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8/31/2005 #68 I'm a Legs man...I think most of us have a certain image we carry around that helps us define ourselves to others. Oh, Im not talking about those long questionaires we read in certain blogs that ask such questions as when was the last time you brushed your teeth, or if you voted in the last election, or even if you go to church...
I am talking about those more important classifications we like to define ourselves with... I notice a lot of people who would have us know all about their importance in making the world turn...but as someone who has ALWAYS been a Letterman kinda guy rather than a Leno or Popeye sort...I think there should be some kinda 'top ten' aspects of everyones character that illustrates volumes about them in very few words. Take the title of this blog for instance...
I would imagine that you have understood that men look at women and find them attractive for a number of reasons...ONE reason however is the predominant factor and that determines the kind of man one is...One of my friends is forever saying "wow she's stacked"...goes to hooters for french fries and stuff like that. I donno why but top heavy women have just never been my cup of Dea. (froidian slip?) For me it seems that its always been about the LEGS...If a woman hitchhiker were to show a little ankle, breaks would screetch, reverse lights would go on, and in my most "chival-russ" good mannered voice I would offer her a ride....I probably wouldnt if I thot she might tip over forward...and change the radio station and put imprints of the CD buttons on her forehead. (oh and just for the record, I am a "JACK-fm 103.1 playing what THEY want" man)
There are a host of defining characteristics that demonstrate ones position in this world of humans comparing themselves with anyone and everyone else. I think tho, that one of the MOST IMPORTANT is in how one eats corn off the cob!!There are basically TWO main methods for those who still have their original teeth, (tho I am certain there may be some excentrics who have discovered ways that are slightly kinky or inovative in the extreme)...There is the horizontal-eat-the rows like a typewriter person, and the eat around the ear in columns individual...REST ASSURED that these are NOT genetic traits, but solid expressions of ones individuality and personal character!! I am a typewriter eater of corn on the cob. My mother bless her white-corn loving tastebuds, eats all the way around the ear before moving to the kernels toward the right. Poor dad, with his dentures prefers to cut them off the ear with anything but one of those dull ginsu knives...and our triplets each attack it differntly in combinations of the two main methods, often ending up with their NAME in the kernels.
So before you can tell the world what kind of man or woman you are, you need to take a personal inventory of your preferences in those ultra critical areas of life, like whether you like raw or cooked raisins in your oatmeal...Then, you need only make up the proper phrase to express this defining attribute...like well, I'm a boiled raisin kinda guy/gal...or If its good enough for rice pudding conesseurs its good enough for me!!
Once you know the drill, you just make the list...I'm a fruit shake man, no chocolate/carmel/cookie shakes for me...I'm a belgian waffle afficianado...Im an angelfood cake man, Im a duel footsled feller..referring to my abhorance of dodging snowboarders who unlike "skiiers" give you NO clue which direction they will move, just before you smash into them(you always know to go behind the skiiers)...oh and another thing if you ever ride a lift where there are snowboarders, look down and see how many of them are sitting on their butt on the ice cold hill...its like a bunch of skiiers that have crashed and burned, but snowboarders actually pay to be off their feet and sitting on their glutious maximus most of the day)...
You already know I am a fix it, not a throw it away man. Additionally I am a PEPPER...(are you a pepper too?)...when Im not, I do the Dew(diet for sure)... and tho I have owned nearly every kind of car for at least a few days...I am a Chrysler man. I Know it goes along with my fix it philosopy to own Fords, but I avoid FORDS for their "Fix Or Repair Daily" tendencies. I am a banana lover, and I follow Rocky's advice, I dont hang around with coconuts. (tho I am a colada rather than a daquari man...and you know how I feel about coconut shower gel) I am a roadrunner man, not a speedy gonzales hombre...and like the whole enchelada rather than half a burrito.
I think by now, you have understood that this stuff is a matter of consequence!...I eat CHUNKY peanut butter NOT SMOOTH...(yuck!!!)...with HONEY not jelly. Tomato sandwiches are NOT made with ranch dressing, just mayo, butter and salt and pepper on bread that has weight. I am a night person!!! So, dont expect me to think or do more than nod and mumble before noon!!!... I am a fly fisherman, I am a Dewalt and Proto man. not milwalkie or makita or craftsman, tho forgiveness is in order if that is all that is available. I'm a back pack/tent camper, not a "motorhome/move with mayflower all my electronic possessions to the campground" sort. I like cheese, hawiian, or combo pizzas, I am not a pepperoni only man... for breakfast its bacon, not sausage...but if absolutely necessary I'm a links man not a patty lover.
I am an ICE on the lips man, straws are for shooting small beans, spit wads and launching their wrappers if they arent too snug. I am not a hat man, unless actively involved in the sport, war, or safari to which they relate. I like gizmos so I guess you can say I am a gragarious gismo guy(dont you just love alliteration?) I like(tazers and lasers, metal detectors, financial calculators, telescopes, REAL microscopes with TWO eye pieces, sharp pocket knives, cameras, all kinds of ronco type junk to store in the work shop to use for inventing new gizmos, but only if I can find them at the second hand store)...
ok, so now you have read my babblings about what kinda man I am...what kinda person are you?..just start by finding ONE thing you KNOW for sure about yourself, like....when I shave I'm a blade man. (unless driving, then I like rotary electrics, not screen type shavers) I'm a loafer man, a nike/addidas guy, a diesel freak..not in brief(s), I'm a boxer shorts guy...I'm a movie buff...I'm a drudgereport fanatic...(dont even suggest a ditto head)...
And yes, I am a legs man, because like they say, We shall not cease from exploration; and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and to know the place for the first time.- T.S. Elliot
I guess that makes me a TS Elliot man...or maybe a Robert Frost man ...or a Thotman...yeah, that's the ticket..I am a Thotman! 8/30/2005 #67 Alvin has moved onI found this entry in my journal...its from April 3, 2004
I left a post partially completed on a bulletin board by stating that I had just received a call and that My good friend Alvin's heart had stopped and he was being transported to the hospital...someone in a later post wondered if he was ok...and spoke of the meaning of Happiness....
Well, there was nothing they could do to help him...He passed away this morning (an otherwise bright and sunny day) Just the day after a doctor had pronounced him fit as a fiddle and ready to return back to his "home" at the Belaire care facility where he had been oh so very happy. Last evening I went to have dinner with him in what he called the half way house, another care facility where he could get rid of the resistant bacteria he contracted while in the hospital for his pneumonia....We talked a lot about his struggle to get off the ventilator, to have his trache removed...to work thru the learning curve required to cough with his MD weakened diaphram and his weakened lungs...all for just one more visit to his home town of Caliente Nevada...Its been his focus since Christmas and the driving force behind his recovery from pneumonia...
Now, I dont have much of a definition of happiness, but I know it when I see it...and I know that Alvin was happy by the look on his face and the sparkle in his eyes...the words he spoke and the willingness to struggle thru the last seven years of increasingly impossible movement....His anticipation and his peace of mind as he knew he was drawing near to the end, sixty eight years is not that old...I am sure he felt he would make it to May 31 and maybe even the family reunion, but surely to the greatest banquet to be had in any city park in the nation, he was absolutely driven to get there...it made him so happy just thinking about it, (just like I know people who are NOT happy for their lack of purpose)...In fact, the contrast has often been the subject of a lot of thot on my part when, after my long visits with Alvin, I meet up with people and see the manifestation of the antithisis of his happiness ...its probably like the supreme court said about obscenity....I cant exactly define it but I know it when I see it and when I dont....
