In a Better Place

 

That’s where people go when they die. At least that’s what most people say about someone who has passed on, “they’re in a better place.” From my Christian perspective, I know it’s true but that doesn’t make me feel any better. Does it for anyone? It doesn’t relieve the reality that my loved one is gone from life on this earth. However many years that I have left here, I will never see that person again. Never hear that distinct voice. Never again see old eyes crinkled shut in laughter with tears of mirth trickling at the corners.

My mother died this past Saturday. Though she had been in a nursing home for several years and appeared to have no clue that I was even in this world, I knew where she was and that she was still drawing breath. She was alive and there was still the faintest possibility that she might surface from that haze brought on by Alzheimer’s. In my mind, there was that minute hope that she might open her eyes and recognize me and in that hope that I might have one last opportunity to say I love you. I tried to get to her before that last moment. My brother had called me to say the care staff wasn’t giving her much longer but that she would be with us a few more days. As I made the seven hour trip to be with her, he called again to say that she wouldn’t make it through the day. The rest of that trip I drove at speeds that would have ended in arrest had I been caught. I wanted so much to be there with her at the end, holding her hand as she passed from this life to the next. Closure to a long illness, I suppose. Maybe, if she had any awareness, that she might take comfort knowing her son, who loved her so much, was with her at the end. Maybe in my subconscious, there was some selfish part of me that wanted see if there was a brief glimpse of heaven in that physical connection as she moved on. I hope she saw light. I hope there was an angel there to take her by the hand and lead her to it. I guess that I’ll never know. I was about an hour too late.

I got to see my mother when she was at the funeral home. After we had taken care of the business of death, they dressed her and put her in the casket. It seemed odd that the woman who raised me, cared for me and loved me didn’t much resemble the person lying in that box. Her physical structure had deteriorated quite a bit while in the nursing home and it was obvious how frail she had become. I guess it was the makeup they put on her at the end. There were no wrinkles, no age spots, and no marks of time that the joys and sorrows of life leave on a person. It was almost as if they had placed a store mannequin that looked a little bit like my mother, in that box. I will say that she appeared to be at peace. Almost as if, she was just sleeping.

The service at her long time church was nice. Pastor Caldwell preached words designed to lift us up and give us hope in the eternal peace that is my mother’s rest. A man sang How Great Thou Art with power and feeling. In all, I felt good about her passing. She was old and tired and ready, of that I am sure. I shed no tears through all of this until I witnessed the hearse rolling slowly into the cemetery. It occurred to me that this was mother’s last ride and tears welled up in my eyes. The physical reality that she would be in the cold earth, never again to be seen in this world.

I have brothers and sisters. I have family. I do not discount the love and comfort we can take in each other. I am not alone in this world. Even still, I cannot seem to shake the feeling that I am an orphan. The loss of my mother seems great to me. I don’t know why it should but it does none the less. The range of emotions that I have felt in the last week seems odd to me. At first there was sadness. Then, resignation and joy for my mother in her passing, she is in a better place. I went back to work and pressed on but I notice that I’m still sad and a little angry. The sadness I understand but not the anger. I’m just ill with people now. I want to be alone now more than ever. I guess these things pass in time. I suppose mourning isn’t something that just comes and goes in a few days.

Honestly, I’m not so sure that any of us will ever be quite the same again. How can we be when a part of who we are has died? I feel changed in some way. I just hope that I have the strength and courage to make that change into something positive during the rest of my time, here on earth.

Rest in peace Mother.

We all love you.



57 Channels

As time goes by and I find myself watching more TV than ever before, that old song from 1992 starts buzzing in my brain. I think Bruce Springsteen had more in mind than just television but it’s there and for me, it’s just as relevant almost 20 years later. 57 Channels (And Nothin’ On). I’ve got over 200 channels I guess and it strikes me that just like then, there’s nothin’ on. The same movies over and over, reruns of old shows that include sitcoms, westerns, dramas, cooking, traveling and shows that want me to discover something or learn the history of something. To be fair there are some programs that are new to me. I’d wager that you have seen them though and once I’ve taken it all in, well, I’ve seen it too. While pointing a finger at the rest of the world, I’m also pointing at myself when I say that in my considered estimation, television entertainment makes for a shallow view of life. Really, have you seen some of those reality shows? While I admit I’ve enjoyed watching those men catch crab in the Bering Sea and guys into survival how about nasty tempered housewives and odd folk from the Jersey coast? Of what personal, human value is there in watching people bicker, scheme, connive and back stab each other over who can make the best food the fastest, for example? Are we such simple minded, consistent voyeurs that by our very action we stimulate the networks to bring more and more of that type drivel into our hearts and minds? I’m not a big sports fan but that actually seems somewhat real to me and the players at least treat each other with some reasonable degree of respect. You know, I can’t help but believe that television has played a major part in the dumbing down of the world’s population.

Today, in my job, I found myself in a building with a library. After all of my work was completed, I took part of my lunch hour to just walk around in there a bit. I used to visit the library often. In fact, up until just a few years ago, I always had at least one book going and often times 2 or 3. I’ve always thought it so amazing that a person had enough imagination to create a work of fiction. The complexity of the characters, the interaction of persons and events, the total absorption of my entire self in the plot is a far cry from whether it’s raining in Philadelphia or the supposed humor of 2 and a half other people. Of course, not all stories are good ones or ones that hold our interest but given a chance, most have something of value to say at some point. Take for instance The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoyevsky. The story line was interesting but for the life of me I couldn’t get past a couple hundred pages. On the other hand, nearly everything I’ve read by James Michener held me captivated until the end. I have loved J.R.R. Tolkien and Clive Cussler. In my opinion, everyone should read The Eight by Katherine Neville and in this economically perilous time, Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. These and many others help us grow and develop character. Most set the bar for a higher standard of what is morally and ethically right as human beings. How thoughtful, reflective, introspective were the authors that wrote these books.

As I browsed around in the stacks of books, it occurred to me how nice it was to be in a quiet place. Unlike television, the noisy blast that assaults you from start to finish with its constant interruptions of thin plot by 5 to 15 commercial advertisements, I had time to think. The heart, thoughts and life experience of all those authors surrounded me. The books don’t really call out to me. They just sit there quietly on their shelves, offering something that perhaps I don’t have. It could be insight or love or hope or some great expectation. An invitation to retreat from this hectic rat race of a world we live in, a chance to be at peace for a time.

I asked the librarian if she had a book I’ve been interested in reading, A Canticle for Leibowitz by Henry Miller. She looked in her computer but couldn’t find it. Though I know pretty much all library catalogs are in a computer data base now, I kind of had a nostalgic twinge for an old card catalog. I remember when the librarian in my small grade school first showed me how to use the Dewey Decimal System and introduced me to the card catalog. What a marvelous thing it was to me, how to keep track of so many books. Nonetheless, the lady today was very nice and very helpful. It made me wonder what kind of stuff such a person is made of, to devote their careers to such a thing. I guess she was a good example of one who has a vocation that is also their avocation.

As I was leaving, walking slowly toward the entrance, I thought of all those books and what they might have to say to me and to mankind as a whole. Another song came to mind that I thought was appropriate for the library, Kashmir by Led Zeppelin.

“Oh, let the sun beat down upon my face, stars fill my dreams,
I am a traveler of both time and space, to be where I have been,
To sit with elders of the gentle race, this world has seldom seen,
They talk of days for which they sit and wait, all will be revealed”.

Prayer and The Patch

All of my adult life I’ve been a smoker. That is, until recently. I suppose no one really knows what single thing brings them to the place where they want to give up that comforting habit. All of us know that it’s bad for our health. We all realize that it makes our breath, clothes, cars and homes stink and if we are honest with ourselves, have to admit that it is a hassle. Especially in this day and age, relegated to very inconvenient smoking areas and the ever increasing financial price one has to pay to feed that addiction. The last month or so before I actually decided that I’d had enough I really became aware of how it made my chest hurt when I inhaled the smoke. At night when I turned off the light and settled to sleep, I had to cough a bit before I could drift off, just to clear things out so I could breath. In the past I had, like most people, tried to quit numerous times but never seemed to make it more than a day or so. When I made the decision to quit this year, I knew that I wanted to but I had this distinct sense of fear that I would fail yet again. Fear seems like an odd thing to experience, looking back at it. I guess it may stem from a self awareness that I don’t personally have the strength of will to give up a habit that I have nurtured for close to forty years. Truth be told, I didn’t have much faith in myself that I would follow through with the decision. Somewhere in that jumble of thoughts and doubts I was having in the week prior to my quit day I did seem to have some moments of clarity that brought me to a place where I could take those first few steps.

More than anything else I had the distinct sensation that God was speaking to me softly and quietly, telling me that He would give me strength. That still, small voice urging me to trust Him and lean on Him. It is as if He knows how weak I really am and that He is encouraging me to believe that I can and will quit smoking because He is there holding me up. I remembered that my oldest brother quit smoking after so many years. I asked him how he did it and his answer was that he asked God to take that taste away from him and that God did so. Others have told me the same thing when I asked them how they quit. Exactly the same answer. I do not believe that God loves me any less than those people. Despite my continual faithlessness, I have been trusting Him to help me with overcoming this addiction and as in all things, He is faithful to me. I wonder if He becomes weary with hearing the same prayers, day in and day out, “please give me the strength of will to not smoke any more”? It’s almost like a chant. Every day I’ve had to ask for help in resisting the temptation. The odd thing is that somewhere in my heart I seem to have this quiet assurance that He does not weary of it. He is happy because I do realize that I am too weak to do it on my own, that I do need His help and power to get past this thing that is bad for me. The Bible says that the body is the temple of His spirit. Maybe He is joyous that I have, at long last, matured enough to understand this simple fact. In that case maybe the repetitive, nearly incessant prayers asking for strength are a sort of praise and not so much a burden to Him.

