and squirm, watching in silence, probably wishing you had a bag of Doritos in reach.

Or maybe you are just an older conservative-minded individual who just doesn’t understand this younger generation.

There were lots of reasons why some folks might have felt uncomfortable watching that performance, but I am pretty comfortable saying one of them probably wasn’t racism.

You would have to have been living in the wilderness for the last twenty or thirty years to somehow not be familiar with the talent and the success of these two women.  From In Living Color, American Idol, The Voice, countless movies, and music videos; American television viewers were not surprised and therefore angered by who the performers were.

There wasn’t any “Hey honey, can you believe it? There are Spanish people dancing on TV!”

My family is interesting.  We have white Christians, Jews, Latinos, Lebanese, and African-Americans.

And I would guess we aren’t that different from a lot of families.

And I am told that my son-in-law was once a pretty good salsa dancer (he is part Latino).

And though I love my son-in-law I think if I had to watch him salsa dance I would be squirming and reaching for the bag of Doritos in that situation as well.

I don’t know too much about this young lady who felt inclined to turn this situation into one promoting hate, but I am guessing maybe she doesn’t have any young children, or teenage children, or children at all.  I am guessing she hasn’t experienced a Christmas Eve comprised of white Christians, Jews, Latinos, Lebanese, and African-Americans reading the story of the birth of Jesus.

I am guessing she doesn’t have the experience or the wisdom of the two fine Latina ladies who have made themselves so successful and well known to all of us.

She doesn’t understand that it didn’t have anything to do with them as people and especially what part of the world they were born in.

Maybe Cameron’s words of encouragement for his friend at school would help this young author too.

I don’t know how Donny would have felt about the halftime show.  I don’t think even if he was with me in the room we would have been high-fiving each other.  He might have had kids that he had to think about as well.  And his mom was right there!

We will never know.

By the way, to the young author who wrote the piece, you have a typo in line four.

The Stone

The Stone

Comments 1 comment

God has made a home in the heavens for the sun.

It bursts forth like a radiant bridegroom after his wedding.

It rejoices like a great athlete eager to run the race.

The sun rises at one end of the heavens and follows its course to the other end.

Nothing can hide from its heat.

 

Wow.

Maybe the greatest poet or song writer ever, even better than Dylan.

David.

I have been reading Psalms lately.  Those words are from Psalm 19.

So cool but he is all over the place.  Sadness and joy, hope and desperation, all in a handful of lines.

I think if David were alive today he would surely be on Xanax.

I had a band I used to follow who I have mentioned before called Lowen and Navarro.  They used to joke at their shows about how depressing their songs were that they wrote.

I get that, I think I have that tendency too.

I guess sadness, loss, and desperation evoke emotions that need a way to be processed.

It’s therapy.

April 17, 2017, Easter Monday, I wrote a post called “Good Friday, Easter Sunday…What Did Jesus Do On Saturday?”

The day before, Easter Sunday, I was all proud of the fact that I had my entire local family in church with Kim and me.  I think we filled the pew.  In that post of April 17,  I wrote about the sermon from that Easter morning.

In that sermon, the preacher asked who will roll away the stone.  That stone referred to in Mark 16 of great weight blocking the way to Jesus in the tomb.  The stone, the preacher said, that represented all those hard times in our lives; times of tragedy, divorce, loss of a job, an unexpected diagnosis, all things that were tough in our lives.

At the time I knew that message spoke to all those sitting in my pew.

But at the time I didn’t know just how much.

On the way out of the sanctuary that morning we were each handed a small stone to remind us of the weight of our troubles and that Jesus was just on the other side.

About a month later I got a call from Hayley who was in the pew that Easter morning.  She needed help.  She was ready to make the decision to remove herself from the physically abusive marriage/relationship that she was in and that we were unaware of.

Over the next few weeks, she would be safely removed from the problem, begin to initiate the legal requirements necessary, and start the process that continues today of healing and living in a safe environment.  Life for Hayley today is finally starting to return to one she can build her dreams on once again.

The relevance of all this is that Hayley’s decision to muster up the courage to finally end the mental and physical abuse she was experiencing in her relationship,  resulted from the message she heard that Easter morning.  According to Hayley, she finally got the strength she needed to roll away her stone from the words of that preacher.

That sermon saved her from mental anguish, physical pain and bruising.  That sermon, in my opinion, literally saved her life.

