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Love Lost and Love Found

Love Lost and Love Found

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I remember the first time I met Pastor Jim Snow.  Kim and I were just starting to go out together and she brought me to a Sterling United Methodist Church picnic at Claude Moore Park in Sterling. As a kid, in my experience attending Sunday School at the Lutheran Church of the Reformation in West Long Branch New Jersey, pastors always wore long black robes, collars, and were a bit intimidating.  Jim on the other hand had a mustache, was wearing jeans, a flannel shirt and a driver’s hat and he was cracking jokes.  And best of all, I was able to call him “Jim”!

Kim had two requirements of me if I wanted to get to know her better, she wanted to be courted and I had to go to church.

I was prepared to do whatever it took.

The first time I attended church at Sterling UMC, I remember we sat about four rows back from the front on the center aisle on the left side. I think I wanted to sit on the end in case I had a panic attack. I don’t think that at the time I had attended church as a worshipper in thirty years. Hayley and Alexa were raised in the synagogue so I had spent some time in temple.  But church, only for weddings and funerals.

I remember looking up at the ceiling and hoping the roof didn’t cave in.  But when it was over, also I remember feeling good, like I had been lost, but now I was found.

I was supposed to be in this place.

We would continue to go to church as our relationship developed and I would continue to push my comfort levels as I got reintroduced.

I had never in my life taken communion and my hand would shake as I took the cup and raised it to my lips.

In April of 2000 Kim and I stood at the rail with our hands on Donny and Savannah as they were confirmed.

And thankfully, I met the requirements imposed on me as a suitor and our courtship worked out, because we had it all arranged for Jim Snow to marry Kim and I on the first day of July that year.  But Jim’s cancer had other plans and he passed away that spring.  Instead, we were married by Lee Crosby on his first official day as a pastor.  And with Alexa, Hayley, Donny, and Savannah beside us, we stood in front of the cross and were married.

We  continued to go to church and I continued to get reacquainted with being a Christian.

For a brief period, because we wanted Donny and Savannah to be active in Youth Group, we started attending Herndon UMC because the kids had school friends in that group.  But whenever I could, if for some reason I found myself alone on a Sunday morning, I would dip back into Sterling UMC and sit in the back row. It felt more like home.

I had never been baptized so in January of 2002 I requested of our pastor at the time, Alan Reifsnyder to join the church and be baptized on the next available date.  On January 27, 2002 in front of my family, except for Donny who was away that weekend, but including my parents and my new church family, I was baptized at the age of forty five.

In June of that year we met the new pastor Ralph Goodman and his family, who would be starting on the first day of July.  Donny was really excited because Ralph had two very pretty daughters.

Not too long after that, on July 23, 2002 Kim and I would stand at the rail again and place our hands on Donny, this time for the last time. A tragic accident had taken Donny’s life on Friday, July 19th.  On that Tuesday we celebrated Donny’s life and gave his spirit up to God.  The church overflowed with people that day.  Even the Sterling Volunteer Fire Department came because mysteriously the fire alarm went off in the middle of the service.

Ralph Goodman, in his first month on the job, walked that walk with Kim and I, and with the Herndon community that surrounded Donny.  He joined the impromptu gatherings of grieving kids, walked the neighborhood, spent time at “the rock” at Herndon High School.  For that we will be forever grateful. I cried on his last day preaching at Sterling UMC.

A life event like that couldn’t be survived without friends, family, church family, and most important, God and faith.  To this day however I struggle to attend funerals at the church and generally find myself staying as busy in the background as I can, and fighting back tears whenever I hear “Amazing Grace.”

But with Jesus and Kim’s faith as our rock we kept moving, becoming more active in church.

My level of comfort was greatly tested when Kim and Savannah signed up to participate in a week long mission trip to Jamaica and Savannah dropped out at the last minute.

“Curt will go” Kim said.

“But Kim, I don’t want to go on a mission trip” I pleaded.

But all she would say is “Then you need to pray about.”

So, I did.

But my prayers weren’t answered.  I found myself in Jamaica that summer.

And in the end, it was a life changing experience.

And we even went back the following year.

 

Our church life continued.  We would share our Jamaica experiences with Pastor Randy Duncan and his wife Robin and get to know them better.  Randy came to Sterling after Ralph left and remained for eleven years, the years Kim and I were most active in the church.

I would have another “first” at the rail when we took Cameron up for Communion for the first time.  He took the bread, but when offered the cup he said politely “no thank you, I don’t like grape juice.” The server told him “that’s okay, you don’t have to drink it.”  But after some hesitation he did anyway, and when we returned to our pew in the back, he asked Kim and I if he could say another prayer. Then he had us bow our heads and fold our hands and Cameron prayed “Dear God, thank you for bringing me back to church, Amen.”

I cried that day too.

On Easter Sunday April 16, 2017, I was a proud dad whose family practically filled the whole pew.  Savannah and Cameron were there.  Hayley and her new family with her husband and two stepchildren were with us too.  Pastor Steve Vineyard delivered the sermon called “Who Will Roll Away the Stone,” the stone representing the heavy weight keeping us from facing all those tough things we had going on in our lives. A month or so later I would get a phone call from Hayley asking for my assistance to help her get out of the physically and emotionally abusive marriage she was in.  Hayley attributed the courage she needed to make that decision to Pastor Steve’s sermon that Easter Sunday.  “Who Will Roll Away the Stone” may have saved Hayley’s life.