You know, I’ve had lots of people in my life try to encourage me to quit smoking. My former spouse tried for all the time we were married to convince me to quit. One of my friends from long ago quit smoking after he started coughing up blood and tried to get me to follow his lead. My lady friend now has been talking to me about it for almost four years. None of that really meant anything to me. I have in the past thought to myself that I should quit for my kid’s sake. Possibly for the sake of grand children that might someday come. One thing I came to realize though is that you can’t quit for another person. You can only quit for yourself, whatever the motivation might be. I just know that I don’t want it anymore. I just know that I want my heavenly Father to be proud of me. I’ve just come to understand that this biological shell that my spirit dwells within is a gift from God and that I need to be a better steward of it. There is one person that said something to me a while back though that did have an impact on how I started to think about my smoking habit. I get a physical every year in the month of May. This past visit my doctor asked me if I had quit smoking yet. When I told him no, he just nonchalantly said “well, don’t worry about it, you’ll quit when you get that triple bypass”, and moved on to other topics regarding my health. He didn’t chide me, nag me or berate me; he just made that simple comment, like it was a footnote of my life. It’s funny (odd) how notes in the margin of a story can have such an impact on the depth of that story. The truth is that most of us don’t take the time or expend the energy to notice that small detail.

One thing I was kind of worried about when I decided, in earnest, to give up cigarettes was the impact I would inevitably have on the people around me in my daily existence. You see, my job has me working in the public venue where people are the customers of the company I work for. I knew in advance that I would be “difficult” to deal with without the steady infusion of the chemicals my body was accustomed to receiving from the cigarettes. A quick search on the internet will reveal that there are over 4000 chemicals in that form of tobacco and at least 50 are known carcinogens that can cause cancer. Nicotine is the one substance that is addictive though and therefore the one that I knew that I’d have to deal with. That’s where the patch came into play for me. I’ve tried using them in past attempts to quit but during those times my mind and, more importantly, my heart were not in the right place with regard to my addiction. Though I believe God will give me the strength to not smoke, the truth of the matter is that I have been a smoker by choice nearly all of my life and there are consequences to the choices we make. In this case, it’s one of withdrawal from an addictive substance, something that I’ve just had to deal with in a physical sense. Nicotine patches are not the cure for smoking. I have been using them from day one and though they will take the edge off one’s irritability itch, I’ve still had to pray and control myself. I’ve had to be responsible for the consequences of a lifelong bad decision. As time has passed my little addiction rages have become less and less. Yes, there were days in the beginning when I’d be in an angry, out of sorts state for hours at a time, usually in the afternoon. My days would start out ok but as the stress of the work day accumulated I seemed to reach a breaking point at about 2pm. I did notice a shift after a few weeks though and now I don’t have the “little spells” anymore. Mostly it’s just psychological now. Some movement or activity that my mind recollects as an opportune time to light up comes to me out of nowhere. It passes though, in a moment. I have to remind myself that “I don’t smoke anymore”.

In the end I’d like to ask that if you can, be patient with that friend or loved one that is addicted to smoking. That person has to come to terms with it in their own way. That person most probably knows how bad it is for them. That person very likely wants to quit but quite possible fears failure, as I did. It’s hard having to face the withdrawal and deal with it. Tell them what little story of someone’s success that you can. Love them and encourage them but please don’t nag or berate them. In my mind there is no better recipe for success than realizing that we are weak creatures and that we can call on our heavenly Father for strength and that He will listen and hold us up. If using the nicotine patch or nicotine gum or nicotine lozenges helps take the edge of the withdrawal then by all means use them. They’re cheaper than cigarettes anyway and you’ll only have to use them for a season.

In the end of this, I cannot describe to you how good it feels to no longer be a slave to tobacco. I just wish that I had come to this place sooner. Better late than never I suppose.

Simple Pleasures

It’s amazing what our world offers us these days. If you think about it for a few moments and compare the lives we live in 2011 to those of the 1700’s, just 300 years, the difference is like night and day. The odd thing is, the more we have the less satisfied we seem to be. Look around you and see all of the conveniences in your life. Is there not enough? Maybe we have all become pawns of Madison Avenue, being told on a continual basis that what we have is not good enough, fast enough or shiny enough. Have we been brainwashed by the advertising agencies of manufactures hoping to make a bigger profit than last quarter? Is it the void that all people feel, looking for things to fill it? Lost souls that refuse the grace of God believing that the acquisition of stuff will make them whole? Sometimes I wonder how far we can go in life, with this prevailing attitude of our society, before it crashes in around us. Does being dissatisfied with the material things in our lives lead to dissatisfaction with marriages, relationships, good jobs and the like? Bad decisions brought on by influences that we don’t really understand. I have looked at the grass across the fence and thought it beautiful. The sad truth is though, once there, I found roots rotted and merely a façade of green. Most of the time one looks back with regret and notices that the original patch of ground held its own beauty and comfort. Surely we can step back across the fence and rejoin a simpler yet more wholesome existence. In the movie Lonesome Dove, Gus tells the girl Lorie “the only healthy way to live life is to learn to like all the little everyday things, like a sip of good whiskey in the evening, a soft bed, a glass of buttermilk or a feisty old gentleman like myself”. I believe old Gus was on to something there. It’s like a book that I used to read to my children, Simple Pictures Are Best. I think simple pleasures are best too.

I suppose that I came to this notion recently while taking a shower. Do you ever think about the shower? How wonderful that thing is. When I have worked outside in the sweltering heat, it washes away the sweat and grime of the day. It cools my body and makes me feel whole. For a time, the cares of this world wash away down the drain. When its cold out, the hot water and steam bring such comfort that it is hard to describe. Pulling the curtain closed, surrounded by that warmth it’s almost as if I’ve reentered the womb, comfortable and secure. In my mind, there’s not a thing in the world that can top a good shower. I certainly wouldn’t replace it with money, prestige or power. Can you imagine what someone from the 1700’s would have thought of this modern convenience? I suppose many people went weeks and possibly months without the opportunity to get themselves really clean. Ever hear of that old adage, “don’t throw the baby out with the bath water”? To top it all off, we get to dry ourselves with thick, rough towels that stimulate the skin, possibly warm, just out of the dryer. This all goes without really speaking much of toothbrushes, floss and deodorant. The honest truth is that in this fast paced world, we take such things for granted, not giving them a second thought. I would venture to say that our ancestors would scorn us to shame for the irreverence we display at such a simple yet marvelous advent in human living. Some days I just know that I can’t go out there and do it. That is until I take that shower. The world, and my life, seems to be a little brighter afterward and I find myself heading out the door.

When I was a child I lived next door to my grandfather. His house was actually an old mess hall for Confederate officers, Civil War era. The house had electricity but did not have any indoor plumbing. There was a well outside that we drew water from. This was used for drinking, cooking, bathing and washing clothes. Have you ever used a ringer washer? It was a pretty amazing contraption for its time. It was however, kind of labor intensive to use. Compare that to what we use today. Put in the soap, put in the clothes, turn the knob and voila! Clean clothes. I wonder how many people that are adults, in this world today, have had to hang out clothes on a line to dry as a matter of necessity? My grandfather had a chamber pot in his bedroom. He called it a slop jar but I can imagine how nice it must have been when faced with the prospect of putting one’s clothes on in the middle of the night to trudge out to the outhouse. We wake in the middle of the night and feel our way down the hall to the bathroom, do our business and flush. We don’t have to be concerned with “throwing out the slop” in the morning. We do this in a temperature controlled environment in our bare feet and undies and are not concerned about the possibility of snakes or spiders. If we need the light, we flip the switch. We don’t have to search for the flashlight or light an oil lamp. Talk about convenience. I’d bet Colonial Americans would have thought it pretty cool.

You know there are other things in life that that could, in truth, bring us great joy and peace. When you get into your car and drive down the road are you not constantly amazed at the miracle of the automobile? I suspect that most of the people on this planet take a conveyance like the car, truck, motorcycle, whatever for granted as well. Think for a minute of how long it would have taken someone in the 1700’s to travel 70 miles. It takes us one hour and that seems an inconvenience to us. Aside from the lust for “more”, the problem I see is that we are moving so fast with so many things on our minds and so many distractions that we fail to notice or appreciate these things. Driving to work one morning last week, I was taken by how aggressive and determined most of the drivers really are. In that morning commute, people are trying to get ahead at all costs even if it means reckless behavior at 75mph. It’s as if there is an unwritten rule that cutting your neighbor off is ok if it lands you in front. Is this a consequence of the desire to acquire more stuff? Is this attitude of our society the reason we don’t or can’t appreciate the simple pleasures in our lives? Maybe it stems from the perspective that “it’s all about me”. I don’t see how anyone can appreciate something simple and pleasurable that potentially does good for all when they are so wrapped up in themselves.

Yesterday, I was pushing a cart through a local big box store when a man turns the corner and pushes his cart toward me. In his cart sat a little girl who, in a sudden burst of energy, enthusiasm and excitement says “daddy, daddy, stop right here, there it is!”. I was amazed at her open expression of innocent exuberance. It made me laugh out loud. The dad looked at me and he laughed as well. It was a beautiful, simple thing that lifted my spirit. It reinforced my understanding that simple pleasures are best. That experience was, in a word, priceless. You couldn’t buy that. You couldn’t coerce, manipulate or abuse someone to get it. It was openly and freely there and I noticed and it made me happy. Really there are many things that we take for granted but if we will take the time to appreciate them for the wonderful things they are in our lives, we can become better people for it. More balanced. Happier.