On a day in the months after, I shared this story with the preacher who delivered that message and thanked him for saving Hayley from a life of torment or even worse, death.  Thoughtfully that day in his office, he asked if he could pray for us, and he prayed.

Hayley still carries that stone that she received leaving the service that morning.

I share this story with you now because the life of the preacher who delivered that life-altering sermon was tragically taken from us this week.

Early Wednesday morning Pastor Steve Vineyard passed away, too young, and very unexpectedly.

I probably have many things to thank Pastor Steve for but none of them will ever come close to giving my daughter her life back.

For that, I will be forever grateful.

 

Tomorrow the sun will rise from one end of the heavens and follow its course to the other end.  We can’t hide from it, our lives will go on.

But we will all be carrying another stone.

 

P.S.

The photo above is one of Pastor Steve and me on a “typical day” at work.  Our work, as you can see, is awesome, but never typical.  I was reminded of that this week.

Rest in peace, my friend.

May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.

David’s last verse of Psalm 19.

That works for me too.

Hayley sharing her stone right now and the National Domestic Violence Hotline number 1 800 799 SAFE (7233)
Surface Tension

Surface Tension

Comments 4 comments

I had a house full this Christmas and therefore one of the rules of the Christmas season in my house this year was no talking about politics.  I wanted to keep things festive.

So with politics off the table, the debate immediately shifted to something more near and dear to my heart yet equally as volatile…

My toilet paper.

Yup, my choice of toilet paper came under attack.

“It’s too rough…it’s not soft enough… it’s too thin,” yeah I heard it all.

I don’t really care about any of that when it comes to my toilet paper what is important to me is…

Surface Tension.

Now I realize from my Respiratory Therapy days that the true definition of surface tension relates specifically to a liquid.

But I like to apply those same qualities to my toilet paper, you know, binding together, like an elastic membrane so that nothing breaks through.

 

And as you know I don’t usually like to venture into commentary on what may be construed as political. I like to write about important things like meatballs, making fart noises, The Dave Clark Five, and Publix employees snapping my French bread in half, and even toilet paper.

You know, real cutting edge stuff.  But there are recent events that I find are more troubling.  But not necessarily from a political aspect, I don’t really care whether you are a democrat or a republican, or a socialist, or whatever.  My concern is more about our ability to stand together as Americans, bound, strong, like an elastic membrane. Impenetrable.

Like my toilet paper.

Hayley gave me a book to read called Barbarians and Brothers: Anglo-American Warfare 1500 to 1865. In his book, author Wayne E. Lee looks at issues like race and ethnicity in war and also how culture, strategy, and logistics determined the nature of the fighting.   I recently started reading this book and though I am no scholar of war, you don’t have to venture too far into it to find meaning in current events. Lee says, “War is intended to convey specific messages to an enemy; only rarely in history has that message been merely ‘die.’”

You see the elimination of this most recent terrorist with minimal collateral destruction, sent a great message.

Unfortunately, the actions of a rather large number of Americans to align themselves with the enemy afterward, to apologize for this military action, and to even maybe try to limit our future ability to protect our country, sent an entirely different, not so great message.

“It is always distressing to find American citizens who benefit from the protection and assistance of this government lending their voice in any way to governments such as the [enemy, whoever that might be] distressing indeed,” said State Department spokesman Charles W. Bray, according to a July 1972 Reuters story.

That statement was made in 1972 in reference to Jane Fonda’s support of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam (North Vietnam) who was at the time our enemy.

This most recent action against terrorism seems to have generated a lot of Jane Fondas.

 

The attacks on America by the terrorists on 9/11 in 2001 brought our country together and since that time we have been in a war against terrorism.  Last week another terrorist responsible for the loss of American lives was terminated.

Unfortunately, those sentiments that brought us together in the early days of this war have waned quite a bit.

 

Today is Donny’s birthday.  He would have been 33 years old today.  I remember watching the events and the aftermath of the 9/11 terrorist attacks unfold on TV with Donny.  I remember his passionate support for the country and the fact that even at the then age of 14 he was ready to sign up for the military and join the fight.

I remember a lot of passionate support for our country back then.

We had surface tension.

But this is America where we are free to pledge our allegiance to Charmin or Scotts; the USA or Iran.  You are free to choose.

Times sure have changed Donny, that passionate support for our country that you had is not as popular now.

I hope someday, out of respect for those who have paid the price of defending us these last almost twenty years, we can get that back again and stop the urge to lend our voices in support of our enemy governments.

