Browsed by
Tag: jimmymclaughlin

Boo Boos, Bert and Ernie, Jesus, and Me

Boo Boos, Bert and Ernie, Jesus, and Me

Comments 0 Comment

Would You Like A Lime With That Week Eleven

 

“Curtis! Put that down! You will poke your eye out.”

If you are someone my age how many times growing up do you remember your mother saying that to you?

I was cutting the grass this week at work.  Working within the evergreens with many cut off branches about eye level along the west side of the property, I was thinking about heeding my mother’s advice and my need to be careful that I didn’t “poke my eye out” when all of a sudden I was jarred back to reality by a sharp pain and my head being knocked back.

I felt the blood dripping down my eyebrow and watched it hit the sleeve of my shirt.  With my head hung out ahead of me so the blood would now drop down to the ground and not on me, I walked back to my truck to find a paper towel to apply pressure to the bleeding.

With my glasses now off and holding a towel to my head, I went inside the building and  to the first aid kit that I knew was on the kitchen counter  grabbing the first band aid I could find from the box that happened to be lying open on top of the kit.  I headed to the restroom to get a look.  The gash was about an inch and a half above my right eye.

Happy I didn’t “poke my eye out,” I washed the wound out thoroughly and applied my band aid.

The band aid I had grabbed was a Bert and Ernie band aid.

Back at my desk in the spirit of never letting a good crisis go to waste or, as it may apply to my kids, never let a good boo boo go to waste without getting some sympathy, I took a selfie to send to my wife.     Knowing that seeking some sympathy from Kim “No blood, no bones, no sympathy” Christiansen was a risk, I hoped for the best and sent the photo.

Upon closer inspection of the photo there was me, with Bert and Ernie, and over my right shoulder was Jesus.

How cool is that? I thought.

 

It’s already Memorial Day Weekend and we are, based on my beer bottle counting system, eleven weeks into this new world of Covid-19.

Along with my image of Bert, Ernie, Jesus, and me, photos seemed to be the theme of the week as reminders of this week from years past kept resurfacing.

My Facebook memories popped up this photo from 2018 of Ethan.

isn’t he cute?

Here is another from that same trip to Florida of Christian and Alexa and Namaan.

At the beach, isn’t he cute?
Alexa and Namaan

From Hayley, came this photo from  thirteen years ago  of the two of us on our adventure from Des Moines, Iowa to Fort Lauderdale, Florida when we joined other truckers on the road again moving Alexa to her  new home.  It was a hoot.  By the time we got to Florida we knew all the words to every popular country song at the time. I even bought a cowboy hat somewhere in Indiana.

Next to the rental truck somewhere on the road

Savannah posted a photo that goes back further than that of her and Donny with the McLaughlin boys.  She posted it on May 19, which  would have been Jimmy’s 32nd birthday.  Both Jimmy and Donny were taken from us way too young in life, both by tragic accidents. In fact Jimmy’s accident was four years ago this week as well.

 

Donny on the far left, Jimmy on the far right.

Courtesy of Google, here is when I accompanied Cameron on a field trip this same week in 2017.  Here he is showing me his grilled cheese.  That was a fun day.

On the field trip with Cam. Isn’t he cute?

There was the video from the Preakness in 2015 that popped up on my Facebook memories.  That was the year American Pharoah won in a downpour and ultimately went on to win the Triple Crown.  I can’t post the video here but here is a photo from that same day.

Baffert discussing the race with Victor Espinoza before riders up

And another from the Preakness in 2012.

Kim and I at the 2012 Preakness

And yet another Preakness in 2010:

Kimmy in the Winners Circle at the Preakness 2010. Isn’t she cute?

 

Memories of this week from the present and from years past.

All nice, but some bittersweet.

 

Another virus induced practice for me is that I have started to do video recordings of reading children’s books for my two little guys in Florida since I can’t go to visit yet.

This week I read them “Ralph Tells A Story” by Abby Hanlon.  The book is about how Ralph, unlike his classmates, struggles to come up with ideas to write his stories and about  how he overcomes this problem to become a very productive writer.  Ralph’s writing tips were to:

  1. Get comfortable.
  2. It’s okay to ask for help.
  3. You can always write about what you had for breakfast.
  4. And to eat lots of chocolate.