A kind word. A smile. Understanding. Compassion. Love. A warm bed. A hot meal. Rain. Sunshine. Good health. A good friend. A good book. A good movie.

Child Care

When I was sixteen years old I knew what I wanted to do in life, in a general sense. Fundamentally, I wanted to be a husband and father. Looking back on that time, it seems odd that a young man should want such a thing. That was me though. I have no idea what motivated my desire for this, I just seemed to know as if that one thing was the strongest, most consistent chord in my being. As if, that was to be my purpose in life. I even remember praying to God about it one day when I was about nineteen. Though I had been raised in a somewhat Christian home, I didn’t really live my life that way. I was out on my own and basically living wild but that longing just never seemed to subside. I felt that if I presented this to God, he would hear me and it would come to pass. Within weeks I met the girl that became my wife and though she did not want to have children at first, by the time our marriage ended we had lots of kids, much more than most other couples. So, in the end, it all came to pass. I had become a husband and father.

Many of you have children and know what joy it can be to nurture and raise them. Sometimes it is sweet and sometimes bitter sweet. It helps us to grow personally and lets us see that there are some things larger and more important than ourselves. You sacrifice your own desires in anticipation of seeing your child’s hopes and dreams realized. You teach them the best that you know how and hope that some of it sticks. As they get older, you watch in sadness as they grow away from you. It seems that no matter how often you write letters to them, call them on the phone or send them e-mail, that effort to communicate is merely entering the void. Sometimes, it seems as if you don’t even exist to them anymore. It makes me wonder how consistent I was in communicating with my parents at that age.

Regardless of how they may feel about their parents once they’ve grown, I have noticed one consistent thing about my kids as they have become adults. They are more than willing to communicate when they need help with something. From comfort to money, a roof over their heads, co-signing for a loan or rescue from a bad situation brought on by a poor decision. Though they may have friends to call on, the truth in most cases is that the friends are as ill equipped to solve the problem as they are. The answer is almost invariably dad or mom. I don’t mean to deride the children for this. I am actually quite thankful for the opportunity to help them. If helping them in a situation that they have lost control of is the only way I’m likely to have any kind of meaningful relationship with them, I welcome it. As an added benefit, it allows me to continue that education/learning process, even if it is abbreviated and even if there isn’t much time.

Recently, I had an opportunity with my oldest daughter. She lives in another state and called me the Monday before Thanksgiving with tears in her voice. Her only vehicle was broken and she had nowhere else to turn but me. I had two days off that week and told her not to worry, that I would be there on Wednesday morning. Now, I have a good job that pays well but to be honest, there is never much discretionary income in my life. Since I know a good deal about cars and what it takes to keep them running, I knew this was going to be expensive. It didn’t matter to me though. All part of that “sacrificing your own desires” sort of thing. If you’ve made up your mind that you would die for your children then nothing material could ever present a real problem in helping one of them. To be truthful, I was looking forward to seeing her, helping her and in my innermost heart, being a hero to my little girl again. As an aging parent with grown children, I don’t know if there is any other way to reestablish that bond that I still feel but suspect that they do not even think about anymore.

I did get to her and helped her work out an acceptable solution to the car problem. If you have ever done any auto type work then you’ll understand that what seems straight forward on the face of something can sometimes turn into a nightmare of extra expense, labor and time. Since I had limited time and finances, I was praying that all would go smoothly and efficiently. The morning I arrived was cold and I didn’t have any thermals to wear so instead of buying parts and getting started at the outset, I went to a local store to get some warmer clothes. Just as I pulled back into the lot where she broke down, I got a call from her. A friend had an old Toyota truck that she would be willing to give my daughter if we could get it started. Well, it did start and with a few minor parts runs like a dream. The emergency car repair of Thanksgiving 2010 had gone in a direction that none of us expected. I like to think that God does answer prayers and it seems that he does move in mysterious ways. Her main vehicle still needs to be repaired but I think that it can wait for a bit now. I’ll head back up there one day soon and get that straight for her.

When everything was said and done my reward was the genuine hug I got from one of my children. Her face buried in my chest telling me softly “I love you dad. Thank you for coming to help me”. The tension I felt in her when I first got there was gone. Her shoulders felt relaxed and relieved, the immediate burden lifted. I’ll take that any day. As I got into my vehicle for the long drive back to here she was already planning her day’s activities and moving on with her life. I guess that’s just the way it is. Until next time.

Road Trip

It was that time of year again. I had been waiting for twelve long months. Suffering through the heat of what seemed like an endless summer and numerous reasons why I should take off from work. It takes a certain amount of discipline to be faithful to your plan, for a good vacation. Sometimes, it felt as if I were gritting my teeth against the burden of work and the world, pushing on through a storm of adverse things toward a light in the distance. Often I had to stop and remind myself to be patient. Thinking about what it would be like in October, I could see myself doing the things that made me feel a little free. The mornings would be crisper and cooler. The air would smell cleaner and would be filled with the scent of changed leaves. Autumn signals such a significant turn for me. The rush is over. It’s a time to breathe a sigh of relief and reflect on life. A prelude to the stillness and quietness of winter. God only knows what that says about my character and personality. In all truth, I long for autumn (and winter) and mourn its departure. To me, it feels like love and peace and happiness. It’s as if I am being folded back into the arms of protection and grace. The fullness of life pushed into a few months time.

The day finally came. We packed, slept and then hit the road. I think that any long drive is worth the time when you know what waits for you at the end. The mountains of North Carolina are only seven hours from where I live. I was on my way home. Though I’m sure that I appeared to be the same old guy in the process of travel, in my heart I was happy. Just the thought of being at a higher altitude, surrounded by the hills and trees makes my soul feel lighter. Last year I was sick with a cold but this time I felt right as rain. The weather was supposed to be nice and like a child, I could barely wait to be outside in it. I’d been planning a different hiking route than I took the past year and was looking forward to the challenge and change of perspective on the mountain. Funny how, after so many years of not hiking, that this renewed interest still brings me such joy. I can’t help but to say though that while hitting a trail with a friend is great, sometimes it’s so much more pleasant to keep your own company up there.

One of the great things about the folks we visit is that they have what’s called an outdoor room. To me, it’s beautifully made and has a very nice fireplace. Since the elevation there is about four thousand feet, it’s very cool in the mornings. What a treat to sit in front of a roaring fire and drink coffee as day breaks. It’s not terribly uncommon to see deer and turkey walk past and if there is no such excitement, the wind in the trees and the falling leaves are good enough. I honestly believe that I could live in that environment for the rest of my life. Sometimes I think what a shame it is that working at a job has to get in the way of such things. I believe that we are all better off being productive with our hands but somehow I’ve got this notion that I could find things to keep myself busy that would meld better with that environment.



I did get to go on my hike. Six miles that was, at times, a fairly rough go. There were places where it was nearly vertical and really, hand over hand. The mountain has in-place ladders in spots that some brave soul hauled the lumber up there for and built on site. There are also steel cables in places where I had to traverse and one would be unwise to ignore using them for support. Didn’t get to see the Peregrine Falcons that are nesting in the area but the NC park service advises not to disturb them so I didn’t pry. I will say however that the view from the top was really quite awe inspiring. Miles and miles of unobstructed view of the Blue Ridge, like waves in a great ocean caught still in time. Elevation at that point was over a mile high and the air was noticeably thinner. By the time I got to the top, I had started to sweat in my layers and considered peeling some of the clothes off. It’s when I came over the last rock crest that I caught the chill wind blowing, about twenty miles per hour up that north face. A quick change of heart had me considering the jacket inside the pack. Judging by the dwarf, stunted trees all growing with the wind, I suppose it blows like that most of the year up there. I didn’t really think that I would see anyone else on the trail that morning. Surprisingly, I did meet some very nice folks while eating my lunch. A father and daughter. A young man and his girl. A pastor and one of his church members. I spoke with them all and took away some small part of their lives with me down the trail. What wonderful interactions they were. All in all it was about seven hours of hiking time and for me, time well spent. Though I enjoyed the entire trip on the trail, I always feel a little bit of loss when in the exit mode. I think it’s just because I don’t want to come down. Somehow, I think God’s creation must know if we appreciate what we have in it. As I rested on the tailgate of my truck at the end of a wonderful day, a beautiful butterfly landed on my pants leg and just rested there for a long time. Maybe he was just moseying around looking for something edible but I didn’t want to see it that way. I wanted to think he felt connected to me in some way. We are all God’s creatures on this earth together.



Another benefit of my trip this year is that my oldest daughter now lives in the mountains of North Carolina. She moved there about a year ago and has been asking when I could come up to see her. For the last five years my family has been fractured. I don’t really get to see my kids often. Now that the children are getting older, some have moved off to other places. It was fortunate for me that my oldest daughter lives near where I was staying. I had not seen her in quite some time and it gave me such joy to hold her in my arms and say I love you and say that I have missed you. She is quite the girl, that one. Beautiful, strong and independent would a good description. Fragile in some ways though, considering all of our family circumstances. She led us on a little four wheeling expedition and that was fun. Helping her move to a new place and just spending time together was one of the most heart lifting things I’ve done in a long time.