Today has been a totally hard day for me, from the calls to his family out of state to the packing up of his rooms in both care centers...its so funny how much of what I expereinced today as I sat on his beds in two different care centers, and just boxed up simple things like grand children's pictures, and listened to the CD he loved so much of one local country western band....to cleaning off his scripture shelf, packing up his videos, his slippers and retreiving his jazzy, his pivot lift, and all the many things I had transported to his room for him...looking at the 286 laptop on which he entered hundreds of thousands of geneology records and his new pentium computer with windows XP, on which sat the pictures of Christ, just under the painting by his father, and the cross stitch by his mother...I got this sense of how meaningless what we do might seem to someone else while providing for US the very purpose of life. I have never seen my friend Alvin as anyone all that profound, but in contrast to the things I so often see in life, I think he was a pretty deep thinker...Someone who wanted to find in the beliefs and practices of everyone else a reason to appreciate them and feel great about himself at the same time...Completely unlike those who are so insecure in their convictions that they have to repeat endlessly how deceived or ignorant everyone else is...
Today as I went into the room where the doctors and nurses had left his lifeless body after the battle to recessitate him, he was still sporting the tubes and leads that would tell them of their progress...I closed his eyes and touched his still warm body, held his lifeless hand and grappled yet again with the concept of life and the reality of death...it was so different than our converstation during dinner last night...his essense no longer there to express emotion and hope and feelings I could understand...I wondered if he hovered nearby unseen, or if he was off exploring...or if all of my thinking along those lines was merely some missunderstanding of what really had occured...I felt no sadness or any sense of emotion for the longest time, well, not until I phoned his daughter and started to talk about the man we will all miss. Only then did my emotions overtake me. A sadness came to me for his grandchildren who will never know his sense of humor...and will miss his laughter and his innocent expressions of a very deep love he holds for them. I was for a moment filled with regret that I had not more often voiced my admiration and love for one of the truest friends I have ever had, until I came to my senses and I again gave him enough credit to believe he could see that for himself....And I ached that he had only found such purpose and freedom to be himself in the last couple of years...
I called the list of people he had asked me to call...in the event of his death...Each one was so greatful to be among those he had singled out to hear the news in the first few minutes...one marveled at his goodness, some cried, while others were just pleased to know he had found joy in his last few years...I think the one that most affected me was one of the nurses at his "home" care facility who had visited him in preparation for his return...she just sobbed lightly and asked how she could tell the other residents who were his closest friends, expecially John, his sports fan buddy, He gave Alvin a "work order" each day which consisted of all the televised sporting events they loved to discuss.
When his bishop arrived, there was time for another visit to his mortal remains, and a long and philosophical conversation about the good that men can do in the lives of others...and how he did so much in his condition...one person I called wanted to assure me that I would receive rewards for my few efforts...I realized as she spoke that rewards are not so much later, but have been coming three and four fold as I have tried to be his friend and help him find some little joy...for each single blessing we provide, there are many which return before we even have the chance to turn and walk away. Oh, how I will miss the way he lit up when his friends appeared in his room, or the many experiences I lived as we traveled back to his home town or just lived vicariously thru his wonderful memory...I would never have known his brothers who passed on before him nor seen in my minds eye, his father and oldest brother chasing that train with all those ice cream cones for the young wife and 3 boys still on the 1942 passenger train platform, as it pulled out, leaving them to catch the next train for Omaha. I would have never seen the 8th grade tuba player, or the meat cutter at the town market...the railroad surveyor or the machanic in the bottom of a nuclear blast hole fixing the machine that digs the bomb cavern over a mile and a half deep....I would never have met his living brother or attended his sister-in-laws small baptist congretation or met his neices and nephews...I would never have known so many other family members, some of whom are dear friends now....and I would never have known the boy who never quite got over his parents separation and divorce when he was just 9 years old.....How I will miss hearing about everyone who called each day and what they shared about goodness knows what...or watching him survey all the gifts for his grandchildren under his computer table with the christmas tree on top, as he nodded his approval and wished like a child that Christmas would come faster...
I guess it will be strange not getting a couple calls a day...or seeing him snoozing in his jazzy in the afternoon if by chance I pass by just to say HI!!!...I probably wont notice that my life will lose some meaning in not being able to scratch his head back where he cant reach it...or adjust his position in his chair...or put him in the van for the trip to see the Cougars play football...to go get his eyes checked....and I think next Christmas when my family rides light rail to see the lights on Temple Square, I will be more aware of the empty space where my friend in the jazzy should be.
He had this idea that he would be a guardian angel to his grandchildren who are living in an abusive home...I hope his intuition about it gives them some little advantage where none now exists....and maybe, just maybe, I will come to understand why he worried about things which just never seem to worry me in the least...I am sure that I will write a few more things about him in the days ahead....probably as I try to order my thots about who he was and why I was lucky enough to have crossed paths with him...such a grand thing in my life...probably so I would come to understand more clearly what it means to anticipate...or express happiness as he did on our first trip to Salt Lake City...while coming over the point of the mountain into Utah county, he burst out in suprisingly melodic song...OH what a beautiful Morning, oh what a beautiful day...I got a wonderful (beautiful) feeling...everything's going my way...and you know...It probably is. #66 For Love or MoneyI saw the finale of the for love or money reality show...In the end the guy gave up his 50 % chance of getting a million dollars....She gave up her certainty of getting a million dollars....WHAT?...yep, for the chance at love...A really cool ending in my opinion!....However, it lead to a conversation with my daughter about money in marriage...From that conversation, one thot stuck in my mind...I think it's when I told her, when a couples stuggles all the time to make ends meet, the rest of the relationship suffers...I have had times of near poverty and times when I had a lot of money...and I believe that dispite those who would say that being poor is no shame, but only an inconvenience,...MY relationship with my wife has been better when the stresses of money have not been daunting...There is nothing more frustrating than dealing with the insceurities of ones spouse resulting from monitary concerns, and there is nothing more fun than delightful times when money is not even on the list of concerns. I recall one time in particular when the lack of money put so much stress on our relationship that I just about started looking for someone else...As I look back, I realize that it is she who should have done that.... 8/29/2005 #65 War MoviesI just got off the phone with my cousin, we talked movies...he had just watched Man without a Face...MEL Gibson...I had just seen Cinema Paradiso...we discussed all the old war films...Bridge on the River Qwai...the Dirty Dozen...Apocolypse Now(love the scene on the beach with the rock and roll playing at a billion decibels from the chopper)...Saving Private Ryan...the Big Red One...Das Boot.....
Have any of you seen any great war or military movies?...Like the Deer Hunter or say...World War 2 movies...WWI movies...Vietnam movies...Civil War movies...Shenendoah stands out for me...especially the prayer by Jimmy Stewart.("Lord, we cleared this land, we plowed it, sowed it, and harvested. We cooked the harvest. It wouldn't be here, we wouldn't be eatin' it.... if we hadn't done it all ourselves. We worked dog-bone hard for every crumb and morsel, but we thank you just the same anyway, Lord, for this food we're about to eat. Amen."
...I didnt like Glory much...or Tora Tora Tora...or Midway...or Patten...but I liked Memphis Belle...and Stallingrad...etc... Do you have any favorites? 8/28/2005 #64 Hurricanes and PrayersI have been wondering what those who see God's hand in EVERYTHING are thinking as Hurricane Katrina bears down upon the Gulf coast. The reason I ask is that I am sure there are those who believe that what happens to us in this life is based on a cause and effect relationship. I am a person who thinks religion in general is a good thing in our world. I think it offers us certain beliefs and approaches to living that are beneficial. I also believe that some of the worst human catastrophies in history have been caused by people who pretended to act in the name of God. (that is another LONG discussion)...
This evening as I watched the storm track approach New Orleans(n'orlins) and recognized the difference it would make if the eye struck twenty miles WEST of the city as opposed to twenty miles EAST of the city, I asked myself...if everyone in the USA who believes in God prayed that it go to the west, how likely would it be that the prayer would be answered?...I figured about 50-50...but before you religionists wave your hand and call me an athiest, or before you non believers wave your hands and call me deluded for even discussing prayer in such matters...let me tell you that I think prayer is a positive no matter your religious persuasion.
In the next 12 hours I think the cards will play out, and either the city will be flooded with no electricity to pump out the water, or by some "miracle" it wont...I think HOW we look at it is what distinguishes us as believers or not...No matter how you see it, we must recognize that millions will be talking to God with a sincerity and in quiet desperation as they fear unimaginable loss. Some will be pleading with God to intervene for them personally, others will be begging God to protect the region generally. I also think that no matter the outcome, those who pray will be convinced that their prayers were answered at least in some measure. (he didnt save our home but at least he saved us, kind of rational).