To be impenetrable once again.

 

 

 

Jabberwocky

Jabberwocky

Comments 1 comment

Well I’ve never been to Hawaii.

But I kind of like their shirts.

Well they tell me I was born there.

But I really don’t remember.

What does it matter?

 

Well you all know that’s a bunch of crap because I was born in New Jersey.

I guess I just got caught up in the moment.

 

The fact is I do have a jones for “Hawaiian” shirts.

The fact is, I have forty-six of them.

I just counted.

 

This is the time of the year I like to get organized.  I have been working on my closets.

Fun stuff, right?  Livin’ la vida loca is my 2020 motto.

Last week I worked on my bedroom closet.

Today it was my laundry room closet where all my Hawaiian shirts reside.

 

I knew I had a lot of Hawaiian shirts, but I didn’t actually know how many until today.

Some are special, some are not as.

Five of them were actually made in Hawaii.  One of those is my Christmas shirt with Santa, a couple of reindeer, a jalopy, and a surfboard.  Another of my Hawaii Hawaiian shirts is the one with the ships sunk in Pearl Harbor depicted on it.  Alexa and Namaan bought be that one on a trip to Hawaii.

I have nine Tommy Bahama shirts.  Those are expensive.

I have one Tommy Bahama that is a Disney Tommy Bahama with Mickey Mouse on it.  I am sure that one was crazy expensive, but lucky for me, that was gift,  as were three or four others.  I found a couple of Tommy B’s in a thrift store, which is more my speed.

There are other special ones.

My unofficial good luck racetrack Hawaiian shirt that has thoroughbred racehorses charging down the stretch on it.  Though I always get a lot of attention when I wear that shirt to the track, I usually don’t get any good luck from it.

I also have one that is an official Kentucky Derby Hawaiian shirt and I have an official NFL Steelers Hawaiian shirt too.  I wrote about that one once before.

One of my favorites was designed by Steven Stills.  I bought that one at one of his shows.

I have another one that has the Christian fish shape on it.  I like to wear it to church.

The rest I have accumulated in one way or another and some remind me of beach vacations, weddings, or other nice memories.

 

And now that I have organized my Hawaiian shirts my next project is my office and shredding my unwanted 2019 financial documents while I prepare for taxes.

Can you feel it?

It must be real.

It feels so good.

Oh, feels so good!

 

I hope your first weekend of 2020 is going as well as mine.  Remember my motto for 2020?

 

By the way, my word of the day today was Jabberwocky.

 

Jabberwocky: Writing or speech that contains meaningless words.

 

So,

How did I do?

 

(Lyrics lifted from Never Been to Spain, written by Hoyt Axton)

The Christmas Letter 2019

The Christmas Letter 2019

Comments 0 Comment

Christmas 2019

It’s August 3 and I am at an auction with my father in law in New Centreville, PA.  I drop my father in law off to register then I go park my truck.  Now my turn to register, I am trying to explain to the guy behind the table who I am and my relationship to my father in law when the guy says, “yeah I know who you are.  We didn’t get a Christmas card and letter this year, we usually get a card and letter!”

The next month, on September 14 we went to Kim’s 40th high school reunion and had a great time. But again, we had multiple people asking why no Christmas card and letter last Christmas?

The next morning after the reunion I attended the Geiger Church of the Brethren, but on this day, I was haunted by the ghosts of Christmas letters past. The sermon that morning included the story from Genesis of Jacob wrestling with God the night before he was to meet with his brother Esau and his family who he hadn’t seen in years. The last time they saw each other Jacob had tricked his father Isaac into blessing him instead of the oldest son Esau as should have been customary thus making Jacob lord of the family and all the other family members, servants to him. Now after all these years Jacob was anxious and even scared that Esau would do him and his family harm as a result. His concern was only bolstered by the fact that his servants who went out ahead to tell Esau that Jacob was coming, returned to say Esau was on his way to meet Jacob with 400 men.  Jacob thought it best to be overly generous with gifts. Surely that would make the best impression.

So, he sent his family and servants out ahead of him with the gifts of many goats, female camels with their young; ewes, and donkeys and cows. Then he spent the night tormented by his concerns of seeing the brother he hadn’t seen in a long time, having enough gifts, worrying about arguments or even worse. He wrestled with those concerns, and with God all night.  As daybreak came upon them, the wrestling ended, and Jacob asked God to bless him.