Now that I’m back in my day to day world it makes me sigh. Sort of an empty longing for things I can’t have yet. It makes working and living here hard some days. When you know what life can be, living with what you have right now seems to lack the luster of what you hope for. I don’t mean to say that my life here in this place does not have promise and hope, it does. It just requires an adjustment to one’s perspective to see the joy that can be. I shouldn’t complain, I have a pretty good life by comparison to some. The Lord takes care of and is good to me. I’m carrying that hope though. The one that takes me home to the mountains and my daughter.

Computer Woes

I’m an electronics technician by vocation. That’s what I was trained to be, by the US Navy. I worked in that field for the best part of my adult life and have experience in a fairly broad area of applications. I did not however, have a natural aptitude for it and had to work at learning basic and advance concepts and how to apply them to my world. As the years rolled by and I grew into some maturity, I actually began to feel quite comfortable working in the ether of electronics theory. Once the mystery of how the physics worked was resolved in my mind and how to use the myriad pieces of test equipment to analyze something that was broken, I did feel rather comfortable with the medium. We harness the power of the atom in vacuum tubes, transistors, diodes, resistors, capacitors, boiling them all down into integrated circuits and controlling it all with various voltage levels. Amazing stuff that the casual user takes for granted. Most people don’t understand how it all works and couldn’t care less as long as the thing comes on and does what we want when the power button is pressed. When it breaks, especially in this consumer driven “want it to work right now” world that we live in, most folks will just buy a new one. For me though, I can’t bring myself to discard something that probably just needs a little help. It was apparent to me that I needed to apply some of the training I’d been blessed with and the natural tendency to fix things I’d been born with to bring my computer back to life.

Along the way, during my electronics education, I did receive instruction in computer operation and maintenance. Most of what I learned though was archaic by today’s standards and had entirely different purposes than what the average pc is used for today. None the less, I felt more than equipped to deal with a dead pc when mine bit the dust recently. I mean let’s face it; it’s just a little box that sits on your desk and does not appear very intimidating. I’ve repaired and made functional radios, tactical air navigation devices, control panels, radar, electronic countermeasures systems, etc. I can handle this, even without test equipment. Since any documentation for a computer that you buy off the shelf these days has virtually zero information on repair I realized that I’d have to search the web for some lead that would set me off in the right direction. I plugged in my problem to search engines and did find some useful info here and there but without fail, every thread that would have led me to a solution just stopped at some point without an answer. Others with pc troubles that queried those threads evidently resolved their issue at some point and left the discussion without revealing what their problem was and how they solved it.

I had by this point opened the case and looked for the blatant blown something or other but there was nothing obvious. The best I could determine with a volt/ohm meter, the operating voltages seemed to be there. Nothing smelled or looked fried. Even when I thought about what had actually happened the day it died there didn’t seem to be any reason for it to stop working. The only thing I could think of that may have contributed to this predicament was that my house air conditioner had been on the fritz for a couple of weeks. Heat can definitely cause problems like this. Considering what might be the fastest way to get computing again, the quick answer was to start swapping parts until something changed. That may sound good initially but I did not have spare parts and trying to live life within my means, throwing money at it just wasn’t an option. I knew that I’d have to replace something but that little voice in my head kept repeating, in an ancient Chinese accent “choose wisely grasshopper”. I suppose that some machines have lots of stuff in the case but once I’d had a gander inside mine I realized there really isn’t much in there. Since my computer wouldn’t power on at all, I figured the drives were probably ok and that my trouble was with one of three things, the power supply, the motherboard or the microprocessor which sits on the motherboard. The processor fan did come on every time I pushed the power switch but nothing else would run. That motherboard is the conduit for all things that go on in a computer. I decided that would be my first move. That’s when I started to visit some of the web sites that sell all things pc.

A couple of major players in the build it yourself or buy your own parts to repair are newegg and tigerdirect. If you’ve never visited these people you would be amazed at the overwhelming array of choices they offer. I looked for days at all manner of motherboards and when I did finally choose one I can honestly say that it wasn’t because I knew that this particular device would be best suited for me. I did, by this time, have a fundamental understanding of what I was looking at and what it would do but in the end based my decision on two things, price and consumer ratings. When you’re faced with how many ram slots, ddr2 or ddr3, various i/o configurations, pci, pci16, form factors and the like it starts to become a maze and you’re left wondering and wavering in your decision. When it came to my home I was pretty excited and very expectant that I’d be up and surfing again in short order. Wrong. I still had the exact same problem. I talked to my best friend about it. She said “I think it’s the power supply”. Once I had made the decision to try that, I had this dawning realization that I was probably going to end up spending about as much to fix this thing as I would to just buy another low end pc like the one I had. The thing is though that another off the shelf, inexpensive computer could easily present the same problems that I have now, a year from now. Besides, there’s all that trashy software that manufactures load on those things that are just memory hogs and annoying at best. That’s when I rationalized a new case. Better cooling for sure and if the microprocessor was still ok then it would definitely need better cooling so a little cooling tower for the big chip would be in order. Going to need a couple of tools and I’m going to need a wireless mouse. Once you get going…….. So, the power supply comes along with the other items. Again I’m excited and spend an evening putting it all together. Does it work at last? No. That leaves me with one last option. I don’t really want to replace the processor but I start studying them feeling that it will probably be inevitable. I think what convinced me that it couldn’t be anything but that is a web site I stumbled upon that was obviously put together by the coolest computer geek that I’ve ever met. This guy laid out so much information in such a clear and concise manner that I immediately understood what had happened and why my computer was behaving the way it was. Wonderful. When I started looking for a replacement brain chip I was again overwhelmed by the sheer number of possibilities and ultimately called the manufacturer of my motherboard for advice. Nice guy that gave me a little advice on suitable replacement and some info on the board bios. I got the part, put it in the machine and voila! My hard drive booted, the monitor lit up and after some tweaking with drivers, all was well. I’m still amazed every time I push that power switch on my new Cooler Master case.

Really, it was a pretty interesting experience. I learned a lot about how these things we so readily take for granted work and what can be done to resolve problems that arise when they don’t. Though I’ve always had a passing interest in the mechanics of how a pc works, I’ve never had a real need to actually get in there and deal with it on this level. To tell you the truth, I enjoyed it very much. I’ve even started to read e-zines and magazines on hardware and software. When the cash is available, I may just rebuild the old machine that I had and give it to one of my kids. Hummmmm……..maybe a gaming computer?

Who's A Tarheel.....Me?

Yes, I suppose so. Considering I was born in the great state of North Carolina I can unequivocally declare that I am indeed a Tarheel. I have not lived there for many years but as I grow older, the desire to return to the land of my roots grows stronger most every day. It didn’t seem to be such a great place when I was young. Being the tender hearted kid that I was, it took some getting used to the bullying and fist fights that young boys are prone to favor. I guess it’s no different than any other place on earth where boys are growing up but, back then it seemed like a very rough way to live one’s life. By the time I was 12 years old it seemed apparent to me that each day when I left our little home I was gonna have to fight somebody. In the beginning I got beat up a lot but in time, I learned to adapt. Once I figured out the very real truth that I needed to pick some fights and win them then followed through on this knowledge, it did become more bearable for me personally. Fundamentally I had to adopt the credo to never back down and really, it boiled down to a question of respect and bragging rights. By the time I turned 14, my folks wanted to move to South Carolina where my stepdad was from and I remember the day we left, clearly thinking how happy I was to be moving. The years do roll on by though and with that comes some wisdom and understanding. Though I have traveled the world and all over this country, I’ve always had this soft voice in my heart whispering “come home”.

I remember the years that I attended junior high school there and I clearly remember having to study North Carolina history. The sad truth of the matter is that I wasn’t very interested and really didn’t learn much. That is truthfully a shame and the reality of that fact came to visit me one day when I was on active duty in the US Armed Forces. I had been assigned to do a stint in the galley (kitchen and associated appointments, for you land lubbers) and one of the young men there asked me where I was from. He was from Virginia if I rightly recall. When I told him North Carolina, he looked at me for a moment and called me a Tarheel. I bowed up proud with a grin and said yes I am. That’s when he asked me if I knew where that name came from. Though I did not, I said that I did and he of course put me on the spot by asking me to explain. When I fumbled around with the thing for a bit he told me in a condescending tone that the name Tarheel came from the Civil War (some people in the south call this the War of Northern Aggression). He went on further to say that it derived from the fact that soldiers from North Carolina were reluctant to get into the fight, holding back while soldiers from Virginia were leading the way in combat. In his explanation, the Carolina soldiers had tar on their heels using this as a metaphor for cowardice. Of course I blustered about that for minute but then went my own way. Honestly, I was ashamed because I did not know the truth of the name’s origin and could not refute this goober’s accusation. If I had only known then what I know now someone else would have been walking away shameful that day.

Tarheel, it is an odd name, yeah? Though the guy from Virginia did have one aspect of the origin right, the most questionable part was a total reverse of the truth. Historically, when North Carolina was a colony of the British Crown, they were an important source of the naval stores tar, pitch and turpentine used primarily by the English navy. It is said that at one time over 100,000 barrels of tar and pitch were shipped annually to England. Some historians claim that North Carolina led the world in production of naval stores from 1720 to 1870. Back in those days, they made the tar by piling up pine logs and burning them. The tar ran out of the pile into a channel for collection. The people of North Carolina were often referred to as Tar Boilers during that time and the name was not meant as a kindness but rather as a slur. Somehow along the way, about the time of the Civil War, the name had evolved into Tarheel but was still seen as derisive. Time passed though and the war progressed. The men of North Carolina that fought were brave and courageous. It is written in the third volume of Walter Clark’s “Histories of the Several Regiments from North Carolina in the Great War” that the nickname Tarheel came from the Carolina troop’s ability to hold ground in a battle. According to the book, North Carolina troops held their ground in Virginia while other supporting troops (Virginians) retreated. I’m sure the supporting troops were ashamed of their own running away from the conflict and taunted the Carolinians about the tar they were famous for and asked if there was any more for sale “down in the old north state”. The boys from Carolina said “No, old Jeff has bought it all up. He’s going to put on you’ns heels to make you stick better in the next fight”. In my mind, it is shameful and dishonorable to mask what is ones own historical cowardice by falsely claiming that cowardice belongs to another entity that had proven themselves valiant in the face of open war. If I could only face that question, from so long ago, again today.