In October of 2021 our entire family would return to the rail once again and witness the wedding of Savannah and Leon performed by Pastor Linda Monroe.

Kim and I have been less active the last few years.  The Pandemic, trying to care for aging parents in different states, the challenges sometimes of working and worshipping in the same place.

 

But I was blessed to have been given a second chance in life to find love in this church.

The love of a new marriage.

The love of a new blended family.

The love realized in the experiences of my kids, the joyful ones and the sad ones, and learning love overcomes the sad ones.

The love of a church family I had never experienced.

And most importantly, the Love of God.

 

For me, Love was lost, but then I found it again.

I was lost, and somehow, I was found.

Because God’s Love and God’s Grace,

Are Amazing.

 

 

 

 

Postscript:

On the six Tuesdays during the period of Lent, I am participating in a daily writing that we are doing at my church, Sterling United Methodist Church.  The daily themes are based on one word each day and some associated scripture.  Today’s word is Love.  If you would like to keep up with the posts from others click on this link in the postscript.

 

Happy New Year

Happy New Year

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Though the holidays were officially over, with the weekend coming and a couple more loved ones still to visit, she dipped into a Harris Teeter to pick up a few things.  She took her place in line at the self-checkout behind an older woman who was already scanning her groceries.  With the help of a young clerk the old woman carefully took her items out of her handbasket and slid them over the scanner and into her bag.

She watched as the old lady, barely skin and bones and looking disheveled in a tassel cap, an old sweater, and baggy sweatpants continued slowly processing her groceries.

Three tomatoes, not even in a bag and all on one stem, half a loaf of bread, lunch meat, and a half gallon of ice cream.  When the total approached twenty-five dollars, the old woman told the young clerk “tell me when I get to thirty dollars.”

Soon after, the clerk put the lunch meat aside because it was going to put her over her thirty-dollar limit.

The woman in line observing all this thought back to a time when she was younger and a struggling single mom of a couple of young kids.  She would take her calculator with her when she would go grocery shopping to stay within her budget.

“Ma’am, can I just pay for your groceries?” she asked the old woman.

Hearing the offer and turning towards the voice, a bit surprised she replied “Would you? I am 90 years old, and things are getting harder.”

“Ma’am I am blessed, and I would like to help you,” and with all the old women’s groceries now scanned and in the bags, she swiped her card and paid the bill.

After checking out her own items and leaving the store, she looked for the old woman, but she was gone.

 

Yesterday was January 10th.

I have come to realize January 10th is the real New Year’s Day in my house.

It’s not always obvious, you can’t always feel it, and sometimes for short periods maybe even you forget it exists.  It seems to surface when you least expect it and sadly and sometimes inexcusably, it might even go unnoticed.

And it’s particularly ugly and insidious starting sometime before Thanksgiving and ending in early January where it lives deep in your expectations of joy and happiness, and the inner peace we search for in the story of the birth of a child, then in the anticipation of the new beginnings and opportunities of a new year.

And as hard as you try to deny its effects, no amount of wine or eggnog, happy or sentimental seasonal movie binging, or decorations and holiday celebrations are going to keep that thing under wraps.

It’s called grief.

And it doesn’t matter how many awesome sons-in-law, grandchildren, or kids you are blessed with, there is still always going to be one missing.

And sometimes even a bonehead husband and father like me who should know better doesn’t always read the signs at the right times or know when it’s time to take a step back; because sometimes it takes me until January 10th to realize that was the reason that the joy schedules didn’t always match up, that the attempt at the special moment fell flat, and mentioning that Santa Claus had come didn’t quite have the impact expected.

 

On Monday, January 9, on what would have been Donny’s 36th birthday, Kim put up a nice post on her Facebook page remembering Donny.  She received many nice comments, many of those coming from others who had also lost children.

I have read them all, several times really.

Comments like “Thinking of you Kim.  Donny was one of a kind.  Much love to you and your family.”

Donny was one of a kind.

And like the good person who helped the old lady in the Harris Teeter that day by paying for her groceries, Donny was a good person too.

And though situations like this always bring to mind the old adage “why do bad things happen to good people,” the truth is, bad things can happen to anyone.

But there really are good people we know or have known, in our lives.

And that brings to mind another old adage and just goes to show you, sometimes…

The apple doesn’t always fall far from the tree.

 

 

Postscript:

I have referenced this before and Kim mentioned it in her Facebook post, these words were sent to us twenty years ago and remain displayed in our kitchen:

“no matter how tough life gets, if you can see the shore of heaven, and draw strength from Christ, you’ll make it”.

On January 10th we made a nice dinner, poured some champagne in our year 2000 anniversary flutes, and toasted Happy New Year.

Let the new year now begin.

Happy New Year!

Feet Faddish Three

Feet Faddish Three

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It was hot today.

I got a reminder that three years ago on another July 13th I posted a photo of my feet, next to the pool I had just opened and the palm tree I had recently planted. Feet Faddish I called it. Then in September of 2021 I returned to my lawn chair with Feet Faddish Two.

Once again it’s the 13th of July and since it was hot and I was tired from working outside, I thought I would stop for the day, and revisit my feet, my pool, and my palm tree once more.

