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)
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.”
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!
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?”
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
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.
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.
Observe them carefully, for this will show your wisdom and understanding to the nations, who will hear about all the decrees and say, “Surely this great nation is a wise and understanding people.” What other nation is so great as to have their gods near them the way the Lord our God is near us whenever we pray to him? And what other nation is so great as to have such righteous decrees and laws as this body of laws I am setting before you today? Deuteronomy 4:6-8
The laws, the rules we live by.
The speaker introducing the message at church this Sunday used the analogy of playing with fire. Our innate insistence on sometimes challenging wisdom, rules, and laws out of a curious need to know more, or the feeling that we know better maybe. Our inability to trust what we are being told, our need to learn it ourselves… like playing with fire, until we get burned.
I am in western Pennsylvania again and this time of year it’s the harvest, the time when you reap what you sow.
It was a good week, the predicted rain held off and “the boys” (Kim’s brothers Kerry and Keith, and nephew Josh) were able to finish harvesting the soybeans in the fields down by Scullton and return the two large combines back to the farm to be moved to another field when work started again on Monday.
Unlike the last time I shared my harvest experience, a time when there was uncertainty in my life and uncertainty in our country with the upcoming election, I didn’t get to ride in the combine. But by the end of the weekend I would feel that it was me who was benefiting from the reaping.
Having moved from the intro message delivered in the sanctuary to the basement classroom for Sunday school, we discussed Deuteronomy some more and the laws being passed on to the new nation of Israel.
Later those same rules to live by would be shared to other nations through the life of Jesus and his disciples.
On this Sunday, as we always do when we are at Kim’s home in Somerset, we attended services at the Geiger Church of the Brethren. I have been to church here many times over the last twenty years, but not until this visit was I ever at the Geiger Church of the Brethren for their communion.
The Brethren have communion only twice per year. That may be because it is different. Communion for The Church of the Brethren is not just the bread and cup. It is referred to as the Love Feast.
And the Love Feast does include a meal as you might guess, but more importantly it includes, just as Jesus did for the disciples at the Last Supper, the washing of feet.
Only after they wash each other’s feet, a simple meal is served. And finally after the meal the bread and the cup, the body and blood of Christ is served.
So just like Jesus did at the last supper, I sat in a chair while another brother washed my feet, then dried my feet with the long apron tied around his waist, then he kissed me on the cheek and blessed me. When it was my turn, and I received the apron, I washed the feet of the next brother behind me. I dried his feet with the apron around my waist, kissed him on the cheek and blessed him. Then I untied the apron… and so on and so on.
It’s hard not to be reminded in that moment of what Jesus was reminding the disciples; take his message, and live by God’s rules as he had lived out for them to see, in the time leading up this last meal of fellowship. By washing their feet he was demonstrating the ultimate act of love for your brother, in humbleness and service.
Now, we have another great nation that seems to be in constant turmoil. As a nation we may not have our God as close to us as He used to be.
I can’t help imagining our leaders, our members of Congress, experiencing this act of love and service to one another; each taking their turn to have their feet washed, dried by the apron, and finished with a kiss on the cheek and receiving a blessing. Then turning to the member in the next seat, kneeling with the basin, washing and drying their feet, a kiss on the cheek and a blessing.
And so on and so on.
Might be different vibe in the room after that.
You reap what you sow.
So he got up from the meal. Took off his outer clothing. And wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with a towel that was wrapped around him.
I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them.
Back biters and syndicators Standing all around the door An’ it wished ’bout ev’ryday Hopin’ I’d go way to stay Ooo-ooo-wee, ooo Almost ruin my happy home Ooo-wee-ooo Almost ruin my happy home
(Al Smith and John Lee Hooker)
It’s Friday and it is now about 9 PM and I am about to exit on to Route 18 for the last leg of my trip home to New Jersey. With Little Steven’s Underground Garage set on my XM radio, I hear John Lee Hooker’s BackBiters and Syndicators begin to play. I grab one of the three harmonicas on the console, an “A” harp and it blends right in, happy that I got it right the first time.
Six hours earlier I had left work, got gas, and hit the road.
More than two hours later I was just getting off the DC beltway and heading towards Baltimore on I-95.
One hour later I was stopped in gridlock north of Baltimore where the express lanes converged with the four or five normal lanes.
Somewhere in this mess on the overpass above with a chain link fence, climate control advocates were holding a sign and waving their arms trying to get the impatient drivers below to beep their horns in support, or maybe, I thought, trying to dispel the carbon monoxide being pumped out of the sea of cars below them.
It reminded me of what driving the beltway and interstates in late September of 2001 would have looked like. You could barely travel under an overpass that didn’t have an American flag on it with people rallying support for our country recently attacked by terrorists.