I think there is a very deep and important connection with the whole of humanity when people unite in prayer, or on any level of consciousness that brings them into one mind. I know people who believe that our prayers should be specific as in the protection of ONE individual or for material blessings that can be quantified, while others believe in general prayers for such things as wisdom or insight or compassion, in dealing with the losses that are projected.
I believe that prayer is a useful and important aspect of our existance. As one who believes in God, I find the idea of talking to him at times of distress or fear, just as important as in times of calm or joy. I dont know if I believe it will determine the path of a hurricane, but it will enable us as individuals to formulize our feelings in such a way that we are better prepared to deal with any potential aftermath..
It is in this aftermath that we will see who are really the believers. In the stories told to our children AFTER the storm passes...Our children and grandchildren will inevitably ask how WE came thru the storm...if the stories we tell them accentuate the hand of God.. or if they totally lack any reference to God, or if we see some divine influence, is the choice we will all make.. The word choice is the key.
I have chosen in my life to find God somewhat involved with me. Part of my existance, willing to speak peace into my mind, and able to influence my perceptions, even when the outcome of events others are trying to change by an appeal, is not as prayed for. I join the millions of those who are praying for intervention in this immenent crisis...My prayer is additionally, for all those whose prayers may not be answered as they desired...to understand the difficulty God has when one prays for the hurricane to miss his house...and someone else is praying for the same thing...times a million......leaving God little room for a hurricane of that size to pass without having to choose. Or not get involved in that whole hurricane herding busniess (I hear its a lot like herding cats)...
If God were to ask me what I would like done, I would just say...if it doesnt matter to you, I think it might be better if the eye happened to fall where the population would be the least affected...then ultimately I would just wait out the storm before going to see how I could help others...who knows that might be the first time in hours that God's hand will become visible...
However we choose to see the events that will unfold, I pray for the young the old and the innocent that they will be comforted... #63 You ole potlicker!!I inherited some pretty great lessons in my life. I have always wanted to share those attitudes and views of the world with my children, but, it seems that I have mostly failed miserabley to convey to them the things most precious to me. I have been distressed for years that my son and daughters didnt love as I do the simple pleasures that, like my grandfather, I so enjoy. Their lack of any sort of desire to incorporated those attributes in to their psyches, has had me simply beside myself. How does one pass down "family" personality and tradition when those who could simply "have it" almost like those refusing to inherit a family business, would perfer something completely different.
I have felt a certain sense of rejection each time I, again, understand that my children find little value in dad's pup tent philosophies. It has been a HUGE disappointment for a lot of years as I grappled with the whys of their inablity grasp the essense of what I AM...(I know, they probably do, but just do not find it worth imitating)
When my cousin Darrel died, all of that changed. You see, he was the first among cousins. Grandpa's first "lil rascal" grandson. "grandpa he said...you see that bird over there? yes...well I am going to hit it with this rock"...the laughter, my grandpa said, was cut short when the rock struck the bird in the head and knocked it to the ground...while Darrel raced to retrieve his prize....There were a few more scalliwags, including me, apart from those "obedient" grandkids. Alan, Jim, Darrel and I were always up to our eyeballs in adventure. We absorbed his words and ideas like sponges, and imitated him with gusto.
It was during Darrels funeral, that I sat listening to his children eulogize him. He was about as religious as grandpa, hunted and fished with the same zeal or just a little more. He knew how to fix things, he spoke with the same mannerisms, and rambled on while his kids hardly ever absorbed all the meaning in them. As they spoke of their father I realized that the things THEY found admirable, were not really the most wonderful things about him... Please, dont think I am critical of their love for him, or their best recollections, but their joys and memories included very little of the essense of his being...they recognized what a great provider he was, how he would listen to them and help them thru life, attending their activities and being part of THEIR world....but I wondered how all but maybe Randy had missed being run over by HIS world.
His funeral was different in that after the children spoke, as part of his tribute two at a time, six of his oldest grand children came to the microphone and just "talked" about their grandpa...dialogued with each other before the mourners, who at once were saddend by his loss, and completely THRILLED by the mirror images of him they saw in those kids...I recalled one grandson saying to his sister...you know the thing I will miss most about grandpa will be when he says "get over here and have some sunflower seeds, you old potlicker" ( defined as a sly ole dog(some say lazy) who refuses to fight for the food but just licks the pot after the other dogs are gone)
In an instant I could hear MY grandpa talking to me as we broke apart the sunflower heads, that phrase of almost critical endearment was something I heard countless times from gandpa, my uncle use occasionally after grandpa died, but never like HE had used it...and here as if in recessive genes Darrels grandkids revealed the identical trait. The more they talked the more I listened to my grandfather as if he were speaking from the dead. One of them even waved his hand in a perfect imitation of him. THATS WHEN IT HIT ME...we dont fully pass our essense to our kids...it filters thru them... to our GRANDKIDS!!!
In the movie "Back to the Future" Doc comes back for Marty, he puts some garbage in Mr FUSION and says...COME ON! you gotta go with me into the future, there are problems...Marty seeing his anxiety, says what is it Doc, is it ME? Is it Jennifer?...no no no Doc assures him...ITS YOUR KIDS!... That pretty well defines the universal dilemma...
Yesterday I got a call from my mother. She and my two married daughters were out "slummin' " ...ok, shopping. I have begun to see in them so many of moms habits, expressions, and mannerisms that it makes me wonder how I had missed this great truth. They say that girls grow up to be like their moms, which genetically may happen, but I want to tell you, I think the environmental influences passed from grandparent to grandchild are the perveyors of the most important family personalities and the essense of each one of us.
We seem to have done the chores FOR our parents, but with our grandparents we worked WITH them...became their feet and extra hands...kinda sorta worshipped them...waited to be with them...hated to leave them and absorbed their inner hopes and dreams, without even tryin'...
So, now that I have discovered this happy reality...I think I can sleep better even when some future grandson wakes me up from a nap in the hammock and I am forced to say..."you ole potlicker"....now that you woke me up, wanna go fishin' with grandpa?...
8/27/2005 #62 Ah da boys dey like da beans so much...When I grew up, whenever we ate beans, pork and beans, ham hocks with beans, kidney beans, chili beans, pinto beans, lima beans(yuck)...my father would inveribly say...ah da boys de like da beans so much...I tink I'll haf to git-dem-some...it has been a part of my life since I was just a li'l tyke...I thot they were some cute words he just liked.
Once I was sitting on my grandparents step leading up to their front door, when my father came by to pick me up...when my grandfather invited him to sit down on the step and visit for awhile he refused, saying he didnt like sitting on the front steps much...I thot it had to do with them being too hard or something...
One day we were thinking up long and strange names in a small bet about who would pay for some shakes...(and these had to be real people's names)......I offered Nada Talliumptiewah, my mother said FV Mackadangdang...my Dad crinkled his nose...and came up with Adolph Klinkerfoosse....I thot he made it up...why not just say, Grazilda Thudpucker I interjected (implying his name was made up)...no he is a real guy my father insisted...yeah right!
I was crawling around up in the attic one day and came across a suitcase filled with a bunch of war stuff, a bayonett, a japanese flag, and pictures of pieces of bodies all over this blood stained beach...(the black and white pictures were glossy and terribly sharp). I looked over the horrible scenes...read the writing on the scabbard of the bayonett...new caledonia, mariannas, treasurey islands, palau, okinowa...just places at the time...
I have never really known my father...tho we have played baseball, golfed, fished, rode horses, and spent millions of hours together. One day three years ago during a move from their home of 50 years, to a new residence, after the city put a roundabout in my parents' front yard, I saw a photo album I had never seen before...opening it I saw pictures of my father on skis, with friends before he had met my mother...as a marine... with his brother and step sister, each of whom I met only twice in my entire life. I said HOW can a photo album like this stay hidden from ME for 45 years?...It had...