So I inflated my pool, and positioned my lawn chair so that my feet would rest “under” one of my palm trees.  My palm trees are growing but I had a scare in April when we had an unexpected cold snap.  My palm trees are still young so I wrap them in bubble wrap to protect them from the cold in the winter.  I made the mistake of unwrapping them a little early this year and I thought I had lost a number of trees.  Though most have come back, one didn’t make it and a couple more are struggling.

If you look close you can see on the other side of my pool is my Par One golf course green so the pool can double as a water hazard.

My sister-in-law Teesha has recently made the decision to retire to the somewhat mythically sounding place called Margaritaville, in South Carolina.  I am happy for her.  With my brother Carl now gone it has to be hard to remain in that house.

 

The Fourth of July week was pretty cool. Kim and I got to hang out with all the local family on the fourth.  Later in the week we took Cameron out to the Eastern Shore to see my dad who he hadn’t seen in a while and spend some time fishing and crabbing.  My California brother Gary was on the east coast with my sister in law Marie so we got to hang out a little.

 

Sunday morning I got a call from my old friend Donny R.   We grew up together, spending time in school, the Boy Scouts, and Oceanport Hook and Ladder.  Donny was a police officer in Oceanport and is now retired in upstate New York.  His birthday is close to mine in June so I wished him a late happy birthday.  Before I left New Jersey, we would often throw ourselves a combined birthday party in his backyard.

 

It was nice to hear from him.  He told me he lives about 20 miles from Saratoga Racecourse and I told him that visiting Saratoga was on my bucket list so he said we were welcome anytime.

Though it was very nice to hear from him, when you are my age, phone calls from old friends from home often come with some bad news too.  In the case of Donny’s phone call, it came with lots of bad news, the passing of three friends I knew from Oceanport.

 

Karen S.  was the daughter of two of my mom and dad’s best friends so we saw a lot of each other growing up though she was a bit younger.  And she ultimately married another friend of mine from Oceanport.

Larry Y.  was another Oceanport guy and member of the Oceanport Hook and Ladder.

Kevin A. was an Oceanport guy who was also a member of Oceanport Hook and Ladder.  Like Donny, Kevin was also a police officer in Oceanport.  My favorite Kevin story is the night he found me and my buddy Joe (who I have written about a number of times before) after a couple of beers attempting to get Joe on the back of my motorcycle so I could take him home.  Instead, Kevin nicely suggested we put Joe in the Police car and he followed me on my motorcycle first to Joe’s address to drop him off and then to my house where I waved him thanks and went safely to bed.

That was the mid 70’s.  It probably wouldn’t happen that way now, and probably shouldn’t.

 

In less than a week we will acknowledge another year of our Donny being gone, this year will make twenty years believe it or not.  His accident occurred July 19, 2002.

 

I have heard two messages discussing fear in the last week both originating from a similar part of our world on the Eastern Shore. One from our buddy Bill Ortt in Easton, and one in the Harriet Tubman story.  Harriet’s birthplace was just a few miles from my parent’s house in Dorchester County.

I must admit Harriet has become my new Sheroe in recent days and I have been trying to learn as much as I can about her.  Maybe that is another story for another day.

 

Trusting the information Kim received from the policeman she spoke with on the phone, Donny experienced no pain. But I have always been troubled by the concern of whether he experienced fear.

We know Savannah experienced fear that day and is still working to sort that out.

 

Bill Ortt’s message included quotes from Zig Ziglar, an author and motivational speaker who died in 2012.

Rev. Ortt explained that Zig would propose you could look at fear two ways:

One is FEAR meaning “Fear Everything and Run.”

The other is FEAR meaning “Face Everything and Rise.”

 

 

In Harriet’s story from the movie anyway, she is helped by a “conductor” on the Underground Railroad, Reverend Green who before she left on her first journey to freedom would advise her that “fear is our enemy. Trust in God. The North Star will guide you, follow the North Star…”

 

It’s a tough challenge but facing our fears does allow us to learn and grow.

And, trusting in God.

It worked for Harriet.

I know our Donny trusted in God, and that helps to mitigate the sorrow.

 

I don’t fear the day God calls me.  And like my wise friend Donny R. said, every day we wake up and get out of bed is another birthday and should be celebrated.

 

It’s not that I don’t get scared.  Like those times Kim is almost home from visiting her mother and the house is a wreck. But that is a different kind of fear.

Listen to Rev. Green and Father Bill.

Fear is your enemy.  Trust in God.  Let the stars guide you. And if you can’t see the stars follow the river.

Face your fears and rise up.

 

And as I remember the events of July 13, 2019:

“Cameron told me this morning that when I am not alive anymore, he wants my truck.

That caught me off guard a little but hey you never know.

You never know what God’s plan is.

 

So today, I think I will just sit by the pool, next to my little palm tree, and look at my feet.

The garage will be there tomorrow.

Me, and days like this, may not.”

 

Today was a day for me to take a little break.

And though I am really happy for my sister-in-law and her move to the mythical place called Margaritaville, I am sure that comes with some fears.

For now, me, with my little pool, my little palm trees, my banana trees, my one-hole golf course, I have all the amenities I need to rest my feet in my mythical place I can call “Box Wine Ville” if I want.

Fear will be there tomorrow, me, and days like this may not.

Trust in God, He will guide you.

 

Postscript:

Our thoughts and prayers go out to the families of Karen, Larry, and Kevin.

The “Davids” and the “Goliaths”

The “Davids” and the “Goliaths”

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I was told a story recently.