In other words, you can pretty much write a story about anything and it will be okay.

 

Even one about boo boos, and Bert and Ernie, and Jesus looking over your right shoulder.

 

 

 

The Coronavirus Post Script:

 

And remember to keep in your prayers:

Healthcare workers and their families. Remember “Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy” (Matthew 5:8);

All those sick or compromised from the virus and all other health issues;

Those non healthcare caregivers working to take care of a loved one while isolated at home;

Families who have lost loved ones;

Those who have lost jobs and businesses.

And keep reaching out to those who may need some attention.

 

 

 

 

Musings of an Aging Nobody…I Will Praise You in the Storm

Musings of an Aging Nobody…I Will Praise You in the Storm

Comments 0 Comment
The final glimmers of light for 2016 over the Kent Narrows

It’s hard to believe that a whole year has gone by since I very nervously clicked the “publish” button on my newly and hastily constructed website sending my first essay “Three Score and Counting” out into cyberspace on New Year’s day 2016.  That was a big leap for me having only ever written publicly for work; or for family and friends with an annual Christmas letter.  Most of what I had written was kept for my own consumption, 30 years of words hidden away in spiral notebooks stacked where only I knew to read them.

And for me being able to share on this website fulfilled at least one of my life’s goals, to get over the fear and worry and just write, and let someone else read it, like it or not.

Now one year later, to repeat a thought from that first writing “Three Score…” I am still alive and breathing and now looking forward to another year.

And I say I am looking forward to it very sincerely, in spite of the fact that I know that this new year will have all the makings of other years gone by and will include many great moments, but since this is real life I am wise enough now to expect some moments that won’t be so celebrated.  And now on this first day of the New Year I have the opportunity to reflect a little on the roller coaster ride that was 2016.  I am sure you have your stories too.

I experienced some things I had never experienced before and some I at least hadn’t experienced in many years.  Some were painful, some were sad.  Some were life changing for me, some were life changing for others.  Some were all too familiar but not always the familiar we look for.  Some were educational, some introspective.  Some were silly and sometimes a needed diversion.  All were personal, all elicited some emotion.  Many times I laughed but more times I cried. And sometimes I laughed and I cried.  I have often said I cry when I write, and I write when I cry, because sometimes for me writing helps the healing.

There were times I was angry. There were times I was scared too.  There were times I was humbled.  But in those times wisdom is born and so there were times of enlightenment too.

And though I try to be creative with my non-fiction, this is real life, and sometimes our non-fiction gets handed to us in a way we couldn’t imagine creating.

Sadly In life we experience loss, but there is always the opportunity to honor those like my friends Lynn, Holly, and Tawanda who all lost their battles with cancer.

But some losses come harder than others.  Some are much more personal, closer to home and continue to be experienced daily.  It’s hard sometimes to keep that contained.

And in May our community’s world was rocked again with the loss of Jimmy McLaughlin, a young man and a good family friend loved by all who knew him.

In these situations the healing continues for many and for some may never end.

Nature’s cross remembering Mr. Hersch

Then in June I was reminded that there are those who don’t always share the same passion for life that most of us have.  And for those, there can be a day when their pain and anguish can take control, if only for a brief moment, and then it’s over.   On Christmas Day I re visited the sunken path where Mr. Hersch took the life of his dog and himself.  I hadn’t been out in that woods since the June evening when my neighbor and I discovered him and his companion.  Nature had appropriately fashioned a cross right in the spot where he lay.

But it wasn’t always sad and painful.

I learned that not everyone shares the same respect I have for French bread.  I learned a new word while I was sheltering in place in a massive snow storm.  I fought the garden wars in the trenches of my back yard and became “The Deer Hunter” unexpectedly and remorsefully doling out some unnecessary revenge.

I battled a great sea monster that left me bloodied and in the urgent care.  I realized growing old isn’t always pretty and I learned that climbing stairs can help generate gray matter making me smarter. I purposely climbed that stairwell to the fifth level of that Reston Hospital parking garage many times after that first struggling effort.  That is, up until August when another not so pleasant life experience occurred and the work that required me to be in that parking garage stopped.  But happily in the last week of the year I would make those five flights of stairs again, now in a new role.