In the last four years I have discovered his year books, and understood why he could teach me how to play basketball, baseball and football...In one of them was his High school letter...N..ormandy high school...I looked thru pictures of the baskeball teams, the baseball teams...there he was!...looking remarkabley like my son...amidst the many classmates I spied a picture of the golf team...and read the names...including Adolph Klinkerfoosse...I started to laugh...he had ended up paying because we thot he was putting us on...
I think tho that discovering this man, has been a very hit and miss proposition. During a visit to my food warehouse, he saw a few pallets of pinto, small red, and navy beans...and again I heard the familiar recititation...ah da boys dey like da beans so much, I tink Ill haf-ta-git-dem-sum...Where did you get that I laughed...he stopped, and for a minute I saw the wheels turning...I was 9...it was winter and very cold in St Louis that year...Mrs Johnsenn the cook at "the home" had just put beans on our table for the sixth time that week, when the woman headmaster of the orphanage came in...we all started eating to keep from being chastized...upon her entry the cook spoke to her boss, in reference to all of us kids eating the beans...ah da boys dey like da beans so much, I tink Ill haf-ta-git-dem-sum...I can hear her like it was yesterday...Finally...it made perfect sense...he was living in his memory as I live in mine...tho maybe not as comfortably
That lead me to ask how it was at the orphanage...my fathers mother had died when he was just 6 and my grandfather was simply not able to take care of him and his little brother ken (4) ...a step sister Elnora had become a proxy mother for a year or so, but it was just too much for her, so they were placed in an orphange run by the evangelicals...My father sat on those pallets of beans and talked to me about his years right after arriving there...
I heard a lot of things I had always imagined were the evils in orphange movies, the strict religion classes, the loneliness, the chow halls, and the anxiety of a young boy just 8 years old as he watched over his little brother and sat on the big cement step out front of the orphanage, looking down towards the corner...waiting...expecting... knowing...that their father would be coming around the corner any minute to pick them up, take them with him...home..."We used to wait there nearly all day for the first year...then finally I realized that he wasnt coming back for us"...oh my...my heart broke as I imagined him with ken just sitting there, looking down the street at the corner, hoping...but feeling so unloved and alone...
My father has been two people in my life...the man who bought me shetland ponies, horses, and bicycles and played chess and checkers and cards...worked with me on cars and tractors and coaching baseball together, baling hay, bowling, hiking, camping, (helping me get ready for each hunt...he personally didnt like killing...maybe the beaches cured him of that )..keeping this "only child" entertained and educated...and yet the meanest diciplinarian this side of devil's tower, who could and would explode at the drop of a hat over the littlest things like me forgetting to wear my coat...or waiting to do any of my chores, or talking back to mom...or being late...or not getting it, when he tried to teach me as a two year old how to spell COOKIE...and ended up screaming at me because I just couldnt get all six letters in the right order...
He would squeeze a nickle until the indian rode the buffalo, yet let the city get away with a hundred thousand less than was fair, because he refused my help...he has never once said to me, in my entire life "I love you"...I think he tried to love me, the best way he knew how...but I have realized that in that tiny mind, sitting on that cold concrete step, the elements in his subconscious that allow it, were never programmed to express love...
Yesterday as I drove into Idaho, and back I was thinking about my father...he is now 84, has had two heart bypass surgeries, and was told two years ago that the maze around his heart is 90% blocked...so I think I have little time left to let him know how much I appreciate that, when I was sitting on the step,...he came for me...took me with him...home....protected me...played sports with me...boasted of me when he didnt think I knew it...drove me to church even if he has never, in my recollection, set his foot in one ....I need to let him know how much I enjoy it when he calls me to tell me of things that are on his mind...how much I respect him for taking up up playing the organ when he was 80...how I admire his intellect and his keen mind.
Tonite I sat with him and we talked for a while...mostly about the lawn and flowers he keeps meticulously, and the sale of my maternal grandparents' home. And I realized that I need to get out my High School letter...my picture albums...trophies hidden away...I need to copy these blogs and hundreds of letters I have written to my kids...and give them more than a couple of glimpses into my soul...
I HOPE for more than this life...mostly for this need I have to know more about those who I have just not had enough time to really get to know...The most important among them being...my dad...
8/26/2005 #61 Meet Joe Black...Movies are filled with great lessons, great music, and great ideas...I watched the classic "Meet Joe Black" many times...I have quoted the advice Bill gave to his favorite daughter Susan in the opening moments of the movie, in an earlier blog...
As I wrote about the Scarlet Letter and thot of a Fathers love, it turned into the recognition of a daughters love for her father...Pearl in the scarlet letter was too young to express it... just an archetype, but in Meet Joe Black, there is the perfect expression of a daughters love. From Bill's OTHER older daughter(about 35)...ALLISON (the name of one of my 5 favorite daughters)...she has spent the entire month preparing for Bill's 65th birthday/retirement party. There is a point where he sees her running around making every last preparation...and asks her this simple question...Why, oh why, Allison, are you doing all this?....her reply is breath taking in its power and innocence......
I do it because I love you. Because everybody I loves you. Mommy -- wherever she is -- Susan, Quince, the people who work for you, everybody who's ever known you. (Bill says...yeah and what about my enemies?) they respect you, isnt that a kind of love?...(then she touches his hair)...Above all you have been a wonderful father. (Bill starts to say...well I havent been the father to you that...) Allison replies...that youve been to Susan?...(I wasnt going to say...)...no, but that is what you were thinking....And that's okay. Because I know you love me. It's not like it is with Susan, the way your eyes light up when she comes in the room and the way she always gets a laugh out of you, as opposed to me when I walk in a room and that look comes over your face, like "What does she want now?" but the truth is daddy, we have never wanted for anything...but more, more than that daddy, I have always FELT LOVED ...then after pausing, she says ....you see you're allowed to have favorites... but the point is YOU are mine..
In this heartfelt confession, the daughter long aware of being "second best"... in a magical and wonderful way, no longer appears to be seeking to please him, or acquire his acceptance.. and in that instant, her actions are recloaked in love...making her a truly sympathetic character...
Later that day, Joe Black(aka death)...escorts Bill into that other realm on his Birthday...but not before the second best line of the movies is played out...Bill knowing he is leaving this world...asks death...Should I be afraid?...to which death shakes his head and replys..
No, not a man like you....
Loved, and unafraid...how better can we meet Joe Black...? #60 "A" Scarlet LetterI read on a young man's site tonite, the following entry on one of his LISTS...
Nathaniel Hawthorne: Scarlet Letter
This is an American classic I fell in love with. The idea of forgiveness and penance for the broken soul is something that applies to humanity in general. Bias should be set aside as to the circumstances with which the moral principles are presented. This paragraph took me back to the first three times I read that great american novel...The first time I read it I was 17, and read of Hester Prynne, her husband Chillingsworth, her lover Dimmsdale the preacher, and of course her illegitimate daughter Pearl whos birth presented ample evidence for Hesters condemnation and sentence of wearing the Scarlet letter "A" for Adulteress...
I read the book again at 24, when I had just become a father of a baby girl, Allison...and had discovered new and deeper feelings for another human being than I had ever known...
I read it again when I was 43...by then I had six children and a far different view of marital relationships, insecurity, and interpersonal relationships than I had when I was 17...I think what I want to accentuate here is not the many different "cliff's notes" interpetations of the meaning Hawthorn is said to have had....but to point out how our experiences affect how we read and see life...
When I was 17, (it was a very good year...singing off to kellys in my best sinatra voice)...ok Russ, back to the blog.... Dimmesdale was a weak and pathetic hypocrite, flashy and eloquent, who had impregnated a woman and then didnt have the guts to forsake his priesthood and love the woman who was his intellectual equal...Defy her husband who had abandoned her by sending her to America before his arrival, and was by my best guess a calculating sort...I saw a LOVE STORY that had not come to fullfullment because this "worse than a liar" Dimmsdale was more concerned with popularity than his paying figurative "child support"...damn him, for such insensitivity...too showy , not enough goodness etc..etc etc etc...