One about a great person in the world of sports.

A tale of a player whose only concern was for his team.

A story of selflessness, and looking shame right in the eye…

All for the sake of his teammates and his coach.

 

What is it that makes one a great athlete?

What is it that makes a great leader?

Is it winning?

I do not think so.

Is it hitting that grand slam home run?

Nope.

Or throwing that Hail Mary pass to win the game with no time left on the clock?

Not on your life.

Or making The Greatest Header Goal Ever Scored in Soccer to take the lead while your parents were at the snack bar?

Well, maybe…

but back to the story:

 

It wasn’t just any game.

It wasn’t the playoffs.

It wasn’t the championship series.

It wasn’t like the World Cup.

No, it wasn’t like any game.

Because it was this game.

And to this player, this game was just as important as any game.

 

The proud parents were on the sidelines in their spot near third base cheering on their player and his team.

Their son stood at second base alertly waiting for play that might come his way at a moment’s notice.

The opposing team was one of the best.

They were like “Goliaths” in this particular league of Tee Ball.

And their team?

Well, they were like “Davids.”

The odds were against them even on a good day, but on this day three players were absent and they were playing with only eight on the field.

Every man counted.

And the second baseman knew that.

 

When the inning was over, the players began leaving the field for the dugout.  Watching her son, mom said to dad:

“I think he peed his pants.”

“No, no it’s got to be water,” said dad.

“I don’t think so, it wasn’t there before” replied mom.

 

Once the team was back in the dugout, intuitively as you would expect a mom to do, she went over to see if everything was alright with her player.

“Hey buddy, is everything okay?

“Yup,” he said, sitting on the bench as he waited his turn to bat.

“Is there anything the matter?”

“Nope,” replied her player.

“Okay,” said mom, “good job out there.”

 

Not satisfied but without wanting to call attention to her son, Mom returned to her place near third base.

 

Soon it was time for the second baseman to step into the batter’s box.

There he stood, bat in hand, and in his stance like a 3 foot 10 inch Babe Ruth.

Heck, he might as well have been pointing to the left-field fence with his bat.

Standing proudly, in front of all the spectators, the opposing team, his coach and his teammates, and his parents, he was cool and remained focused.

He got a hit.

But it was now obvious as he ran the bases, he had peed his pants.

Eventually, he scored.

 

When the inning was over the players and the second baseman returned to the field.

The third-base coach asked him “Hey buddy, did you like spill water on yourself or something?”

“No,” replied the player “I went to the bathroom.”

The coach inquired some more “what happened did you have an accident, do you want me to throw some dirt on it to kind of hide it?”

“No, I had to go and I didn’t want to leave the field so I just went,” he said calmly.

The coach turned to the young boy’s parents and said “oh my goodness I LOVE this kid!”

 

Now back in the dugout, some of the younger kids noticed it and began asking the second basement “Oh my, did you pee your pants?”

The more experienced player replied without hesitation “yeah, I had to go, but it was in the middle of the inning, and I didn’t want to let you guys down by leaving the field, so I just peed my pants.”

The coach was proud of his young player wanting to tell his other players “yeah, that’s right, the next time you have to go to the bathroom just do what that guy does!”

The story of the second baseman who peed his pants rather than leave the field and let his teammates down quickly spread through the team’s other parents.

The other dads were very impressed.

His dad was proud.

And his mom was too.

 

Professional athletes pee themselves on the field all the time.

They get paid millions of dollars to perform at a certain level and sometimes they can’t let bodily functions get in the way.

But what about when you’re not playing for millions of dollars?

What if you are not getting paid to perform at all?

What if you are just six years old?

And the most important thing to you at the moment is your team, and your younger players, those that are five maybe.

And not letting them down.

Putting the welfare of your teammates over your own personal embarrassment and potential future humiliation at school maybe or maybe the next game.

I don’t know whether that makes a great athlete.

Nor do I know whether that makes a great leader.

But it sounds to me like it might be the beginnings of the making of a good person.

And a local legend maybe.

Someone to be looked up to.

Even when you are six.

 

Postscript:

In October of 2001, Kim and I were in Virginia Beach on Columbus Day weekend.  Donny’s travel soccer team was playing in a tournament.

At one point in the game, Kim and I decided to go to the refreshment stand.

And that’s when it happened.

The Greatest Header Goal Ever Scored in Soccer.

And we missed watching Donny make it.

Because we were at the snack bar.

 

As far as the Tee Ball game, unlike the story in the Bible, the “David” team did not prevail.

The “Goliath” team won.

The score was 23 to 10 and as a result, the game was called early because of the number of runs made.  Something called The Mercy Rule.

But winning didn’t matter anyhow.

Because there are more important things than winning.

Even when you are six.

 

You Are My Sunshine

You Are My Sunshine

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This has really been an emotional day.

My cousin Debbie has a daughter named Mallory who is very talented and sings for a living.  Earlier this summer Mallory posted a video of her singing with my Aunt Joan, Mallory’s grandmother while visiting with her at her assisted living facility in Florida.

The song they sang was “You Are My Sunshine.”

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You’ll never know dear, how much I love you
Please don’t take my sunshine away”

It was special.

At the very end of that video, my aunt says something I didn’t hear the first time I watched it.

“Unfortunately He did, He did. Yup.”

Take her sunshine away.