Originally, I’m from an area of the state known as the Piedmont. You may wonder what that means and if you look it up in a dictionary you’ll find that it is defined as a plateau region between the Atlantic coastal plain and the Appalachian Mountains. The Piedmont extends from New York down through Alabama. It’s not exclusive to North Carolina but my home is the only place I’ve ever known that identifies itself to that geographic region. The state is divided into three sections, the Coastal Plain, the Piedmont and the Blue Ridge/Appalachian Mountains. It’s all beautiful and has a rich history that worth knowing. For the most part, the people are kind, wise and generous. There are some of the best universities in the world there. It is a center for some of the most advanced technical and medical research on the planet. Thinking back on what others have said about my own countrymen, I have a tendency to sneer “Tar Boilers, Indeed!”

When I was younger, I didn’t think about such things. Looking back on most of my adult life, I feel as if I’ve been somewhat a vagabond. Moving from here to there, I’ve never really had the feeling of being still. Like this is where I’ll live out the rest of my days. This is the place where they will put me in the ground. Funny how life seems to come around full circle, isn’t it? I just think that it may be time for me to go home.

Lightning

It’s the spring season here. Last night, we were graced by a little rain with the added bonus of some lightning and soft thunder. I heard a rumble in the distance and went out on my porch to take it in. Off to the south, I could see the lightning as it flickered across the sky. It seemed almost alive, as if it were its own entity, absorbed in its own interest. As if it had its own consciousness and, an awareness that I was watching from a distance. It’s voice of thunder telling me “not yet, not yet, I will visit you in time”. I was reminded a movie that I once watched where this Fire Marshall was interviewing a known arsonist. Of course, the interviewee was a bit nuts but he asked the investigator, who had been present at a particularly dangerous fire, “did it look at you”? That thought crossed my mind as I watched. Did it look at me? I guess it is human nature to try and rationalize powerful things that we really don’t understand. Maybe we do this so we can deal with them emotionally and psychologically in our humanness. Kind of like bringing them down to our level, though we see the power and grandeur of such things and inherently understand that they are beyond us, we seek a connection that we can deal with. That seems reasonable on the one hand, arrogant on the other. I suppose it could be our penchant for possession and control that drives this. I wonder, is that why we make so much effort to humanize God? In the Bible, Isaiah wrote “shall the clay say to him that fashioneth it, what makest thou?”. We humans are so fragile and yet we don’t seem to realize it. There are so many powerful forces in our world, this earth, that we have absolutely no control over. This is just one of them. It really is pretty amazing stuff this natural phenomenon, lightning.

It’s interesting, don’t you think, how given any number of people there will be an equal number of differing perceptions about something like lightning. When I was a kid, the older people in my family would tell us children to be quiet and still during a lightning storm. It’s God’s work and voice in play and we needed to be still in reverence. Dean Koontz wrote a book named Lightning (which I read several times and thought was an excellent story) where the power of a lightning storm was used as a vehicle for time travel. Throughout history various peoples have accounted lightning to their own gods. According to Wikipedia, the Greeks felt that lightning represented Zeus. Supposedly when Zeus was at war with Cronus and the Titans, he released his brothers Hades and Poseidon along with the Cyclops and the Cyclops gave him the thunderbolt as a weapon. The symbology for a thunderbolt is evidently a zigzag with non-pointed ends and represents speed and power. Lightning and thunder has also been used as a means of divination and is called ceraunoscopy. Divining what, I’m not so sure of but I am confident that it would have been used to resolve most of the same human questions and problems that we experience today. In the Jewish religion a blessing is to be recited when seeing lightning, “He who does acts of creation”.

After doing some reading and research, I was pretty much amazed at the amount of information available about lightning. Of course, there is much scientific data that can be digested about it and a seemingly endless supply of resources to learn from. Honestly, I was struck by how ignorant I really am about this thing. I’ve always loved earth science but I guess this area must have escaped me. It forces me to consider just how many other aspects concerning the earth’s physical properties have also escaped my understanding. The most significant thing I can remember is a discussion in class about whether lightning strikes up or down. Considering the basic concept of electron flow in an electrical circuit, it would seem that electrons would flow from negative to positive. The lightning bolt should discharge from the earth, which appears to be negative or at ground potential, to a more positively charged cloud once there was an imbalance in the two charges, kind of like a capacitor. Yeah??? I think this is a very basic synopsis of what’s called “leader and return stroke” so I’d have to say that fundamentally, yeah it does but it really happens in both directions and most catastrophically in the cloud to ground sort. What I thought was interesting is the variety of different types of lightning and their descriptions. Take these names for instance: Cloud to ground (of course), Bead, Ribbon, Staccato, Forked, Sheet, Heat, Dry, and Ball lightning. There are even descriptive names like Sprites (taken from Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream), Blue Jets and Elves which is really an acronym for Emissions of Light and Very Low Frequency Perturbations from Electromagnetic Pulse Sources. That really is a handful of words. I say just stick with Elves.

All in all, I enjoy the logic and science behind this sort of thing but in my heart am more akin to feelings of awe, mystery and the power behind it. To me, it’s like the mist in the mountains or the movement of the sea. Something I have no control over and am, by the very nature of it, force to accept as something beyond myself. Not something to worship, but still something to see as created by the one that deserves my worship. Lightning, like other natural events such as volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, tidal waves, floods, the aurora borealis, etc, have a way of putting things in perspective for me. It helps remind me that I am human, that I am not invincible, that there is a higher power and that I need to be grateful for the existence that I have. I am always astonished by such events in that they always bring me a sense of relevance in this wide world. They bring a sense of place and occasionally, a little inspiration.

Incomprehensible Loss

Nearly every day of my life, my youngest daughter calls me on the phone to ask how my day was and to say she loves me. How wonderful and faithful is that? When my cell phone rang the other day on my drive home and it said “mom’s cell” on the caller ID I immediately asked, when I pushed the green button, “child, why are you calling me on your mom’s phone”. The response wasn’t what I expected. “Because it is the mom”, the voice replied. Now my former spouse and I do talk to each other on occasion and since we got past the three year mark in this divorce, it has mostly been open, warm and connected. This day however, she was crying and distraught. You see she is a midwife and delivers babies, primarily in the home of expectant moms. I can’t tell you how many she has delivered but there are hundreds of children, alive on this earth today, that were caught with her hands. I know from living in that world for so long that midwifery is a very personal thing. Most of the time there is real bonding between her and the pregnant mom. It isn’t just a business relationship. It’s a very human and intimate thing. From a bystanders perspective it’s really quite amazing. I think it’s kind of like a love relationship, that of family and home. As if those who touch us, and those we touch, teach us and help us to grow into who we are. Somehow, being close to the birth of a child always seemed to make me feel better as a person. It’s as if the experience is pure joy, a renewal of life that seems to make us whole.

Though we chatted briefly, it didn’t take long for her to say that she just needed someone to talk to. She was on the way back to her house and was thinking about the loss that one of her families had just experienced. A child that she delivered had died and she had just left the funeral. I know she was grieving for the baby and the parents and that was a part of what she was feeling but her primary concern was for how the service was handled by the men of the family’s church. Now this isn’t my former spouse’s church. She doesn’t attend any kind of Christian services. She is, in fact, a pagan by her own profession. When we were married, we lived our lives as Christians but once that marriage relationship ended, she almost immediately renounced Christ and declared to all concerned her distain for Christian values. From her perspective, the Christian faith is cruel. How could a God of love threaten His people with the prospect of hell? How could a God of love allow a two year old child to die such a sudden, tragic and apparently painful death?

During the service, one of the men stood up to speak. From what I was told, he basically had a cavalier attitude about the whole thing and said that at least now the parents wouldn’t have to deal with another rebellious teenager. Then he mentioned that the child’s death was the hand of God, moving with the purpose of bringing others to Christ. Listening to her on the phone, I have no doubt those were his words. If it had been me, I want to believe that I would have chosen to say something different. I would have said something that would have brought the child’s beauty and brightness and joy back to remembrance, if only for a bit. I would have recalled how she had brought happiness and love to the family and how sorely she will be missed. I would have tried to console the parents and other children of that family with the knowledge that the little girl was with the Lord and that she is at peace and happy. Taking in the words of my former spouse, it was obvious to me that she felt angry with the man because of his apparent insensitivity and manipulation of the dire circumstances to try and proselytize those in attendance to the service. To me, the adults that were there are most probably intelligent enough, sensitive enough and aware enough of the precepts offered by Christianity to know that the choice is theirs. God offers salvation through grace to any that will accept it. The choice belongs to each individual.