And in that down time I would read Angela Duckworth’s “Grit” for a second time and totally understand her comment in the book that “teaching is the hardest job in the world” after having spent some time substituting for 4th, 5th, and 6th grade teachers.

And who could forget we had a Presidential election in 2016. In my effort to not be controversial, I tried to remain neutral in my writing, but also tried to have a little fun with it as well.

But alas, Mickey didn’t win.

 

The 20th the Bell for our 20th Christmas

In addition to recognizing that lives matter, I particularly began to recognize the priorities of family; of grandchildren, and children, our parents; and of Kim and I; and where I might need to improve.  And thankfully we had opportunities to share some meaningful time together with some short trips, a beautiful wedding, Father’s Day, and of course

Christmas.

And in the end I realized that though there were some painful and sad experiences, there was much to be thankful for as well as we celebrated the holidays.

So I am looking forward to 2017 and to new adventures and more musings in the year to come.

And referencing “Three Score…” from last New Year’s Day one more time, though my lifeline continues to be my wife, it is our spirituality that keeps us lifted.

I had storms in 2016, let’s face it, we all did.  But I remain steadfast.

And I pray for calmer waters for you and your families and for mine.

And as always, I thank you for letting me share.

Happy New Year.

Happy New Year from outside Harris’ Crab House Grasonville MD
Reminders

Reminders

Comments 1 comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They donated an ambulance you know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But they acted.

And they acted on our behalf.

And I was reminded once more.

And I will remember.

We should all remember.

 

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

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

20160911_153944

img_6845

On Cameron, Uncle Jim, and Me

On Cameron, Uncle Jim, and Me

Comments 0 Comment
IMG_7550
This is Cameron. He recently lost his second tooth.

When my almost six year old grandson Cameron arrived at the memorial service to celebrate Jimmy, he asked if Uncle Jim was there.

A little while later when the long lines of visitors extended down the driveway, he asked Savannah if Uncle Jim was in that long line.

With everything else that was going on, I don’t know that Cameron’s questions were ever properly addressed by Savannah or I.

So my answer to Cameron would be this;

Yes Cameron, Uncle Jim was in the building.

And yes Cameron, Uncle Jim was in the line too.

And I would add that Uncle Jim was in the Coomber Farm back yard as well.

And when me and all of you nice people left and went back to wherever it was we came from, Uncle Jim is now there too.  And that’s where he will live from now on.

And after seeing many familiar faces and speaking to many friends, I think it’s safe to say Cameron,  that your Uncle Donny was there too.

 

And finally I would like to express my personal gratitude for everyone’s assistance in helping to share our stories in all of our ways; and for the encouraging on line and off line comments that I personally received.  Some of those comments even came from folks who didn’t know Jimmy and wished they had, or felt like they do now; some in fact didn’t know either one of us.

When you are used to getting 30 or 40 views of one of your posts, and then you get 5000, that is sort of akin to having a best selling book in my little Musings world.  Hard to imagine. I have heard of people who have written a classic or a best seller only to never write again for fear of failure in a follow up.

Sorry,  that won’t be me.

And besides, I’ve been inspired.

Do you think that is a coincidence?

I don’t know.

Maybe………maybe not.

My Eulogy for Jimmy

My Eulogy for Jimmy

Comments 19 comments

img138

Later today we will celebrate the life of Jimmy McLaughlin.

But I would like to share with you now my favorite Jimmy story.

Most evenings when the weather is nice, you will find Kim and me out on our deck unwinding from the stress of the day and catching up with each other.  If you are not familiar with where we live, our yard backs right up to the Herndon High School athletic fields.   There is a fairly thick wooded area between our yard and the more elevated fields, which are enclosed by a chain link fence that is probably a good 7 or 8 feet tall.  Because of our close proximity, if we are on our deck, we are hearing whatever game, practice, or band event that is occurring on the fields.

On this particular evening, if I remember correctly, it was a Powder Puff game that was taking place.

So there we were, on the deck just talking and sitting at the table under the umbrella.  That’s when it happened.

All of a sudden there was this great commotion in woods behind our house.   We could hear bushes and leaves rustling loudly; branches snapping and cracking…..and I mean cracking, these were obviously no small branches being broken.