At 24, I saw him as a pathetic figure...weak and unable to face up to his humanity, wanting to confess, but afraid...his unwillingness to admit his role in the creation of this wonderfully beautiful little PEARL(who was at once devilishly beyond her years and yet innocent)...but who, like her name represented the covering of the grain of sin(sand) with such beauty that no sin is implied, unless inherited from the father.... (hawthorn's refutation of the sinfullness of children)...and with Hester, like the oyster, destroyed by the coming forth of the Pearl...I lost my sympathy for her inablity to name names and fix the problem, but maybe she loved him....I saw chillingsworth no longer as the ugly man, but the harmed...betrayed...angry man, bitter to the point that I would have tattood "victim" on his forehead and changed the novels title...(ok I exagerate)..
When I read the book at 43, I took a totally different view of Dimmesdale...as someone absolutely CRUSHED by the need to hold and love little Pearl...but within his societal bog, so locked into his own fear of the punishment of God that he could almost not admit it to himself...and become certifiably damned...let alone admitting to the society who would have banished him to an earthly demise socially, economically, and religiously...The conflicted personality, the longing to hold his truest love...his own flesh and blood...I finally ached for this man... and understood how many of us are locked into roles...jobs...secrets....and quiet lives of deperation...DESPARATION...I had never seen him like that...wanting something he simply WOULD not have...(I did not say could not have)...but maybe it is "could"...I dont know...anyway...his pitiful dilemma became for me a type and image of so many of us who need so badly to be someone else, but bound by obligations...but expectations...he was in a marriage of convenience...with "gods work"...while a tiny little Pearl haunted his every dream...how could I have a daughter, and be unable to hold her, love her...see her but never reveal the depth of my love...at once what was for a 17 year old a condemnation of hypocracy...and as a 24 year old an indictment of a mans weakness...became a tragedy in a shakespearian sense...a man destined to never have what he might have had...but never would...
And I asked myself man can overcome our tendencies to be bound to a life we chose, but find excruciating...what is the answer?...hmmm maybe I will find the answer the next time I read it... 8/25/2005 #59 When Bells are changed to tearsI posted this comment on another blog, but after reading it, and since the really good parts come from the book, The Little Prince, I thot I would include it here so those of you who have not read this tiny masterpiece, may understand by reading just a little bit of why I love it.
Sometimes we are overwhelmed by some very wonderful people here, other times we come and enjoy searching for them...at other times its a place where we can write, think, mourn, scribble, or if musically inclined, "decompose"...(I guess that would mean erasing some idea or preconception...or a few quarter notes in the chorus of life)...Sometimes we come in search of one thing or the other, and end up finding ourselves instead, and THAT really is a matter of consequence! I think it's a most spectacular event worth every effort to make it happen, or even ponder it after the fact...
One of my favorite ideas from The Little Prince is on the last few pages...it discusses something of little consequence to most people but to those who have tamed themselves and who know how to tame others...it makes a world of difference...you see, At night I love to listen to the stars. It is like five hundred million little bells...and I keep wondering wondering: what is happening on his planet? Perhaps the sheep has eaten the flower... At one time I say to myself: "Surely not! The little prince shuts his flower under her glass globe every night, and he watches over his sheep very carefully..." Then I am happy. And there is sweetness in the laughter of all the stars. But at another time I say to myself: "At some moment or other one is absent-minded, and that is enough! On some one evening he forgot the glass globe, or the sheep got out, without making any noise, in the night..." And then the little bells are changed to tears... Here, then, is a great mystery. For you who also love the little prince, and for me, nothing in the universe can be the same if somewhere, we do not know where, a sheep that we never saw has-- yes or no?-- eaten a rose... Discovering (by choice or by imposition of events) the answer to that mystery is a lot like the discovery of self, But really, only by coming to understand that OUR ROSE is unique do we really learn how one is "tamed", as was taught to the Little Prince by the Fox. So please, will you allow me to ask of you what the Fox asked the little prince?...Will you please tame me?
(For those interested in reading the Little Prince, there is a link on the right for a copy of the entire text...Feel free to go meet my little friend...for me it has been a matter of great consequence!) 8/24/2005 #58 Shall we dance?I just finished watching, for the second time, the classic Richard Gere, Jennifer Lopez, Susan Serandon, adaptation of the great screen play "Shall we dance?". I cant think of any part of it that didnt inspire me....I think the part of the movie I liked best was a brief exchange between Serandon and the private detective wherein she speaks some of the most beautiful words ever penned. However, they will probably never be renowned or even famous due to the medium in which they were voiced...She explained marriage to him in the following words.
With all these promises that we make and we break why is it, do you think, that people get married..(when he suggests "passion" is the reason, she says ...no, ) It is because we need a witness to our lives, there are a billion people on our planet. I mean what does any one life really mean?.. But, in a marriage you are promising to care about everything...the good things, the bad things, the terrrible things, the mundane things, all of it, all the time, every day...you are saying "your life will not go unnoticed, because I will notice it". " Your life will not go unwitnessed, because I will be your witness."
The final scene of this wonderful movie, does for the ideal of marrige what the final scene in Schindlers list, (where Oscar Schindler recognizes that he could have bought ONE MORE life by selling his gold nazi pin)....did to inspire us toward ideal compassion...
May I recommend two, very nice "little" movies...Shall we Dance, and Chocolat... #57 My Very First RecollectionI can distinctly recall, riding in the back of my grandfathers dark blue 51 chevy pick-up truck the day he and grandma moved from where the BYU Helaman halls swimming pool is now, to their new home in the Provo Riverbottoms. I sat in the back of the bed with the last boxes, the hoover vacuum, some shovels, Grandma's cedar chest, some empty kerr jars, a feather duster, and an old cane left to my grandma by her father. Once we passed MY house, I knew we were almost there, and when I saw Fergusons cherry orchard, I knew we had arrived. So with still about sixty feet to the driveway I commenced helping grampa unload, I threw out the feather duster and the old cane. Right in the middle of the two lane tar and gravel road. My intention was to just pick them up when I got out, but the truck kept moving then turned into the new cement driveway, and finally stopped. Oh no, I thot, I threw out the cane way too soon. When Grandpa got out of the truck, I realized he had seen my antics, he said, now you get back there and pick those things up. I walked back three rows of trees, looked both ways, STOPPED, LOOKED, and LISTENED. NOPE, no cars, so I dashed out and picked up the cane...Grandma, who had followed me, already had the duster. I was 5 months shy of my third birthday.
After he died, Grandpa's house passed to my only surviving aunt, and then when she and her husband died, it went to three of the finest cousins a guy ever had. But its always been Grandpa's house even when my cousins' children lived there. About 4 years ago, I noticed a For Sale sign on the front lawn, that read, Happy Valley Realty. A few months ago I heard they had an offer pending, and a back up offer from another cousin who is my current "best friend". When I heard the closing date would be this weekend, it made me kinda sad, especially when I was invited to come look over what the cousin's hadn't wanted, to see if there was anything I might be able to use.
Wanda offered me a couple "dinette sets", One was the very one grandpa brought there, back in 56. Verl had saved the tools, the hand drill press, the oak armoire, (said wardrobe used as a gun cabinet - the one that held the shotgun into which I had peered...looking straight down the barrel--wanting to see if it was loaded), all the harnesses, singletree's, hay forks, hobbles, hay hooks, and fencing...but there was still a lot of stuff left there. I asked if I could go down and look around in the basement, where I noticed the flood lines about four feet up the wall, marking where the irrigation water had filled the cellar. I looked over and saw the jars of fruit, pickles and juices, now 35 years old. I rummaged thru boxes of books and medicines and mantle pieces and black and white pictures.(those I saved) I found a collection of wooden raspberry cups, sixty year old cottage cheese cartons, and lots of bottles from the past. As I stood looking at the two ringer washers, I happened to notice that under the fruit jars nearby, were thick pads of shelf covering, what?.. NEWSPAPERS!!! In an split second I was removing bottles and boxes from the fruit shelves. I pulled up the first ten sheet section. ALAN SHEPARD RETURNS SAFELY FROM SPACE read the headline. I was like a kid at christmas. Stack after stack revealed, advertisments, obituaries, and MOVIE PAGES with BEN HUR being featured at three of the local show houses and two of the six Drive-ins. I looked at the prices in the ads, the sheer SIZE difference between the front page THEN and a front page now. I asked if anyone wanted the newspapers, and was basically awarded anything in the entire basement other than the hospital bed, and the shaps..