In time, I asked her about the circumstances of the accident. It seems the mom was away on some errand and the dad was there at the home with the children. From what I understand, this two year old little girl was in the front yard playing with a nine year old neighbor. The two children wandered over to a neighbor’s driveway and the small child was standing behind an automobile when a seventeen year old ran out of the house and jumped into the car, put it into reverse and started to back out of the drive. He, or she, didn’t look to see if the drive was clear. Do any of us, most of the time? I felt immediate sorrow for that teenager. How must that child be handling the fact that he (or she) ran over a little baby? My first reaction was “where was the dad”? “Why had the dad allowed his two year old out of his sight for even a moment”? I felt an initial surge of anger that he had faltered in his physical responsibility as a father. Then, a moment later, I realized that it could have happened to me just as easily. I don’t know how many times I told one of my other children “watch your sister while I’m on the phone, in the bathroom, getting this pasta off the stove”. It can happen in an instant. Maybe it is God’s will. Maybe there is some greater purpose that He has in store. We can’t know the mind of God and the bible says, that He says, “my ways are not your ways”.

I’ve seen this sort of thing happen before in my life. A young child dies, the parents can’t forgive themselves or, assign blame one to the other. The marriage deteriorates and divorce follows. I reminded my former spouse of one incident in particular that she did remember. I tried to console her. I told her that even though it seems cruel that such a bright young light had been extinguished on the earth, God is still in control. The child’s soul, the very essence of who she was on the earth, still lives. I encouraged her to intervene if possible with this man and woman and help them understand that though this tragic thing has happened, they need not let it tear them apart. It could end in guilt and divorce but it could also be a force to hold them together. It can serve as something that will provide the glue which will hold them together for the rest of their lives. Strength and love from this tragedy is just as valid as anger and separation.

Truthfully, this is a sad story. I just hope the family survives. They have my prayers.

Thoughts on a Spring Day

I think most people really enjoy the Spring season. It seems to remind them that life always buds anew. I like it too but on this day, I feel some trepidation about life. Like I’ve said before, I feel a bit lost sometimes. Today is one of those days. There seem to be so many questions in my life that do not have answers and I truthfully do not know where to turn or where to seek those answers. It leads me to daydream about how things could be if some of the circumstances were different in my life. What if I had stayed in the military for 30 years instead of 20? Would I be geographically situated in the place I am now? What if I had not gone through divorce? Would the attitudes and perspectives of my kids be as they are now? Would my oldest daughter be estranged from her mother and siblings? What if I had chosen a different, second, career path? Would I be working the 9 to 5 grind with a daily commute and the struggle to pay debts? I guess my feelings about some of these things aren’t so different from many people on earth today. Possibly, there are millions and maybe billions of folks that are in the same situation as me. I heard this guy on the radio talking about how kids see their parents. One of the things he said was that parents weren’t always boring. That they were at some point interesting and fun to be around. It was the daily grind of paying the bills, feeding the kids, cleaning up after the kids and worrying over them that made them who they are today. I can see that as truth. It seems like the years get heavier as they pass on by.

Things aren’t different though. They are today just as they are and no amount of speculation changes that. As I sat on my porch this morning, drinking coffee, looking out at the street in front of my house, I easily slipped into a fantasy of being in the mountains. Sitting there looking out over the forest covered hills and the little coves of green that have been carved out of the valleys, I could see myself financially secure and without an obligation to run with the rats. My kids all loved me and wanted to spend time close to me. I did not owe anyone money and could pursue the day as I chose. Some of that firewood needs to be split and laid up for winter. The early garden wants to be weeded a bit and eggs need to be collected from the chicken coop. I want to plant those sunflower seeds on the southeast side of the house. Later, in the afternoon, I may go down to the village store and hang out with some of those guys. It’s a nice place really. An old building that sells food, gas, hardware and an assortment of oddities that somebody may want in time. There are chairs to lounge in, coffee to drink and the conversation is always good. Maybe a drive though the mountains would be nice. I’ve been wanting to hike that one trail again. It’s not a tough hike, there are some beautiful vistas and it’s mostly shaded. There are a few streams and low waterfalls that are just magical.

I really don’t want to be without an occupation and I think it’s important for a man to be employed at something. Maybe a small restaurant that just does really good soup and sandwiches. I think that morning coffee with homemade scones, cookies and cinnamon rolls, serving the local people in the small town would be a good thing. The money made would not need to be as important as the connection with the people and the positive impression of grace that could be made on their lives. I believe that volunteer work could be considered an occupation. Being an interpreter for the natural setting that visitors find themselves in would be good. When I was a kid we used to visit the mountains every year and one of my favorite things to do would be attend the lectures given by the park rangers in the campground amphitheater. Being a natural history guide on the trails would be fun I think. In our busy lives we cruise through beautiful places oohing and ahhing, snapping a few photos and moving on at a fairly quick pace. I know how vacations are. With limited time and resources, there is an inherent sensation that we’ve got to move on to the next place so we can see it all. The opportunity to lead a few people through a few miles and helping them open their eyes, ears and minds to the flora, fauna and history of a place would be good for everyone involved. I like physical stuff too. Clearing and maintaining mountain trails has always been an interest of mine. Though it could be solitary work at times, the peace and quiet of the environment, the connection to the land would be worth it I think. Doing work that benefits others seems like a noble and satisfying endeavor. I know that I have at many times thought with kindness of those unseen, unnamed souls that made my hike doable and even pleasant.

To be in a place where you can do what you want with the time you’re given in this life seems ideal, doesn’t it? How did we get to where we are now though? Certainly there are things that most of us would never do over again as it would take away some of the joys and sorrows that made us who we are. I suppose everyone makes mistakes in life that seem regrettable on down the road and they, in part, shape us into the people we have become. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. I wonder though if I can take who I’ve become and allow that person to grow into who I want to be. Where to start at this late stage in my life? If you don’t like who you are or the circumstances you find yourself in, how do you turn it around? I’ve seen people do it and I know it requires focus and work, which I’m not fearful of, but which direction do I turn to take that first step? Life shouldn’t be just daydreams. Even in the Autumn of one’s days there must be a path to the end and not this aimless wandering. Honestly, I don’t want to accept the ordinary, common existence that I have now as the termination of my trip. Though some might see my morning musings as plain and uninteresting in their mind, to me it would be an exultation. It would be something unequivocal. I understand that any existence has its own set of problems and worries. Maybe I’m just ready for a change and that change is manifesting itself in these, nearly constant, daydreams.

I guess it’s time.

Lonesome Highway Man

As I drove to work a couple of days ago, only mildly irritated at the rush hour traffic, I started thinking about the incredible diversity of all those people. That the cars keep moving at all is a wonder in itself. Hundreds of individuals as different as finger prints all moving in a controlled and somewhat chaotic dance to as many destinations. All of those brain cells firing at the same time, thousands of thoughts ebbing and flowing in the course of a few miles. Amazing. So many singularities expressing their individuality in everything from what they drive to how they drive. It made me think of that Mission Impossible movie where the lead actor, who is really a spy but has a cover as a transportation specialist, is at a party and tells one of the guests that traffic is like a living organism and can be predictable depending on the overall stimulus that it’s subjected to. At least I think that’s how it went. Kind of like a “hive mind”, I suppose. For anyone that drives in traffic I’m sure one would agree that you can just feel what is happening and can almost communicate without any physical cues.

As we moved along I started to notice more than just the cars themselves. There were all manner of bumper stickers, everything from political statements to school logos to espousals of love for one’s wife. You have to wonder what motivates someone to put a particular sticker on their car. Aside from the obvious that the person wants to be heard, I started thinking about that particular person’s life and what brought them to say definitively “Coexist” where the letters are all stylized religious or cultural symbols. I think in all of my life I’ve only had one bumper sticker on a vehicle that I drove, Love Your Mother with a symbol of the earth at the end. To me it was just a simple way to say “take care of this planet we live on, it’s the only one we have”. Of course that was long before it was popular to see something like that as a pagan imperative to worship gaia, some primal Greek goddess that embodies earth. If I could have seen that coming there’s no way that sticker would have made it to my bumper. It wasn’t just the stickers though. License plates of a large variety graced many of the cars. Some advocating for helping schools, others with duck stamps or images of field and stream, the ever present university tags, farmers, retired military, reserve military, veterans of foreign wars and the personalized alpha numerics like “LITIG8R” or “MS TUTU” or “POOTIE”. Have you ever noticed the Toyota symbol on the back of that type car when they are turned upside down? It’s pretty suggestive.

Though there seems to have always been stickers in the rear windows of cars, I’ve noticed more and more the last couple of years that lots of women feel compelled to put their monograms back there. I really don’t get that. Maybe that’s what one does when you don’t really have a political or cultural statement to make but still want to personalize your ride in some way. Possibly a “herd mentality” that mandates a need to get in there with something. There are lots of Buck marks, big deer antlers with a note saying “size matters”, pink John Deere logos, Calvin peeing on some other brand of car or truck, stickers advocating some web site. Like the one I saw in town the other day that advertised “PickaStateParanormalResearch.Com”. The ones I like best though are the “In Loving Memory” ones. Gone but we still love you and miss you and you are not forgotten. After seeing so many lewd Calvin stickers, it kind of blew me away the first time I saw one where he was kneeling at a cross. Calvin was a brat at times but all things considered, he was pretty good kid with a highly active imagination. Somehow, the kneeling at the cross one seemed more appropriate to me.