Likely she was referring to the loss of her husband, my Uncle Theodore, in 1982 at the young age of forty-nine.

Kim and I finally got around to sharing that video with my mother just recently.  I have mentioned this before, but my Aunt Joan, my mother, and my father are the last of that generation of my family.

I am with my mother again this weekend and I watched this video again this morning.

It was even more special today I think.

 

This is such an emotional day for all of us on many levels.

If you are of any age to be able to remember the events of 20 years ago, you remember the detail of that day and the days following and how it played out in your own life.

I was walking up the back stairs of our Rockville, Maryland office that morning when Alexa called from her University of Maryland dorm room to say a plane had struck one of the Twin Towers.  While on the phone and discussing the probable unfortunate aviation accident the other tower was hit while Alexa was watching live.

No unfortunate aviation accident.

I remember in the days that followed, watching the TV as the aftermath unfolded with Donny, and how he was all fired up to join the military and go off to fight terrorists at the age of fourteen.

I can remember a time of national time of prayer that occurred in the days following when all houses of worship opened their doors in the middle of a weekday for a time of prayer.  I dipped into a very large mostly African American church in the Landover, Maryland area where I was working that day and prayed with many others in a packed sanctuary as a nation united and grieved together.

I can remember not being able to buy an American flag anywhere in the large territory I covered at the time. The American flags were all sold out.

Now twenty years later I watch the ceremonies, hear the names read, listen to the personal stories, watch the video of the attacks, and I am reminded just how much sunshine was taken away in a literal and spiritual sense

 

This September 11, 2021, will be memorable for me because I got to see my dad for the first time in a couple of weeks.  After a week or so in the hospital with no visitors, my dad was finally admitted to a short-term rehab facility in Easton yesterday.  So today my mother got some clothes together for him and she and I went up to visit.  We were advised that due to Covid, we would only be able to speak to him through the glass, okay we thought, they have a room with a glass partition.  Once we got there however we were unable to even enter the building, handing off my dad’s clothes to a worker, as we received our instructions on how we could find his room and wave at him from outside the window of his room, standing out in the grass.

It was very sad.

It’s not going to be a good memory for me.

 

But I guess this day in these times is just going to be sad any way you turn it around.

 

It’s sad, that only twenty years after this tragic day in history that united our country, we maybe stand to be the most divided in 150 years or so.

We are divided by a virus.

We are divided by masks and vaccines.

In some cases, we are divided by miles, and in other cases just feet.

We are divided from our loved ones by the window we get to wave at them through from outside. Like visiting your human at the zoo.

We are divided by race.

We are divided by politics.

We are divided by the cable news station we choose to watch or not watch.

Divided, by the Godly and the un-Godly.

We have those who display the flag, those that would never, and those who are afraid to.

 

Yet in spite of this division, we all share the reality that in life there will be death, and with death grief.

 

We all have had or will have our sunshine taken away at some points along the journey.

 

Maybe we need another national day of prayer to unite.

Maybe some resolution of this virus to at least allow loved ones to know we are there.

Maybe we need…I don’t know…

God maybe.

 

I do know we have enough sadness.

 

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You’ll never know dear, how much I love you
Please don’t take my sunshine away

 

He did, and He does, and that is reason enough to believe and to be united.

Because we need each other.

To restore our sunshine when it’s needed.

 

Postscript:

The song You Are My Sunshine according to what I could find on the internet was released in 1939 by songwriter Paul Rice.  Apparently, Rice sold the lyrics to Jimmie Davis and Charles Mitchell for $35 and in 1940, Davis recorded the song and it became an instant country music hit.

Check out Mallory Moyer at https://www.facebook.com/TheMalloryMoyer

The photo above is of the sunshine being taken away on the eve of 9/11/2021.

My sunshine fading away on 9/11/2021
Barn Shoes

Barn Shoes

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For the first time since her dad passed away last October, Kim and I stayed on the farm this past weekend.

I remember the first time I went up to the farm.  I had driven up the Pennsylvania Turnpike to the city of Somerset to surprise Kim and run in a 10 K race that was sponsored by the local newspaper, the Daily American. Though still kind of early in our relationship I think we originally had plans to make this trip together that got messed up somehow. And after some regret, I got directions from a guy I worked with who used to frequent Seven Springs Ski Resort, and off I went.

The race start and finish were at the Somerset High School football field.   I got a hotel room just off the Turnpike exit for Somerset, went over to the Daily American office to register, then I had dinner at the Pizza Hut.  The next day I rolled on up to the race and surprised Kim as she was walking up to the field with other members of her family and Donny and Savannah.

Out of 270 runners, Kim’s brother Kerry finished 32nd, her sister Kate 136th, and Kim finished 151st.  Donny and I ran together and he finished 199th and I crossed the finish line as the 200th runner.  Of course, Donny beat me as he always did. Our times with 1:02:08 and 1:02:09 respectively.   Donny was eleven at the time.

After the race, Kim brought me back to the farm to meet her parents. Kim’s family owned a fairly large dairy farm in the village of Kingwood which is about twenty miles southwest of the city of Somerset on the Laurel Highlands.  At the time her parents lived in the farmhouse directly across from the barn where they kept the dairy cows and where the milking parlor was located.  A couple of years later they would build the house we stayed in this past weekend on another part of the farm adjacent to the house where Royal, Kim’s father, was born in and on land his father had farmed.