Sitting and listening in church that morning, still with visions of Christmas letters dancing in my head, I thought, wow, this story of Jacob and Esau seems to have many parallels with modern day Christmas rituals.

Because last Christmas, Kim and I wrestled with our own anxieties over the holiday.  Whether it was the grief that you don’t “get over” and never goes way, stress over normal things like finances maybe, or just being tired, or all of the above.  Christmas at our house last year, as I had told Hayley at the time, was “cancelled.”

In a Christmas time post on my website last December I had written this:

I had always put a lot of energy into our Christmases.

But for the first time in my life I didn’t have a Christmas tree.

And for the first time since Kim and I have been together, we didn’t send out a Christmas card

with a Christmas letter.

This year we just didn’t have the energy.

 

I guess like Jacob, we felt the pressure.  The need to buy too many gifts, the stresses of socializing in the face of grief and loss, the unpacking of just too many memories to put up on the shelves only to take them down again and pack them away for another year.  And I guess, like Jacob, we wrestled.

Unlike Jacob however, our conversation would have been more like this:

“Seriously Kim, how many milking camels do we really have to buy this year? Does Alexa really need another camel?  Haven’t we spent enough?  And do you know what it cost to ship a milking camel?”

And I can’t imagine my wife telling me, “Curt your brother Gary called to say he is coming to visit from California for Christmas.  And he is bringing 400 of his family and friends with him.”

Yup Jacob, I got you!

 

But that was last Christmas.

And on the way back home to Virginia from the Rockwood High School Class of 1979 40th reunion, Kim said,

“You know you are going to have to write a Christmas letter this year.”

 

So, with Alexa, Namaan, Christian, and Ethan coming up to Virginia for Christmas, the kids and grandkids would be together this year for the first time in two years. We started to get the old Christmas spirit back again.

Well sort of.

Since I had thrown out the last artificial tree we owned, the Sunday before Thanksgiving, realizing we would be away Thanksgiving weekend, the time we would normally put up our Christmas tree, we found an awesome deal on Facebook yard sale, drove right over and picked it up.

Now with our “new” used artificial Christmas tree in the back of the SUV, we headed out to have lunch in Leesburg with Savannah and Cameron celebrating Leon’s birthday with Leon’s family.  Hayley was there too with her new friend Malcolm who I had never met.  He seemed like a really nice guy and I liked him.

Then finally Kim and I went home and set up our “new” used artificial Christmas tree to get into the spirit of things. Kim put on some awful 70’s music while we went to work decorating the tree.  That triggered an exchange that went something like this:

“Me and you and a dog named Sue, traveling and living off the land,” I sang along with the song.

“It’s Boo!” Kim said.

“It’s what?” I asked puzzled.

“Boo, the dog’s name is Boo not Sue!” she corrected me.

“I thought it was Sue,” I grumbled feeling a little silly.  Ah it’s a stupid song anyway, I thought.

By the end of the evening, the “new” used artificial Christmas tree looked great, and we had some fun.

Then, this past weekend I even put Christmas decorations up outside, something I used to do with Donny but hate to do now.  Though unlike the neighbors I put ours up in the backyard so we could see them and enjoy them.

Everything was falling into place.

Everything, except for one thing, Kim’s words,

“You know you are going to have to write a Christmas letter this year.”

Yeah, I suppose so.

 

Post-Script

It has been a year for us that has been different than most.

Kim and I spent less time together this past year than we ever have.  That wasn’t good.

But on the plus side we spent a lot more time with our families than we had in a long while.

We had some answered prayers, and we still have some big ones out there we are waiting to get answered.

I was reminded while at work today that this is the season of miracles, that the birth of Jesus to a virgin shows that nothing is impossible with God.

 Nothing is impossible with God.

I am going to go into the New Year with that re-assurance that the rest of those prayers will get

answered too.

We can take a lot from the story of Jacob and Esau.

Because after all our wrestling, God did bless us too.

And like Jacob’s plea to his brother Esau,  “Please take my gift which has been brought to you, because God has dealt graciously with me and because I have plenty,” we will find comfort in the joy of giving, the reminder that no matter how much time goes by and no matter the problems of the past, our love of family is unconditional.

And as Kim and I enjoy our three little guys this Christmas, I will be reminded that God has dealt graciously with us too.

I hope that you and your families have an awesome Christmas this year.  And if there is anything you might be wrestling with, I hope God is gracious and blesses you too.

And finally, I hope that none of us get any milking camels for Christmas!