What the heck could it be?

We were startled…was it a huge deer?  A Big Foot?

What could possibly be snapping large branches like tooth picks and causing all that commotion?

Should we go to safety inside the house?

Seconds later, we saw it.

It wasn’t a giant deer.  No and it wasn’t Big Foot either.

It was a human.

It was a human in his underwear.

And it was Jimmy.

As Jimmy emerged from the trees and the underbrush he quickly bolted across our back yard.  As you would expect with Jimmy, he very respectfully acknowledged Kim and I on the deck with a greeting, never losing a step as he raced across the yard.  We watched in confusion and disbelief as Jimmy crossed the neighbor’s yard, then the common area, and finally disappeared around the tennis courts.

Later I would learn that in the moments  just before the commotion in the woods, Jimmy had streaked across the Powder Puff Game field and had a couple of adults in hot pursuit as he scaled and leaped the high chain link fence and went crashing through the woods.

For Kim and I, left looking at each other thinking what’s to disbelieve?

It was Jimmy in his underwear crashing through the woods and running through the yard.

Why not?

And we laughed.

 

I recently read a book by Elizabeth Gilbert called Big Magic.  You might be familiar with Elizabeth Gilbert because she wrote Eat, Pray, Love; which was pretty popular.   In Big Magic, Gilbert introduces the concept that inspiration is a living thing.  And as a living thing, inspiration is constantly looking for a place to live, a place to develop.  Left idle, that inspiration would move on looking for someplace else, someone else, where it could continue to live and grow.

That may be hard to imagine, but I believe inspiration found a home in Jimmy.  Jimmy was inspired to do great things with his life.  After college something motivated him to leave his comfort zone and join the Navy.  But not just the Navy, he took on Navy Seal training and ultimately became a Medical Navy Diver graduating at the top of his class.

Something in Jimmy drove him to want to take on the most challenging and be the best at it.

And he succeeded.

I propose this to you, because I want you to consider that what if Ms. Gilbert’s theory has merit?  What if the inspiration that found its home in Jimmy, is now idle and looking for a place to live?

And wouldn’t it be an honor and a privilege if the inspiration that was alive in Jimmy, found its new home in one of us.

But maybe we think that is a bunch of crap and don’t believe that inspiration is a living thing looking for a place to grow.

Maybe we don’t need to.  Maybe we just need to consider Jimmy’s life…. not his death, but his life; and maybe that would be enough  to inspire one of us  to strive to do something we have never done before, something outside our comfort zone, and be the best at it.

And do it with the same good nature and passion that Jimmy would have done it with.

I think so.

And for Jimmy, who did all the hard work to provide that inspiration for us, that would be an honorable way to be remembered.

But for now Jimmy,  rest……. in peace.

Words

Words

Comments 0 Comment
Jimmy McLaughlin May 19, 1988 - May 20, 2016
Jimmy McLaughlin
May 19, 1988 – May 21, 2016

For Kathy

It is estimated that there are 1,025,109.8 words in our English language,

Way too many for me to learn how to manage.

But woven together they can build great nations,

And the men and women who speak them, distinguished reputations.

They can be used to create unions of countries divided,

Or unions of two, with a simple “I Do.”

They often express love and sometimes inflict pain,

Either building strong relationships or causing some to be never the same.

And put to a melody some can sing and others try,

Or in a book or an essay, put a tear in your eye.

No matter, without them,  the world we would not know.

 

But if words are so important and so easily spoken,

Why is it so that there are days like today?

A day when I can’t find the words,  and the right thing to say.

When out of that million I struggle for just a few,

That will make this day better…. better for you.

Then I look up from my writing and right in front of me hanging on the wall,

Is a plaque that says:

“Mothers hold their children’s hands for a while…their hearts forever”

There….. I guess I couldn’t have said that any better.

 

Postscript:

The  prayers and deepest sympathies of my family go out to Meghan, Jimmy’s wife; Kathy, Jimmy’s mom, for whom I write this; Rody, Jimmy’s dad; Tommy, Christian, and Patrick, Jimmy’s brothers; as well as to Jimmy’s grandmother, aunts and uncles, and cousins.  And also to the extended family, you know who you are, who once again are circling the wagons.