After I had carted most of it off to the truck, I returned to look thru the house for one last time. The light green or ivory oil based paint on the walls my father painted was in remarkable condition for being 49 years old. The lanoleum with the paint splotch design was the same as it had been the day I carried the cane into the house. I went into the bedroom where I'd "helped" move in the cedar chest, the same room to which I had taken grandpa the newspaper the morning of the day he died, and had my last talk with him. Geez, it seems like an eternity ago...and yet the room didnt sound the same today, as it had always resonated with the tick tock tick tock tick tock of his black wind up Big Ben alarm clock....I wondered what became of it...
I peaked into the bathroom, the game cupboard, and the extra bedroom where I always stayed when I slept over. Finally I rubbed my hand over the counter with the boomerang designs and the metal edge. I looked into the utility room where I had plugged in the two pronged plug with the 1 inch raw wires sticking out, that taught me you just dont play with 'the shocker machines"...It had been a wonderful trip into my past...then, as I walked out I opened the closet in the utility room where the wall oven hid...there hanging on the pipe with three bent wire hangers was the cane...OH MY...I reached out and picked it from the bar...I held it, remembered it, and felt as if I had found a piece of me....HEY I yelled...does anyone want this cane?..No, Verl hollered from the garage, we dont want it, if you do, go ahead and take it...it was like in an instant my life had come full circle...
The black handle still had the place where the paint had chipped off when I threw it onto the road...the tip was still missing, and the metal band beneath the handle probably still has my tiny finger prints on it...the slender shaft is still as straight as can be. Wow, I couldnt believe it was still there, that WE were still here.
After I carried it to the truck, we all said goodbye, and I arranged to pick up the ringer-washers and the old hay rake before the sale closes. Then, I drove away with so much more than I had bargained for. I had claimed the very first recollection of my life, a cane used by my great grandfather over a hundred years ago. But , Tonite, it sits here next to me, a reminder of all that is good in my life...and my most precious gift ...that miraculous ability to remember who I am, and to recall my very first vivid memory. #56 Tolerance and Car BashingI do care that all men have respect for the views of others...tho I am not sure why I do...
An analogy might illustrate what I think is a very important aspect of our interpersonal relations in these Blog spaces. Let's say you drive into this town(like coming online)...and seeing me you jump out of your car with an ax and commence hacking away at MY vehicle. Now, many "no contention types"... would take up a defensive position...and try to fend off the blows, patch the holes and repaint their vehicle in the way their image of it is comfortable.
I on the other hand would jump out and get in your face. I would first want to know why anyone would ax another's vehicle (representing anothers views, philosophy or faith)...many times the one bashing the vehicle would say...well I HATE your vehicle...its ugly it will never get you happiness, or salvation or even to Pittsburg for an operation on an ingrown toenail. (la di da) It is not the "true" vehicle as is evidenced by the CORRECT owners manual(whether a science book or scripture or readers digest)....but I LOVE YOU as a driver...HUH?...you gotta be kidding me!
What I wanna know is how anyone can love someone and bash the hell outa their car with an ax, without recognizing that such claims are simply bogus! Now, please don't confuse dialogue or discussion or disagreements we have discovered, with "attack"...Saying I am right does not equate to saying your views absolutely suck.
I am talking about repeated attacks meant to demean or denegrate, even destroy the convictions(vehicle) held by another...There is always room for disagreement, and discussion about differences between our vehicles...any memory of a visit to the barbershop during the sixties where the men there discussed sports CARS and women, is ample evidence that tho MY roadrunner was not the corvette owners preference, ample respect was given in our "comparing" the two....from both sides. For him to have taken an Ax to mine in an effort to convince me to purchase a 'vette...would of course have been as stupid playing chicken with a train.
So too in these "spaces"..we have the opportunity to discuss the views of others in the same manner as we boys in the barbarshop discussed our cars. Usually we all drove home with a smile on our face and the belief that OURS was still better than theirs. Occasionally there were those who were insecure about their vehicle...and put down the other vehicles as slower, less nimble, not as many coats of clear coat, or never driven by "hot" amish women..etc etc etc...and it always reflected badly on them. Sometimes they would question whether someone elses engine had enough torq, or they'd make fun of someone elses wheels...or pretend interest in OUR cars only in order to preach the virtues of theirown And if, no..no... WHEN, they became obnoxious everyone seemed to get it except them...
I drive my vehicle of diverse views because I like it...you drive yours for the same reason...you may want to point out the problems of what you perceive mine to be...and I am ok with that....and when you point out the deficiencies of most Republicans, or Democrats or catholics or moslems, or atheists, I am sure you espect them to respond with a list of specs and pictures available online in an attempt to refute your claims..usually these claims are not vicious...if they are...it is akin to using an ax.
I have found the most effective measure of halting someone from using an ax on my newly painted hood is to use MY ax on theirs in the exact same way...Its funny how people who are ripping out someones stearing column return to defend their car the moment they see you ripping out their CD player. Understand, I dont do it because I mindlessly "LIKE" the car they are vandalizing as they will so often claim, but because I dont like vandalism by "bashing"...other than to illustrate its effects to the "bashers" OH, and I certainly dont like the people who bash everyone elses car but scream like stuck pigs when I bash theirs in the very same way they bash mine.
I type this because I sense that there are many here, just on the edge of that need to AX that "moslem" or that 'athiest' or that feminist or that democrat or any model not like theirs.
People seem to claim to respect imensely the drivers, but they have enabled themselves to somehow separate THEM from bashing THEIR inner beliefs, which often makes THEM who they are. How can people love the man while descimating their most precious emotional and intellectual posessions. I hope this claimed respect for the Republicans, or Wiccans or Arabs or illegal aliens, and those others who do not share their beliefs, can be easily expanded to include "respect"(not meaning agreement) for what is dear to them as well, even their old jalopy, their 3000GT, their lamborgini...or their 51 chevy pickup.
Those who respect me...respect my choices of what I drive and how I maintain it. I respect those who I respect, not only for their choices simliar to my own, but, for those differences we have as well. At least I do, IF they are not total jerks...
I hope the discussions we have here in the future will reflect that kind of broad based tolerance for such differences, and that we might advocate our own views, our own spiritual leanings or political agendas, in a way that doesnt require demolishing the vehicle others are driving thru life. It is a false hope that if we demolish their vehicle, (said 'opinion') that they will somehow go out an purchase one like we drive....The fact is...They rarely do...
As an afterthot...I am not sure what motivates those who arrive in town with their ax in the first place...and commence to vandalize every car of a certain type...Some claim it is because they owned one and it sucked...others claim it is because they have the one GOD says is best....and others claim it is because those that drive that type of car need to be awakened to the terrible repair record that can be found in consumer reports...(usually not noticing the consumer report on their own car)....still others come because they need the attention, the false confidence and the psychological boost, even the adrenalin rush that swinging the ax evokes...and finally there are those whose car once broke down, who got in a wreck where family died...or experienced just too many recalls...and they are pissed off...and are going to get even with some imagined "manufacturer" of such vehicles... So I repeat...my problem is not that they are bashing any TYPE of car....or that they are voicing disagreement, but that they are vandalizing anything......period.
Now, am I justified in vandalizing a vandalizers car?... Is it ok to be intolerant of intolerance?......ah hell, why not?