 

I don’t know whether it was me surprising her at that race that sealed the deal or just being my charming good looking self but as a result, I would go on to take many more trips up to the farm after that because of course we got married and I now had lots of in-laws.  I learned how to milk cows, fed pigs, and rode in a combine.

 

If you are like me and grew up near the ocean in New Jersey, you might not know that the black and white dairy cows are called Holsteins.

On one of those visits, I came around the corner of the barn to find out it was Holstein toenail trimming day.  There, working behind the barn were Kim’s brothers Keith and Kerry, the veterinarian, and a cow.  The vet had this hydraulic table on the back of his truck that would come out and stand upright next to the cow.  Then the cow was secured to the table while standing there on her four legs. Once secured, the table thing would lift up and flip sideways.  Now with the cow laying down on its side and its legs sticking out, the vet busted out a circular saw proceeded to zing off the unwanted part of the cow hooves.  Once the trimming was done, Kim’s brother pulled out a hypodermic needle the size of a turkey baster and injected some antibiotics into the pads of the hooves to keep the cow from getting an infection.  Once all that was done, the cow was flipped back right side up again and unattached and back in the barn she went.

It was an experience I will never forget, but it made me appreciate toenail clippers much more.

 

As you might expect with cows, and manure pits, and muddy fields and such, trips up to the farm and especially the barn were hard on my Northern Virginia shoes and boots.  So early on I got smart and went out to some discount shoe store in Somerset (maybe Walmart) and bought the cheapest pair of shoes I could find and deemed them forever to be my “barn shoes.” They were kind of funny looking but I didn’t care, they were just barn shoes. They would live in one of the cabinets in the garage and be there whenever I needed to make the trip to the barn.

Over the years the cows got sold and the dairy farm got converted to crop farming.  Without the cows, my barn shoes got a little less important, and spent more time in the cabinet, though I think I did wear them once last October to feed the pigs.

This weekend I decided to bring my barn shoes home.  With Kim’s dad gone and her mom now living up in Davidsville, closer to Johnstown, in a nice assisted living, I probably won’t be spending too much time at the barn.

 

I will keep them though.

Just in case the manure ever gets a little too deep around here.

And as a nice reminder of past times together with Kim’s family up on the mountain.

I don’t who any of these folks are but this is at the beginning of the race at Somerset High School.
Meet the Holsteins! Donny and I meeting with cows. Donny holding a barn cat.
Me showing my future mother-in-law how to cook in the kitchen of the old farmhouse. That is Kim’s sister Kate to the left
That was my vehicle at the time parked near the area of the barn with the milking parlor. The farmhouse is to the left of my vehicle.
Last Farewell

Last Farewell

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I’m going away at eventide
Across the wild and the rolling sea
I bid you stay, stay here by my side
And share a last farewell with me

(From Last Farwell, written by Randy Sparks)

 

 

Today is Monday, July 19th.

As is typical for a Monday, we had a little harder time waking up, and maybe on this particular Monday an even harder time getting motivated to get out of bed.

So after a longer than usual time drinking coffee and reading emails, we finally got going.

 

I woke up this morning as I often do with a song in my head.

Randy Sparks wrote the Last Farewell and it was featured on the New Christy Minstrels’ album Ramblin’ in 1963.

I remember this album as a kid because my dad had this album, and because I really liked it.

The New Christy Minstrels were a folk band established by Sparks in 1961.  It included at times Barry Maguire (“Eve of Destruction”) and Gene Clark who went on to join the Byrds.

We had one of those huge stereo pieces of furniture with the sliding tops and the record player and AM and FM radio under one of those sliders and a bin for records under the other.  It had a couple of speakers behind the decorative cloth and walnut front.

By the time we were old enough to leave home my brother and I pretty much had those speakers blown and by the end all you could hear was vibration and distortion.

 

The photo above is one that sits on a dresser in the room that Kim and I most often stay in when at my parent’s house.

It’s a photo of Donny with my father on my dad’s boat.

I have gone through lots of photos recently at my parent’s house that have brought back lots of memories and feelings.

This photo reminded me of the few days that Donny spent with my father and mother in between the Fourth of July that summer of 2002 and the next week when my parents took him to his soccer camp in Salisbury, Maryland.  Although this pic was taken on a different weekend, my dad and Donny did go out fishing during that stay just a couple of weeks before the accident.

That year July 19 was on Friday.

I know my dad valued that short time spent with Donny.

And I remember at Donny’s funeral my father telling me he just wanted to remember Donny as he was the weekend they went fishing.

 

And though today I guess we are more sensitive to reminders, and in fact may receive more reminders, but the truth is it’s a day to get through.

Because tomorrow will be the same in the obvious sense but a little different.  The memories will be more pleasant and enjoyable.  We can choose those differently.

As we would like to remember.

Today we can’t always avoid that.

 

I know I spend a lot of time writing about how much time I have spent with my dad, in particular this past year, and even this past weekend.

It’s been important for him in this period of his life and it has been important to me.

 

Because I know the time will come when I will value that time spent, even more than I do now.

 

A wandering song is all I know
Yet, I love you more, more than words can tell…
I leave you now, with a last farewell

(from Last Farewell)

Me and my dad getting into The Haskell spirit this past Saturday
Here is the whole photo

 

It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane, No It’s a Gift From God

It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane, No It’s a Gift From God

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Tomorrow is my wedding anniversary.