 

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from all of those mentioned above including Donny too!

Kim and Curt

This was Christmas 2018

 

My Favorite Veteran

My Favorite Veteran

Comments 4 comments

Last year in my post Veterans Day Musings I whined about not wanting to be stressed out by listening to the news and therefore I had retreated to music and my favorite Sirius XM radio station, Little Steven’s Underground Garage.

Sadly, not much has changed in a year as far that is concerned.  But I did get to make that same road trip this year.

Actually, this year I was able to kiss my favorite veteran on the forehead on Veterans Day and thank him in person for his service.  Not all of you can do that anymore and I am sorry about that.  I am certainly blessed with that privilege.

But a Tuesday doctors appointment for my mother and the sudden burst of cold weather requiring the water lines out to the dock to be disconnected and blown out for the winter had me in my truck after work on Monday with the Underground Garage tuned in headed once again over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and on to the Eastern Shore.   Thanks to the holiday, I arrived early enough on Veteran’s Day evening to hang out for a while with my parents and eat ice cream with my dad.

 

The process of shutting off the water and blowing out the water lines requires removing two 32 x 36-inch pieces of flooring and leaning them against the wall.  Then, crawling down below the 2 X 10-inch floor joists to get to PVC water line and the shut off valve.  The pipe is then disconnected at a threaded fitting and an air compressor quick connect is screwed on.  Once that is complete the spigots are opened up out at the bulkhead and further down on the dock and the air compressor line is attached,  blowing the water out to keep the pipe from freezing and cracking.

At one point in this process my dad observed me to almost bump my head on one of the 32 x 36-inch plywood sub-floor that was leaning closest to me as I was entering the crawl space.  My dad leaped into action balancing one foot on the 2-inch edge of the floor joist and reaching to grab the piece of sub floor.  With my mother now panicking yelling “Carl what are you doing?” he replies “I have to move this piece of plywood before it hits Curt in the head.  Don’t worry my balance is pretty good today Flo!”

Lying helplessly in the crawl space looking up through the floor joists, I listened to the commotion occurring above me.  Seeing my dad’s shoe with his weight now balanced on the 2-inch edge of the joist, while he bent and grabbed the piece of flooring to move it, I could only just hope for the best.

“My balance is pretty good today Flo.”

My dad is 90 years old.

A veteran of the Korean War.

And he has Parkinson’s Disease.

His kind of Parkinson’s makes him prone to falling.  He loses his balance easily.

So, seeing his sneakered foot on the floor joist above me and hearing my mother’s overly expressed concern, with only the comforting knowledge of “my balance is pretty good today Flo,” meant it was one hairy 20 seconds.

 

But I guess it’s nice to know you are never too old to have your dad try to keep you safe.

And guess it’s also comforting to know he will never be too old to want to.

 

Happy Veterans Day Pop.

Thank you for your service.

And thank you for keeping me and the rest of us safe.

Oh Well

Oh Well

Comments 0 Comment

I can’t help about the shape I’m in
I can’t sing, I ain’t pretty and my legs are thin
But don’t ask me what I think of you
I might not give the answer that you want me to
Oh well

(From Oh Well, written by Peter Green)

 

Peter Green.

Born Peter Greenbaum October 29, 1946.

Many of you are familiar with Fleetwood Mac.  I have confessed to my being a rather big Fleetwood Mac fan before.

What you may not be familiar with is that originally Fleetwood Mac was called Peter Green’s Fleetwood Mac. The Fleetwood Mac years that included Peter Green was the Fleetwood Mac I remember liking most.

A pretty good guitarist, Peter actually replaced another pretty good guitarist named Eric Clapton when Clapton left John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers.

In 1967 Peter left the Bluesbreakers to start his own band that included other former members of the Bluesbreakers, Mick Fleetwood and John McVie.

 

I have a calendar hanging in my office.

It’s a guitar calendar.

Each month it features a cool photo of a famous or unique guitar and its history.  It also lists birthdays of notable guitar players for that month.

Peter Green was on that birthday list for the month of October,  October 29th  to be exact.

 

You can probably imagine hearing a conversation like this:

Joe: “Hey man how is it going how are you feeling?”

Jack: “Ah man you know I am not really feeling very well, I got this cough that I can’t kick, headaches, a fever that just won’t go away and the doctors can’t seem to figure how to make me well again.”