#55 The Ferris wheel of LIFEI attended a funeral of someone I bearly knew...my cousin's wife died at the age of 31...they have four children 12, 8, 5, and 1....It was kinda sad really...She died of a massive infection they just couldnt get under control. During the funeral my cousin talked about each of his children and how much she loved them...during his thotful, nearly contempletive tribute, he told of getting on a Ferris wheel with his oldest daughter...and how she became frightened and wanted to GET OFF...but they were unable to do so until the ride stopped...He recounted how troubled he was to see her in such emotional turmoil, knowing he could do nothing to alliviate her stress. When the Ferris wheel finally came to a stop and she found her mothers arms only then did she find solace....
I recall once being in a similar tho less poignent situation...At the intersection of Center street and University avenue in Provo, the Fourth of July carnival company erected their "rock-o-plane" the Ferris wheel with the cages that will either pivot or lock in place....When I was about 12, I recall getting on that ride with two friends....the ride began, and due to the few people there at that time in the afternoon two days before the actual holiday, they gave us extra long rides. It was beyond glorious, I almost think the attendant had left for lunch, which was fine for all of us...UNTIL someone in another of those cars THREW UP... Due to the speed of the spinning/rotating cars the most foul smelling vomit went everywhere...into practically every car on the entire ride...It seemed to blast thru the screen into our car, ugghhhhh it got all over us...Someone else in another car, when hit with that same smell, promptly became nauseus, followed suit and we got another vomit shower. We thot the ride would soon end but appaently the operator didnt grasp what was happening, because that ride went on for another eight or nine minutes...and no amount of yelling or screaming seemed to affect the time we were going to go round and round and round and round...Until, FINALLY, it was over, and we went over into the park and hosed ourselves off completely...what a sickening smell....even now the thot of it nauseates me.
As my cousin talked I realized that life is a lot like riding the ferris wheel..most of the time it is as intended...exillerating...and pretty much a joy ....but when things go wrong or we get afraid or circumstances cause us to come under intense stress...there is just no getting off to ride another day...It seems we are booked onto this ride until the God stops the Wheel and we climb off...hopefully into that next realm....and yet when I anticipate its end, there is a certain sadness at its completion.
I sat next to my mother and watched her as she listened to the eulogy...She says she's getting old...tho I find someone at three quarters of a century who still goes to the gym twice a week pretty young. When I later talked to her about the Ferris wheel, she suggested that her chair is nearing her exit...I think she was reminded more of her mortality than on most other days...I for one hope all our ferris wheels keep lifting us up for just a few more revolutions so we can again see our world again from many different angles...and that on each turn of the wheel we find ourselves joyous rather than stressed or saddened by the experience...
I read a blog about a man who is feeling stressed about financial matters. I read a blog about a young girl who is stressed about her lack of perceived perfection and beauty...I read another blog by a woman afraid that her son is in harms way...I thot about the MONSTER ferris wheel at Lagoon, Utah's answer to Magic mountain or Coney island. It has so many seats and riders who are, like the bloggers mentioned, sometimes reluctant but mostly willing riders there...
I have this sense that each, at times, would like to have the ride stop so they can get their feet under them, maybe hose off, even if only for a few minutes......unfortunately, the ferris wheel of life does not stop for us, until our final descent...Most of us have many more revolutions until that time comes, and the only solution for the misery, stress or fear seems to be in very few factors...
Who is there to hold us and give us comfort...how we are able to reassess, and recover from, those factors that produce the misery, or how we endure them, or finally overcome them. In the end tho, it boils down to how much we actually love riding the ferris wheel to begin with. Me?...Well, I cant wait until tomorrow when I will again experience the thrill of the next rotation, the next opportunity, the next vista from the very top, or the butterflies in my stomache as we drop earthward, or climb again skyward... as I breath in deeply the autumn air while I ride the ferris wheel of life with those I love. (its ok, slide over close to me and we'll hold on tight)
8/22/2005 #54 A Best Friend...PricelessI just happened to come upon a wonderful blog by David...a young man from Logan Ut. He shared a memory about his BEST friend. Best friends are such a rare commodity...I think often we believe we are the only ones who could possibly have such devoted, caring and supportive friends...David reminded me that Best friends are as rare as hens teeth...as precious as family, and as important as the reflection of ourselves we see in them.
I met my best friend at a table in the lunch room during the 7th grade. He was a skinny little guy, who overcompensated his diminuative size with an agressively fun personality that took no prisoners. Brent, was at once my supreme challenge, and my most ardent advocate. You see, what did not become apparent to me for nearly two years, was that he was destined to die within ten short years. He had cystic fibrosis, and the coolest rounded fingernails you ever saw.
I dont know what it was about him or me that fit like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Brent was in every way my superior, he was smarter, funnier, more thotful, and certainly happier than anyone I ever met. We just hung out for the first two years of our acquaintance...then one summer while I watched a little league game at north park in Provo, a familiar laugh came from behind me, and I turned to look at my friend sitting on the bench right behind me... I asked him what he had been up to, and he confessed to having spent a month in the hospital with pneumonia. It was the first time I had ever understood that this incurable disease was something serious...When we graduated from Jr High, his parents had invited my family to go out to celebrate with them. Hearing his mother tell mine what Brent thot of me was the most important boost of self esteem I have ever experienced...and on that little league bench I had my first "deep worry" about my friend. It was a moment when the Sun Sets on an acquaintance and a deep and caring friendship is born. That day we decided to see if we could locker together as sophmores. It turned out that we lockered together for all three years, tho our girlfriends ususally took up more of our locker/lockers than we did. But we always just loved the choices of girls the other invited there.
I think of the possible 18 classes in high school, we had 12 together. Lunch, study hall, double dates, games, playoff weeks, or just cruising...Brent and Russ were inseperable. We golfed, skiied, rode motorcycles, fixed cars, played basketball, pool, and went to every rock dance, prom or other formal there was. In the twelfth grade Brent decided to date the triplet sister of the girl I was dating, and so what had been a three quarter time association, came to be nearly full time crossing of paths...From 17 to 19 he became to me, an only child, the closest thing to a brother I could have ever known. He was everything good in the universe. Dispite his yearly month or so in the hospital, his return to our world marked a change of the season from dull and gray to bright and joyous. He drove a bright yellow Dodge Charger with a 340 sixpak, an eight track player with a trunk full of tapes...from Chicago, to the Doors, to Jethro Tull's thick as a Brick, we traveled a maze of emotions and places while I rode shotgun. We studied like monks, we played with complete abandon. And when he Died at 23, I hurt for years. I have always wished my kids could have known him...My son is so much like him sometimes that I wonder if they should have been twins...
I still get a call from his mother every year on my birthday, and I call her on his. His memory is the most uplifting thot I can ponder... To see him dancing with Susie in the ballroom dance class to crocidile rock (I remember when rock was young, me and susie had so much fun...holdin' hands and skippin stones..) to attend their wedding, ...or to just feel his singluar handshake at the completion of one of our superhuman accomplishments. In each I find joy personified.
Brent was my idol. He was everything good I will ever be, and expressed about me what Sancho expressed toward Don Quixote...he simply said...I LIKE HIM!...and I liked Brent in exactly the same way... He was my BEST friend, there is nothing I could say or do to honor him more than that. It is the finest compliment one human being can pay to another...I will always be in his debt for his priceless gift to me...his friendship...and the knowlege that he saw in me enough to express a brotherly love(philadelphia) that will never fade. So I could know, and will ever know, that I was his BEST friend too.
For a wonderful view of what can be called a "sunset moment" that instant when the bond is infinitely forged...please read this most wonderful blog by someone who is just 17...and has been blessed with a BEST friend.
#53 Adventures?..What adventures?I have been trying to think exactly when it was that life stopped being a "an adventure"...I have noticed that my escapades have mellowed significantly in the last twenty years. I swear I am not getting old or anything like that...its just that what I now see as an adventure doesnt usually have the same adrenelin rush as the activities I use to indulge in...
I mean where I used to just think, HEY lets go to Vegas for BREAKFAST(400 miles away) ....then drive all night with three frends, laughing and anticipating that glourious 99 cent breakfast...arriving in the early morning to cruise the strip and fremont street, see the lights, and wish we were old enough to gamble...NOW I just say...I think I'll go over to the one man band, have breakfast and read the paper...