Kim and I will be married 21 years tomorrow.

 

I remember a time in my life when I prayed for someone to come into my life.

I prayed that in some detail I might add.

 

Kim was that answered prayer.

 

Yesterday was Kim’s birthday.

I found this birthday card that said “You’re a Special Gift from an incredible God.”

I liked that.

Because it was true.

 

Sunday was my birthday. I turned sixty-five. A big milestone I guess.

 

We had split up for the weekend again, Kim with her mom, and me with my parents.

I had some time to go through a lot of old photos they had packed away in many photo albums.

 

Lots of memories in those photos, I made as many copies as I could.

 

Some nice photos of all the kids, Donny, Savannah, Hayley, and Alexa together and some with extended family we didn’t get to be with too often

 

More gifts from God…my kids.

 

Though one we had to give back.

 

 

Last year on Father’s Day I wrote about a special one from 19 years ago, the last one with all the kids together.

 

This year was another special one in that I was able to spend it with my dad. Not everyone turning sixty-five is lucky enough to be able to say that.

 

Another gift, our parents.

 

Though we had to give one of them back in October.

 

 

But I think for me, especially in the last year or so, I have been able to be good son.

I have been blessed with that opportunity.

 

Though I don’t have any regrets, as a result, however I can’t always say I have been a good father, or a good grandfather.

 

Grandchildren as you may know, are another gift from God.

 

Time, priorities, social distancing, travel restrictions, whatever, all made it difficult to focus on more than our parents it seemed.

 

Of course, we were able to have some grandparent time with Cameron.

 

And some family time with Savannah and Hayley (and Leon and Malcolm of course),

including celebrating Hayley’s birthday on June 7.

 

 

But I still hadn’t seen the Florida kids, Ethan, Christian, Alexa, and Namaan since December of 2019 and that was really starting to get me down.

 

Then a few days before Christian’s sixth birthday on June 13th, some stars aligned and though Kim was scheduled to be with her mom, she encouraged me to book some flights surprise the kids.

 

With vaccines and the world returning to some form of normal, it’s been really nice to hug and kiss my local kids and grandchild.

 

But I must admit it was especially nice to hug and kiss the daughter and grandkids I hadn’t seen in twenty or so months.

 

And I got to attend the birthday party as well.

 

As you can tell, June and July have always been eventful months in our lives.

 

In fact, Monday June 28th was Cameron’s birthday, and we all went out to dinner to celebrate his eleventh birthday.

 

And in July sadly we remember giving Donny back on the 19th.

 

But we celebrate Savannah’s birthday on the 20th and Ethan’s birthday on July 25th.

 

But today sadly, I also remember another gift from God.

My brother Carl.

Because a year ago today we had to give him back.

 

I am grateful for the gifts God has given me.

 

And though I don’t always understand, I accept that there will be those times I don’t understand.

 

It is nice to have memories when you need them.

 

And it is nice to be able to make new ones for when you need those.

 

 

I will share some, some new ones and some old ones:

 

The photo at the top is one of my brother Carl flying through the air in his backyard.  He always had the coolest stuff in his yard. Donny had a soccer tournament in Trenton and we were all able to get over to celebrate my nephew Jason’s graduation from college.

 

These are from another milestone birthday, my 30th.  Hayley was my birthday present that year.

Hayley was about 3 weeks old
That’s my nephew Johnathon on the right and neighbor Laura Marson on the left helping me out
I had to show this one of my niece Chelsea, my dad, and Alexa. Look at Alexa’s face, have you ever seen anything like that?

 

This was my 46th birthday in 2002. My last with Donny.  Savannah is in the refrigerator.

 

Hayley’s 35th birthday this month.

 

Here is me on my birthday this week.

Kim and Cam at his birthday celebration and making a wish.

 

Ethan and Christian packing up after Christian’s party and hugging my kid for the first time in 20 months.

Here are a couple of photos of family in New Jersey. Donny, Savannah, and Hayley in the first one.  And  a rare one of the whole family with all my kids in it.

 

My dad this Father’s Day

 

And here is one more of Carl holding Chelsea and Alexa

 

Memories.

Gifts from God.

Got to have them, got to love them.

 

“Whatever is good and perfect is a gift coming down to us from God our Father…” (James 1:17)

A Void

A Void

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I hadn’t planned on writing anything today.

In fact, I was hoping to avoid it.

Of course the first thing that pops up in the morning, not that I needed it, was the reminder from Facebook.

Then the nice back and forth texts from the siblings “Thinking of all of you today” and the phone calls, “how are you doing today?”

 

Kim still describes her grief after Donny as like having a bowling ball shot through the chest.

There’s  a hole there now, a big one.

The size of bowling ball.

A void.

 

But life doesn’t stop does it?

And that may seem cruel sometimes.

There is no  “Hey, wait a minute, I’m grieving here!  Before you just move on and forget, let’s think about how I am feeling!”

Nah, there’s none of that.

Because life needs to go on, right?

There are others that need to experience their sadness, and maybe I need to experience more.

There are others that need to experience their joys, and maybe I need to realize some of my joys too.

But life doesn’t wait for us to say “okay, I’m ready now, you can proceed, let’s get on with it, I got this.”

 

So I guess the reality is, as much as I might try to…

I can’t avoid the void.