What a difference eighteen years makes, I thought. You don’t see too many American flags anymore. Maybe we have just forgotten, or maybe some are just afraid of being labeled.
When I first moved to the Washington DC area, I used to drive home to Jersey pretty much every weekend. I had an old 1969 C10 pickup truck and off I would go. Generally it was a three and one half hour ride.
Now forty years later the trip I started at 3PM doesn’t begin to wind down until six hours later. Thankfully around 9:30PM I arrive.
It’s now Sunday afternoon and I am ready to start my trip back, hoping this time the drive won’t be so long.
But before leaving I decide to take a trip past the stretch of Long Branch beaches I used to hang at. I passed the Church of the Presidents, now closed for renovation and remember the time when I was twelve or so and spent the day sitting with my grandfather as he displayed his paintings. He won a gold medal for his portrait of John Kennedy.
Then on down Ocean Avenue to West End, back in the day it was once referred to as the Greenwich Village of the Jersey shore and past the restaurant where I got my first job.
Finally at the North End beach where I spent most of my teenage years, I got out and took a photo. It has all changed now.
Now ready to start my way back home I hope for swifter travel and line up my harmonicas for this ride.
It was a good trip.
Now I am ready to return to my happy home.
Ooo-wee-ooo
At 3:50 AM this morning, while I was sleeping, my summer officially ended.
Today at 3:50 AM, the first day of fall began.
Summer is over.
My favorite season of the year has ended.
And I slept through it.
And then there is the Steelers.
In preparation for the football season in a moment of team spirit, I pushed the send order button on a really cool, somewhat expensive, Hawaiian style Steelers shirt to replace my AB shirt that is now as valuable as koi poo. I was pumped, I was ready for the new season.
But alas the Steelers are 0 and 3 to start their season and Big Ben is out at least for this year. I fear that the season is over.
And don’t bust out the sweatshirts just yet because then there is Climate Change!
Because, even though my Steelers Hawaiian shirt is still sitting in the same place I put it the day I received it in the mail, it’s not due to the weather because we have climate change and it’s the first day of fall and its 91 degrees!
This climate change movement is really scary. It’s like something has our young people possessed.
Friday I listened to a young female college student who said she had no reason to finish college because of climate change we were all going to be dead anyway. Still, others said there was no reason to have children. And one of the signs I saw displayed in D.C. today said: “capitalism kills.” I am guessing that means socialism doesn’t.
The world as we knew it, is over, we are going to die.
Last week my grandson Christian played Jesus in his Chapel skit at his preschool.
Alexa video chatted me to have Christian tell me about this and the dialog went something like this:
Alexa: “Christian who were you in chapel today?”
Christian: “Jesus”
Alexa: “Who was Owen?” (His friend)
Christian: “He was Matthew the cash register.” (I think he meant tax collector)
Alexa: “Who was Royce?” (Another classmate)
Christian: “He was a fisher of men.” (Fisherman probably…Simon Peter I am guessing)
In another video Alexa sent the next day, Christian was singing “I will make you fishers of men…fishers of men…if you follow me…”
Experiencing this, I am reminded of the reason you have children. And maybe teaching them about Jesus and why it’s important to be a good steward of the world and how we treat each other may be more effective than promoting socialism, creating severe harmful anxiety in our youth, and living with the expectation we are all going to die before I am going to be able to access my 401K.
You know what, it’s probably not worth worrying about anyway.
Because…
I read something recently that our attention span has decreased from 12 seconds in the year 2000, to 8 seconds in 2015. So do the math and that means that in 2019 we are down to 7 seconds and surely by now none of you who are reading this are paying any attention and are off to something else.
Hello…
But think about it, in 26 years, if we all aren’t dead from climate change we probably won’t care because our attention spans will have been reduced to nothing and we won’t have the ability to focus on or have an opinion about anything. Our ability to think will be over.
It won’t be business as usual anymore.
And now this, if any of you are still paying attention…
The clock above my kitchen window says it is 7:00 o’clock.
“Awesome,” I think to myself, “I have plenty of time.”
The problem is the clock above my kitchen window reads 7:00 o’clock all the time lately.
That is because the battery is dead.
But most mornings, even if it just for the briefest moment, I forget, and out of habit I look up at that clock and think:
“Awesome, I have plenty of time.”
The last couple of weeks our attention has been on Hurricane Dorian and chicken sandwiches.
Because of my little guys, I was selfishly relieved that the hurricane didn’t impact south Florida as initially predicted. But I can’t help feeling a little ashamed of that selfishness after viewing what happened to the Bahamas.
Then to make it even worse the total anarchy of the situation led to the desperation of looting by armed residents.
While on the flip side of that dose of reality, we had the unreality of desperation with Popeye’s Chicken sandwiches.