You know, I suppose all of those labels mean something to these people. I wonder if it can be expressed in how I felt when seeing the Tattoo person or the Piercing Saved My Life person. Did these folks pursue those courses because they needed a way to express how they felt about life? Were they so disillusioned by what the largest part of society said was correct that they followed a path less travelled, standing there in the world’s face with a pride that says I did it my way? Hoping that someone will see through it all and in this wide world will notice that they are alive, intelligent and have some purpose and value in life? It’s easy to see how anyone can get to a place where they feel so ignored and outcast that when promised hope and change it’s like cool water in a dry land. Maybe they had a lonely or misunderstood period in life when what they now advocate was all they had to hang onto. Surely all of these people have some reason for taking a stand on whatever issues they so openly offer for others to think on.

As my drive came close to the end, I noticed one last window label on a pick-up truck ahead of me. At first I couldn’t make out what it said and thought “Yeah, it’s got a hemi” or “Can Ya Hemi Now?” but as I drew near, I realized it said Lonesome Highway Man. When I got closer I could see that he was a big fellow with a beard and he was wearing a baseball cap. He didn’t seem to be dejected or sad, just a guy on his way to some place. I wondered what his story was. Did he travel a lot of back roads? Was he forever driving to far off places, never able to be at home? Did he have a family that he wanted to be with? Maybe he was always on the road and didn’t have time for a life outside of the drive. Maybe he had accepted his life and decided to live it in peace, recognizing it for what it is and who he is. Maybe the man was just as content as he could be with his own company. As I drove on past, I figured it’s possible that he knows his name and is ok with it.

Chemistry Lesson

Lately, I’ve noticed more big trucks running up and down the interstate. Most of the time, it’s your standard box trailers with a company logo on the side but I’ve also seen flat beds with all manner of cargo being transported to who knows where. Wide sheets of steel, pipe, machinery, military equipment, you name it. Though the big rigs can be an inconvenience, I’m actually happy to see them out there. It says to me that the economy is still moving. It tells me that interstate commerce is alive and that’s a good thing. What caught my eye the other day was a truck hauling carbon monoxide gas. Now I’ve seen those tanks with oxygen, nitrogen, hydrogen, helium, etc., labeled on the side but never carbon monoxide. It seemed really odd to me. What earthly purpose could this gas have in industry that would require it to be produced and transported? As far as I knew, it was nothing more than a poisonous gas that had no purpose and was to be avoided if at all possible. The thing stuck with me the whole day though and piqued my curiosity enough to do a little research.

After searching the web for a while, it occurred to me just how little I knew about chemistry. I have never had any formal education in the subject but felt that I knew enough to be at least a little conversant in this area. I’ve always had an affinity for science subjects but my interests were geared more toward earth science and astronomy. Of course I’m not an expert in those areas either but I have studied some and am curious in those regards. Looking back on my life, if I had chosen a career field in the sciences, I believe that I would have enjoyed volcanology. It’s mountainous, of course.

The first place I looked for information about carbon monoxide was Wikipedia. I quickly realized that I needed more basic information about the chemical structure of things to understand just what the article was trying to tell me. This led me to a site that is geared mostly toward children and explains the periodic table of elements. It was actually a sort of two edged sword as on the one hand it reaffirmed how inadequate my knowledge base is in the subject but on the other hand gave me a sort of elation to know that there are very young people out there who are studying chemistry. It made me feel confident that difficult technical matters are not being abandoned by our youth and that brings promise for a brighter future. Anyway, it didn’t take long to understand that carbon monoxide is not a basic element in the periodic table sense but is actually a compound made up of one atom of carbon and one of oxygen. Though it occurs naturally in some ways, this natural occurrence seems insignificant in the larger scheme of things. It exists primarily due to the partial oxidation of carbon containing compounds. The interesting part is how it is produced by chemical manufacturing processes and its ultimate uses in our world.

This understanding that the stuff is dangerous to humans and animals has been around for a long time. The Greeks and Romans used it to execute people. The Nazis used it to euthanize people. During times when gasoline was in short supply, it has been used to fuel automobiles and is currently used to convert coal and biomass to diesel fuel. Though there are some absolutely nefarious applications for it, there are also some relatively benign uses as well. Take the creation of acetic acid, for instance. Plastic water bottles, photographic film, wood glue, synthetic fibers and fabrics are all by products of acetic acid and a result of carbon monoxide manipulation. This same acid, when diluted, is a common household product. Think vinegar. One thing that surprised and disturbed me a bit was the use of carbon monoxide to enhance the red color of meat we buy in the grocery store. Apparently, it keeps the red color longer so we mere mortals are enticed to believe that it is fresh. Food producers use this type of processing in many of the products we consume, like fruits and vegetable, pasta, cheese, ready to eat meals, seafood, etc. They call this MAP or Modified Atmosphere Packaging. Ever wonder why some of those packages of meat in the store have that puffy clear wrap on them?

It is truly amazing to me how little we know about the world we live in. Life on planet earth seems so “every day” on the face of it. Little do we realize how complex our existence is. Something that we all know can be dangerous but at the same time is as innocuous as carbon monoxide has so much impact in our daily living. It just leads me to believe that I am actually very ignorant of my surroundings. It takes me to the modern adage “question authority” and speaks to me of the need to understand that there is more to my existence than meets the eye.

Spring, She Comes.

We’ve had an unusual winter this year. There was actually snow on a few occasions. Though it wasn’t that beautiful, dry, fluffy snow I longed for, it was snow none the less. It didn’t stick to the roads and create the hazard that would be inevitable for people in this region, but it was lovely in the trees and on the roof tops.

Now though, the tentacles of winter are starting to recede. I’m beginning to see signs of awakening. It just feels different. As much as I do love the cold weather, I guess that I could welcome the change to a new season. For some reason, I had the strongest remembrances of spring and summer the other day. It’s funny how some things from childhood come back so bright and clear at times. Where I grew up there was always a distinct changing of seasons. With winter pulling back we could smell it in the air, feel it in our bones. We would open windows to let fresh air inside the house. My mother would think of planting flowers. To a kid like me it meant that summer wasn’t far off and there would be a break from school. You could start to spend more time outside in the evenings and the leaves came back to the trees. Of course, we had evergreen trees too and they always offered the whisper and moan of the wind but it was in spring that they became the most noticeable. I guess it was the rising sap that made them smell so strong. Sometimes I would just sit outside in the evening and breathe in the strong aroma of pine. The earth was greening up and the soil smelled old and rich, as if there was an untold history there. It felt moist beneath my bare feet. Dusk was pretty much my favorite time of day. There wasn’t much man made noise back in those days. No cars running up and down trying to get somewhere fast. Mostly what you heard were the Whippoorwills and Bobwhite Quail. We live next door to my grandfather, who we all called Papa, and I think spring was a favorite season for him. In my recollection, he seemed to be more energetic at that time of year. I remember him painting that metal porch furniture in the spring and how he seemed delighted to sit in the rockers with me and tell me stories.

As the weeks passed, the birds would nest and soon there would be eggs in them. Being the boys we were it was hard to resist climbing the trees and taking some. They were like jewels from the natural world for us, something to present at Show and Tell. The teacher would fuss that we shouldn’t have done that but the other kids were wide eyed with delight. The spring was a time for thunder storms and though the earth turns and time passes, the ones I witnessed as a child seemed to hold so much more power then. It was as if God was reminding us that He was still there and wanted us to know that He was still in control. All of the older folks used to say we needed to be quiet in a thunder storm. I suppose it was in reverence for that power. As children, we didn’t realize that birds and nests and eggs were also His power, manifested in gentler way.

With the change in season came yard work. Cutting the grass wasn’t my favorite but after it was done, I loved the smell of the mown grass. The mower we had was an old pusher that took forever to start and the yard seemed to be huge then. My Papa had two mowers and they both were self pulling. He wouldn’t let me use them to cut our lawn but he did let me when I was cutting his grass and it was pleasure incarnate. There was a shaft with a large knob that you pushed and pulled to make it stop and go. Those things were wonderful and gave me such a feeling of power and control. I still don’t like cutting grass much but I have learned how to keep a mower in good working order so they are much easier to start. Funny about the smell of mown grass though, these days it doesn’t seem to smell as sweet. I suppose getting older dulls the senses in some ways. I believe that it’s good that we can still remember when such things made us feel happy and content.

As the days pushed toward summer, all of the fruit trees and bushes on Papa’s place started to bud out and bloom. Sweet smells and the promise of fruit picked fresh from limbs were on me and I looked forward to sitting on his porch and sharing it with him. He used an old Barlow knife to peel the big fruit with. It gave it a metallic flavor but it was still delicious. There were apples, pears, peaches, cherries and grapes. To this day I’m still amazed at how grapes grow. Purple ones, white ones and red ones. A thick, gnarly old vine trained to run along some old clothes line wire. I suppose the leaves were even good to eat but I didn’t know that then. Often I would climb the cherry tree and sit there on a limb eating those bright, beautiful red things until I’d had my fill, spitting out the pits at bugs or nothing. Good times.

Caught up in the world of 2010 there doesn’t seem to be a place like that anymore. Maybe it could be re-created but I suppose the wonder of it all would be for another generation. At this stage in life, it would be mostly a visual memory for me. Somehow the remembrances of spring that I have don’t seem to be as shallow as the one we have today. I know time passes and things change, the world moves on, but it doesn’t really mean that things get better. Sometimes I tell my kids about what it was like for me when I was young and they seem interested, even enamored with the tale but when it’s over, they move on in their minds. Too bad we can’t keep all the good things going for future generations so they can see with their own eyes that what was once good, important and valuable could still be today for them and those that follow them.