 

But in my sadness and still disbelief, and in spite of the void, I can’t forget what is really important.  I can’t forget all those happy times, the words of encouragement, the support, and maybe most important thing, his example.

I can’t complain, nope I can’t dwell on the negative.

Because as I have said before,  he wouldn’t want that.

 

 

So Happy Birthday to my “Cancer Brother.”

Happy Birthday, Carl.

And like your shirt says, you were very brave.

Brave and so, so much more.

And that is why today, instead of trying to avoid it, I need to celebrate.

So, you would be very proud to know, that for us to celebrate,  I spent more than five bucks on the bottle of wine I plan to open later.

And, I may even drink mine out of a jelly glass.

 

Postscript:

Void, a noun*

  • An opening, a gap, and empty space
  • A feeling of want or hollowness
  • The quality of being without something

 

Or maybe…someone.

 

*Merriam-Webster.com

Friday the 13th, 2020 Style

Friday the 13th, 2020 Style

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Hard to believe that it’s Friday, November 13th  in this year of 2020.

Thanksgiving is in less than two weeks and it appears that our end of year holidays, so heavily invested in family, are in jeopardy.

Covid concerns are ramping up again.

 

Thankfully, the election has come and gone.

And lucky for us, all those celebrities we couldn’t have lived without got to stay in America.

I don’t know about you, but I would have liked to have been a fly on the wall in Bruce Springsteen’s house about 12 midnight on November 3 when Trump was posting a comeback.

But seriously, when it got right down to it, I had to remind myself…”Curt… John Legend and Chrissy Teigen are threatening to leave the country if Trump is re-elected…”

I just couldn’t imagine.

The Voice without John Legend?

That did it for me!

 

My Friday the 13th started a little early on the evening of Thursday the 12th.  My wife had got a new gadget to cut up all those ingredients for making her potions, tinctures, and syrups.

In addition to using it for the above, I quickly determined I could use it to cut my cucumbers for my salad.

But it didn’t take me too long to learn that it works really well on fingers too.

Not wanting to waste the cucumbers I had already sliced I tried to find the lost portion of my finger amongst the cucumber slices.

“What are you doing?” my wife asked sternly as she watched me putting pressure on my bleeding finger while using my other hand to go through the cucumbers.

“Looking for my finger, I don’t want to waste my cucumbers,” I responded.

“Throw them out you are not eating them that’s disgusting!” she said loudly.

Disappointed, I threw out my cut cucumbers and the piece of my finger and focused more on controlling the bleeding.

Then I cut up another cucumber.

 

One day many years ago when Kim and I first moved into our house in Herndon, Donny brought home a baby wild rabbit.  We had lots of rabbits in the yard back then.  We don’t see too many anymore, maybe because of the foxes.

But Donny was really happy about his little rabbit and wanted to keep it as a pet.  I, however, in my sometimes to a fault need to do what I think is the right thing, told him he couldn’t.  It wasn’t right to keep an animal from the wild and it should be returned to its habitat I explained so very parentally.

Needless to say Donny was very disappointed and not at all happy with me.

After Donny’s accident whenever I thought about this incident with the rabbit,  I always felt really bad about how I made him feel by not allowing him to keep it. Even now as I reflect back on this memory I think to myself, what a jerk, you could have loosened up a little.

A year and a half or so later, I think it was Martin Luther King’s birthday weekend 2004 when we had no kids because they had extra time off from school and they were off with their friends, I had this great idea that I thought would show I could be spontaneous and selfishly, would make up for some of the guilt I felt over denying Donny that rabbit, even though I couldn’t share it with him.

I marched Kim into a PetSmart that weekend in Tyson’s Corner, Virginia on a mission to adopt a cat.

When it was all said and done we not only adopted one cat, we adopted two.

They were sisters.

Molly and Mona.

We agreed to all the rules and requirements, not to declaw them, and to keep them as house cats.  The house cat thing didn’t last long though because Mona it turned out, was like Mufasa when it came to the kingdom of our backyard.  She would roam the yard and protect us from critters.  Molly on the other hand enjoyed just hanging out on the deck more like her humans.

After about seven years Molly would succumb to cancer and be put down.

That left Mona alone who now could claim the inside of the house has her domain as well.

And she lived a good life.

Until today.

On this Friday the 13th Mona made her last ride to the vet after 17 years.

 

This year continues to be one of challenges and changes, some foreseen some unforeseen.

Like the year Donny died, for Kim and I, we just have to realize that God’s got this.

And though my little guys from Florida won’t be visiting me for Thanksgiving as planned because of the increase in virus cases, I will get through my disappointment.

And I will admit it’s a little weird without the cat meowing at us this evening, it’s nice to know Mona is interred in one of the gardens in the backyard which was her kingdom that she liked to roam so much.

And thinking and writing about elections and celebrities brings back with a smile another memory of the profound and grounding wisdom of a young boy who once reminded his Pop Pop that “Everybody in Hollywood Farts” and who also this very evening demonstrated to me very graphically through video the devastating aftermath that the different categories of hurricanes can have on the toys in his bedroom.

 

But let’s face it, like it or not, this is the year where you won’t find the finger in the cucumbers.

Might as well toss it out and get a new one ready to slice.

But God’s got this.

And we will continue to be held.

We will continue to find reasons to laugh in the face of sadness and turmoil, loss and distancing.

We will continue to adapt.

Because God’s got this.

And we have God.