Chicken sandwiches that caused chaos and disorder with disgruntled customers, threatening lawsuits; a group rushing the restaurant with at least one brandishing a weapon just to name a couple.
I don’t even eat chicken.
But if I did I wouldn’t want to have to carry a weapon to go buy a sandwich.
I can’t imagine walking into a Burger King brandishing a weapon and rushing the counter for their veggie burger.
Truth is I am not against owning a gun; in fact, the situation that presented itself in the Bahamas, in my opinion, is exactly why you should own a gun.
Who knows when you and your family may find yourselves in these desperate conditions where lawlessness prevails?
But this is not about guns.
It’s about time.
The unpredictability of it.
And running out of it.
This has been a different summer for Kim and me.
Unlike last year when we got out on our bikes four or five times week, this year we simply got out on our bikes four or five times.
And the excitement and the anticipation of spending time on the kayaks we got for Christmas has so far resulted in only two trips.
All that said we wouldn’t change the summer we had if we had the chance to.
Our parents are in their late 80’s and even 90 in my dad’s case.
Time with our parents we may not have plenty of.
That clock hasn’t stopped.
And that has been our priority and our pleasure this year as I have written before.
Today we remember that eighteen years ago 2,977 of our brothers and sisters boarded planes and went to work all with their own excitement and anticipation of whatever it was they were looking forward to in their lives. And just recently the husband of a friend of Kim’s drowned off of Cape Hatteras while on vacation with his family. He was just 61, and no doubt had plenty of plans for the future.
But I am 63.
And the clock above my kitchen window says it is 7:00 o’clock.
Awesome…I have plenty of time.
Post Script:
Prayers go out to Frankie Chuday and family, the people of the Bahamas and others affected by Hurricane Dorian, and the individuals and families of those still suffering from the attack on September 11, 2001.
My word of the day, that arrives in my email each day, on Monday was apotheosis.
It means the best point in something’s development or aperfect example.
The sample sentence was “He is the apotheosis of kindness, treating everyone with dignity and respect.”
A good word, I thought, one I will try to remember.
Robert (not his real name) had given up.
After years on the waiting list for a liver, he decided to take his name off.
According to the United Network for Organ Sharing the Model for End-Stage Liver Disease (MELD) is a numerical scale, ranging from 6 to 40 (gravely ill), used for liver transplant candidates age 12 and older. It gives each person a ‘score’ (number) based on how urgently he or she needs a liver transplant within the next three months.
Now at his appointment, Robert learned his number was going up, and according to his physician he had about six weeks to live.
Robert’s first shot at getting a liver was foiled by an unrelated infection somewhere else in his body that was enough to make the transplant procedure too risky. For Robert now, lightning needed to strike twice, and that didn’t seem likely.
So at that moment in the doctor’s office with just weeks left, it seemed hopeless. “Take me off the list,” he said. He had some work being done on his house and figured he would just spend these final weeks making sure that got done right.
On his way back to his North Carolina home however, Robert had second thoughts. He called his doctor back to say he wanted to stay on the list.
Lee Dingle, a 37-year-old engineer from Raleigh, North Carolina was playing with his kids in shallow waters on Oak Island, south of Wilmington. Lee Dingle was married and had six kids. Four of those six kids were adopted.
“My partner, my love, and my home died today after a freak accident. Lee was playing on the beach with three of our kids yesterday, and an intense wave hit him just right to slam his head into the sand and break his neck,” his wife, Shannon Dingle, wrote on Twitter on Friday, July 19.
It has been reported that 55 people in need of transplants received Lee Dingle’s organs.
Shannon Dingle also advised people to “make sure your loved ones know your wishes,” because even though her husband was a registered organ donor, the consent still needs to come from next of kin.
Ironically, Mr. Dingle passed away from his injuries on the same day that we lost Donny, also an organ donor, 17 years ago. It was also a Friday.
We will never understand why God’s plan for Donny and Lee Dingle was not what was to be expected.
We don’t know either why God’s plan for Robert included a slowly failing organ.
We push back when we read in the Bible that we are to give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.
Because that’s not always easy.
Yet we remain faithful.
And as for Robert, the weekend following his doctor’s appointment, the appointment he when he almost gave up, he received his second chance.
We will pray for Robert and his family for healing and the fulfillment of what it is that God has planned for him.
And my family will also pray for the Dingle family, as we know there are no words at a time like this, except prayer that make any sense.
Apotheosis…it seems to work for Donny and Lee Dingle. “They were the apotheosis of kindness, treating everyone with dignity and respect.”
Yup, a good word I think.
A Go Fund Me account has been set up to assist the family of Lee Dingle. If you would like to donate here is the link. The photo of the Dingle family is from the Go Fund Me page.