Go Fly a Kite

That’s something I haven’t done in a very long time. I do believe that I introduced my kids to it many years ago, maybe just once or twice. Looking back at it, I feel a sort of loss at not making it a more regular thing in our lives. When I was a child, all of us kids flew kites. Some made their own and were always looking for ways to improve their handiwork. For the most part, mine were usually bought at the dime store. They were diamond shaped flat kites made of paper with wooden supports. I used cheap cotton string for a flying line and made my own tails with whatever scrap cloth my mom would give me. Back then, it was just something we did that was fun. As an adult, I can appreciate the freedom it brought to be out in that field doing something that had no purpose other than my own personal enjoyment. To be on the ground and watch it undulating with the breeze was a peaceful sort of thing. With its tail wavering to and fro, billowing white clouds and the warmth of the sun on my face, it was like stepping out of time to a place of comfort and wonderment. Where has that pleasure gone to?

Things were less complicated back in those days. Televisions were black and white with only a few channels to choose from. There were no cell phones, personal computers or Internet. No Xbox, PS1s, 2s or 3s, no iPods or music downloads. By today’s standard, a kid had to be pretty creative to have any fun at all. Of course, we didn’t know that. Most of us lived to be outside and chaffed at the prospect of having to stay in for most any reason. We rode bikes, fished, swam, played Army, Cowboys and Indians, built forts in the woods and hung out at the community store and drank Cokes with peanuts in them. You don’t see much of that sort of thing anymore. These days, it never ceases to amaze me at how long kids can sit in front of a monitor or TV and play video games. I understand how the mind can get so absorbed while playing on the game machine, much like when reading a good book, but to what end? I honestly don’t see how the video games have any redeeming value. At least with a book you have the memories of the characters and how they interacted with their situation. One’s own visualization of the scene and circumstance must be more meaningful than the repetitive visual imagery offered by some of the stuff we’ve seen our own children play. Right?

I wonder sometimes how technology has shaped our existence today. Not so much the adults in our lives, more the kids that are coming up now. When I was in school, especially first through sixth grade, our teachers focused on reading, writing, arithmetic, history, earth science and geography. Every morning we stood with hands over hearts and pledged allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. When it was appropriate, there was prayer in the classroom. When we were naughty there was a trip to the principal’s office which, more often than not, resulted in a stern talking to and a paddling. Yes, my parents approved. I guess they don’t do “show and tell” these days. We all did it. If for no other purpose to give us the experience of standing up in front of a room full of other people and speaking intelligibly about something.

I worry for children these days. Most young people I know have read very little in their lives and could tell you very little about the world they live in. How many continents are there? How many oceans? How many presidents has the United States had? When was the Civil War fought? How many planets are there in our solar system and in what position is the earth from the sun? I am amazed at how little my own kids know. I have some children that are adults now and I knew more by the time I was twelve than they know now in their twenties. One thing is for sure though, they can tell you how to level up in most popular games available today. They know the cheats to get around sticky problems in the games. Sometimes, it seems that’s all they live for. What does that stuff teach them? If you can’t accomplish the goal honestly…..cheat. If you don’t like the way things are running, reset. What kind of brain drain is all of this technology? Do you know of any young people today that can or will hand write letters? I don’t know about lots of others but most of the people I interact these days that are twenty five or younger, my own kids included, have appallingly bad handwriting. The bad thing is they know it and aren’t willing to do anything to improve it. E-mail and spell check is so much easier.

Flying a kite just may have more value than the obvious pleasure it offers. Perhaps it could teach that we need to slow down. To keep it in the air we need to be patient with the winds of change. We can’t always force our own will and sometimes it just may be better to bend with the winds of life, than to be broken by them. A kite requires diligence to keep it airborne. A slack line, like a slack hand often ends up in disaster. Most of the responsibilities in our lives need continual attention. Imagine investing in the stock of a certain company. Would you really just check on it occasionally? Probably not, that’s your money. What about the day in day out come home, don’t see the kids cause in their rooms playing games? Don’t really talk to the spouse because he or she is in their own world and you’re too tired. A slack line on one’s life, like that of the kite, is sure to facilitate a crash.

Do we really see what’s going on around us these days? Are we so enamored by the fast move, the fast buck, the instant gratification of this world that we’ve given up our powers of observation in things that really matter? Time is passing in my life. Some days I can hardly believe that I’m as old as I’ve become. They say that hindsight is perfect vision and I believe that’s true. If I had it to do over again there are definitely things that I’d do differently. Though I didn’t really see it in years gone by, I’ve come to understand just how significant my actions and attitudes affected other people in my life. How I should have walked softer, spoke less and listened more, loved more openly and deeper, smelled more roses, flew more kites. The Bible says that a good man leaves an inheritance for his children’s children. I don’t think that necessarily means money. What seems more important to me is the tools we give to those that follow us and how they will pass those on to those that follow them. Character, honesty, dedication, honor, a good work ethic, a good name, compassion, wisdom, understanding, a tender heart, freedom, an appreciation for simple pleasures. These things are an inheritance to be proud of. One that when your last day comes you can go in peace, knowing that you really did do the best you could with what you had.

It’s been a long time since I flew a kite but it may be time to try my hand at it once more. I miss that simple pleasure. Maybe this spring.

The Written Word

What is it about writing?

I’m always thinking about it but never doing much of it. Honestly, I can’t figure out why it seems so hard to just sit down and talk about the things that are on my mind. Do you ever stop for a moment and consider all the thoughts that go through your head in a single day? There are just so many things that seem innocuous at first glance but really do have merit and would benefit from the light of your own insight.

Just the other day I was having lunch with a co-worker and he told me this story of how he made his first potato gun. The company that we work for had sent him to a weeklong school where he was to train on a subject that he’d already been taught. In fact, everyone in the class had already received the same training. The instructor, realizing the pointlessness of rehashing the material, suggested they make a trip to the hardware store and buy stuff to make the spud launchers. Using the liquid from glow sticks so they could see the potato fly across the interstate at night was a good scene. When I got home that night, I found hundreds of videos on the internet about folks and their experiences with the things. Apparently it’s a tired subject, but not that tired. It got me to thinking about primitive weapons and I ended up spending an inordinate amount of time reading about slings. You know the kind that David used to slay Goliath. It was really quite fascinating. The length and type of materials to projectiles and their physical makeup to the history of their use for the last several thousand years. I suppose it may have been some deep seated, primeval instinct for survival that drove me there and held my attention. I can see how something like that could lead to a whole world in one’s imagination. That “Clan of the Cave Bear” sort of thing. The woman that wrote those stories seemed to have a special interest in herbal remedies which basically gave her the heroine of the books. I read them all and enjoyed them immensely. I’m sure there’s a lot more to it than that. Character and plot development seems to be something that eludes me. Just how far into the story must you imagine before you can begin? There is a line in the latest Indiana Jones movie where Marion says to their son Mutt that Indy just makes the stuff up as he goes. Writing should be like that, letting the story pour out of your mind onto the page like water from a pitcher into a glass.

Maybe my problem has always been one of expectations. I’ve worked at one job, or another, my whole life and to be honest, I’m tired of working. I am thankful for the employment that I have. It does provide for all of my needs and I feel blessed that I have it, especially in this time on earth. I just believe that I’m ready to do something else. Of course, writing seems like the best way to go. Though there is work involved, it can be done from your home. There is no daily commute. No requirement to wear the uniform of one’s employer. My mind is not fettered by the clothes I wear, the vehicle that I drive or corporate objectives. The question though still boils down to one of financial needs. I’ve read so many things that told me how difficult it is to make a living with the written word. How most writers do it their whole lives and never make any money with it. Is it possible that my typical American upbringing which encourages hard work at a job that has substance discourages, in a quiet and subliminal way, the notion that I can make a living at something cerebral? There are other objections to a life of writing. “You have no formal training”. “You don’t know anyone in the industry that can help you”. “You don’t have a clue what some publisher might be looking for”. Ask yourself the question, “Are you willing to commit the time and energy to learn a new craft”? What about all the stuff that’s in you right now that wants to be said that very well may be lost in the process of learning what some other person says is the right way? Shouldn’t it be spontaneous and free flowing? Aren’t my ideas about what is the right way just as valid?

I read somewhere that everything has been written about. There are no new subjects. Even if that is true cannot the old ones benefit from my internal light? In Chicken Soup for the Writers Soul there is a story where one person says to another, “If you wanted to be a writer, you would write”. Looking at it all from a glass half full perspective you can tell yourself “do what you love and the money will come”. I suppose one just has to believe in himself. When I was younger I thought that my special interest in woodworking, my passion for the craft, would allow me to make a living at it. After trying my own business for a while, I soon realized that I’m not cut out for all things I’m passionate about. Though I’m not an exceptional woodworker, I am adequate and have built a few really nice pieces. I realized after a while that my love of wood and creating something beautiful with it didn’t have to be defined by a price tag. The riches came from the personal knowledge that I had expressed myself in that medium and that there was some lasting thing of my own creativity. I suppose writing is like that as well. It may be possible that my children will read some of my musings one day and get a different perspective on their dad. That there was more to me than the guy that provided stuff for them. The guy that disciplined them at times. The guy that supposedly did the best he could while he was there but still failed miserably at times. I suppose that’s a reward in itself, isn’t it?

I don’t know what it takes to be a good writer. I’ve never tried really other than here at this blog and in a few other places where very few people ever read what I had to say. I will say this though, I like to write. It feels good to my soul to express what is in my heart and mind. I just need to get over the notion that it needs to provide something back to me other than the self satisfaction that someday, somewhere, somebody may take what I have written to heart and that it might give them insight into their own lives.

There’s always that one hope.