Joe: Wow that’s too bad, listen get plenty of rest, drink lots of water, and you know I am sure everything is going to work out.  And I will be thinking about you. Be sure to let me know if there is anything I can do for you. I will keep you in my prayers.”

And you can probably also imagine hearing one like this:

Joe: “Hey man how is it going how are you feeling?”

Jack:  “Ah man, you know I am not really feeling very well, I can’t sleep, my heart is racing, I am depressed, I don’t have any appetite, I feel like I am going to lose it at any time  and the doctors can’t seem to figure how to make me feel good again.”

Joe: “Wow man, I am sorry to hear that, that’s too bad, yeah I got an uncle like that too, hey about those Nats huh?”

 

Oh well.

Joe just might not give the answer that you want him to, huh?

 

Due to his mental illness, Peter Green would fall out of the music scene in the mid 70’s.  He would eventually undergo therapy for schizophrenia.   Thankfully he would come back and be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1998 and tour as late as 2010.

 

As is often the case with me, a song sticks in my head for a day and gets me thinking and then you poor folks have to hear about it.   That is what happened when Oh Well played in my head recently and Peter Green’s birthday was listed on my office wall.

 

And I am reminded by how I feel this is the time of the year when the daylight ends sooner, that many people are struggling.  And not just from the touch of seasonal affective disorder (SAD) that plagues me to some minor degree, but many more to a much more serious degree from a multitude of reasons or causes.

But whether its schizophrenia, or seasonal affective disorder, or post-traumatic stress disorder, or anxiety, or depression, or grief, or some other behavioral disorder or life situation that causes unbearable stress, we need to be attentive and sympathetic to the needs of those folks too.

 

You may have people in your life who are struggling with something.

Actually, let me say that a different way.

You do have people in your life who are struggling with something.  A person that you love, a person that you work with, a person who is your friend, the person waiting on you in a restaurant.

You may not realize it.

Or, you may prefer to avoid it.

You may prefer to say, “Oh well, how about those Nats?”

I have written before, that those brothers and sisters need our help too.

And if we don’t know how to help them, which may often be the case, we just need to pray about it.

Pray for them.

And maybe just listen.

And maybe not say anything.

Maybe just be there.

 

And it could be me, and it could be you.

And if it is, we need to tell somebody.

 

Now, when I talked to God I knew he’d understand
He said, “Stick by my side and I’ll be your guiding hand
But don’t ask me what I think of you
I might not give the answer that you want me to
Oh well

(From Oh Well, by Peter Green)

 

 

Plant Camp

Plant Camp

Comments 0 Comment

Thursday evening I was thanking God for the fact that it wasn’t Monday when The Voice would be on, and it was a travel day for the Nationals so there was no late-night baseball to watch and keep me up.

Nope, it was just a beautiful evening to end a beautiful day.  And a perfect excuse to plop myself just one more time in the chair and enjoy some time outside.

Last week we cut down the banana trees and got what was left bedded down for winter, and we carefully wrapped the four palm trees I had in the ground in hopes they would make it through until spring.

But today we had to deal with those plants that weren’t in the ground.  The many (and I mean many) plants of all shapes, sizes, and varieties that were growing in pots and would have to go somewhere warm for the winter.

And preferably not in my house.

And that is not because I don’t like plants, I do, but my house already looks like a Meadows Farms franchise location.

In case you haven’t figured this out by now, my wife has this really serious plant jones.  She is constantly bringing home plants or starting something from a seed.  My house is loaded with olive trees, fig-trees, money trees, avocado trees, and on and on and on.

At one point this summer I told my wife I was going to attach leaves to my body so she would pay more attention to me.

I was feeling neglected (she doesn’t pour water on me like that).

But I have grown used to it.

Anyway today was the day we had to pack up the big yucca plant, the jasmine, the lemon trees, and the citrus bush, the indoor palm, and the rest of the ten palm trees I haven’t put in the ground yet and take them to plant camp…that is anyone, anywhere that we can find willing to plant sit for the winter.

The decks are bare now.  Whatever is left, mostly ferns, will die off and be replaced in the spring.  There is only so much you can do.

And I guess if your wife is going to have an urge to bring things home, there are worse things than plants.

I should be thankful it’s not cats.

Well, it is almost time for the game to start.

Time to plop down for another night in front of the TV for some local World Series excitement.

Go Nats!

Loading up the truck for Plant Camp
To Every Thing There Is a Season

To Every Thing There Is a Season

Comments 2 comments

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.