Where I used to get up at 1 am to climb Mt Timpanogas straigth up nearly 12000 feet just so I could watch the sunrise...now I get up at 6 to go hit the ball, while in a nine hole business meeting.
Where I used to float the Provo river, ski that back country powder, and hike deep into the Unita range lake regions (where they loose all those boy scouts)...now I MAY if lucky do little flyfishing there, ski the groomed trails and drive into a recreation area complete with restrooms...
Where I used to Saddle up, ride up the RR tracks to the canyon, cross into the foot hills and explore Cascade mountain all day, ride my 12 speed around Utah lake, or go out in the west desert to dig for fossils and explore caves....Now I store my tack in the shed, drive around Utah lake noticing all the housing developments.(ride a bike on that busy winding road and you 're a dead man), and visit the fossil museum and read about young people perishing in caves.
Where I used to raft down the Green river and dive from the cliffs of flaming gorge, visit black churches in South LA, and go flying in gliders and single engine planes at the heber airport...now I fish the Green, wince while I watch those stupid kids doing what I once did...admire the cadance of black preachers on TV, and go to aviation museums and wonder how those tale gunners on a B-17 fit in that little tiny space.
Where I used to drive deep into Wyomings star valley just to picnic for an hour with a beautiful woman under a big tree near a crystal clear creek..bucked bails of hay for 36 straight hours so we didnt loose it to the approaching storms...went to every MIDNIGHT movie of such cultural depth as MONTY PYTHON in search of the Holy Grail (well, you cant expect to wield supreme exectutive power just 'cause some watery tart thru a sword at you!!! I mean, if I went around sayin' I was an emperor, just because some moistened bint had lobbed a scimitar at me they'd put me away!!!) NOW, I take my wife and kids to wines park or we stay home and bbq... or get homesick when I smell fresh alfalfa on a semi I pass on the freeway, and decide not to go to the 9 oclock movie, cause it gets out too late...
Where I used to want to play six or seven instruments, and would spend hours at the piano, figuring out the latest song off the radio...Going to every concert that came to Utah, and spent more time in the Fine arts center seeing plays than going to class, .now I seldom play anything but the CD player...have to bribe my kids to watch a rock concert on TV, and have given up buying tickets to the University Drama season or the Symphony.
So, this week I think I should hold out for an adventure...Not sure what it will be, but its got to be a long way from home, a little dangerous, somewhat romantic...and seriously fun!!! Lets see, what's social, creative, humorus, intellectual, physical, and spritual, all at the same time?...
One thing for sure, I'm takin' along one DVD about a king on an adventure, from my collection...as I go in seach of... fun...and I mean the Holy Grail of fun....Adventure!
8/20/2005 #52 Blessed are they that Love MusicToday I decided to give the priority/angle blogs a rest and work instead on something that would eminate totally from emotion. I listed a lot of Music URLs that I hoped those who stumbled upon this site might enjoy if they decided to camp out and peruse a blog or two...During my search for some of the music sites in my past where I used to chat with friends from around the world, I ran across a few that had been discontinued and some new ones that were simply incredible..
I have listened to music all day as I collected tunes, and memories from every part of my past. During my visit to VP (virtual places/halsoft) I came across hundreds of websites with music and pictures about LOVE and being IN LOVE. There were a few sites with "tasteful" nudity and some with dedications by site creators for special people in their lives... Almost every one had pictures that when combined with the music produced pure emotion...
I would like you do an experiement with me...go to my "MUSIC that SAYS something" list, and double click on the "wonderful world" with Louis Armstrong and KENNY G...observe the pictures as the song plays...and if you care to comment let me know what "emotions" you felt if any....I think for me the most poignant emotions I felt today were when, I found the Jimmy Buffet site(the lead in tune is GREAT) and the link on it to the Harry Chapin tune, I had to say I love you in a song...listening to it brought so many emotions and memories to the surface that it made my entire day simply marvelous...The most powerful feelings tho came when I listened to "rainy night in georgia" the sense of melencholy just overwhelmed me...My heart ached...I hope you will take time to listen and enjoy the music that is within me...as you wander around my...no, our space a bit.
As has been said,..Blessed are they that love music for they shall feel a life of emotions 8/19/2005 #51 Laughter cures AnythingPriority#5/Angle#6
Humor is absolutely the most important aspect of any personality. Unfortunately so many of the people I encounter are totally humorless. Today I walked into a business and recounted THREE stories that the day before had six grown men nearly rolling on the floor...the employees listening today, didnt even crack a smile...Maybe it was just ME, maybe I just didnt tell them right....could be like the story about the guy who arrives at the prison to serve his time. The first day out in the yard he hears all the inmates calling out numbers followed by peels of laughter. After about thirty minutes he says to an old "lifer", whats going on?...someone yelled 67...and everyone laughed....the lifer said well after you are here as long as WE have been, you hear the same jokes and stories so many times that its easier to just number them. Someone else yelled out... 42...pandamonium broke out among the blacks, but only mild laughter from most or the others in the yard... Are you kidding?...wow that is cool....I think I'll try it...so he yelled out...55!!!....there was little or no reaction at all...thinking he must have chosen a number that didnt have a joke assigned to it, he called out another 86!....still no one laughed...I dont get it, he said, why dont they laugh?...the old man looked at him incredulously...well son its like this, ...some know how to tell'm....and some dont. I have always believed that almost anyone can "know how to tell'm, and make others laugh, or at very least smile.
I have always loved a good laugh. I have always liked funny stories integrated into practical lessons as illustrations of points I am trying to make, much more than just a "joke" that seems "out of place" or a joke for the jokes sake, so to speak. I know a man who when he speaks in church always starts with a "joke" to break the ice. Sometimes no matter how funny they are they just dont contribute to the point being made... Most people love to laugh whether it adds to the topic or not, but we all have different tastes and needs. I guess we all perceive things differently due to our experiences, our IQ or even our cultures. What is serious to one, is hilarious to someone else...sad to one, cleaver to another...common to one personal to another... I once heard of a Czech who came to the USA, and had to take an eye exam. E FP TOZ LPED when he got to the 20/20 line he squinted and did a double take...whats wrong asked the doctor, you can see it can't you?..SEE IT? shouted the joyous Czech, I KNOW THE GUY!...
Paradox, satire, irony, and the unexpected twists that make the ordinary extraordinary are the basis of humor. Wit, and clever... take on life, and sometimes seem to be a gift to everyone else...cause even those who ARE truly perveyors of laughter and novel insite dressed in humor, hardly ever think of themselves that way. I read a blog by afterglow monitor, he was lamenting how dull he was...and how he wanted to write humorously like some cat who did a critique on French terror levels. The "funny" example was not half as good as his own writing was for me.>>> I'm dull, he wrote, Im dull as...dull as...dull as somthing thats really dull..." LOL...the simplicity of the simile was genious...and it was a direct hit to my funny bone. I believe we need to RECOGNIZE subtle humor as well as the most flagrant slapstick.
I think, too, we need to DEVELOP our HUMOR FILES...remember jokes and stories that relate to a variety of topics...and allow their storage in our subconsicous, (after all they say we only use 15% of our brain, and those who cant do math only 13%. that would leave all the rest, nearly 89% by my calculations, for my humor storage) , ready to be retrieved at the perfect time...or even when more appropriate. I know!!! I can just hear you saying to yourself as you are reading this, but I just cant remember them when I need to access'm...I think that is a common problem with nearly everyone. That is why there are methods taught to help us develop our recall. One way to remember stuff seems to always work tho. Pete is a friend of mine. He and his wife play bridge with two other friends Joe and Sandra. One evening Pete was remembering all the cards and playing out of his head. When the women went to fix some sandwiches, Joe complimented Pete on his memory. HOW do you remember like that?...Well, Pete explained, I have been going to MEMORY SCHOOL, over near the old Osmond studios. No kidding? Pete nodded seriously, Honest they teach us all kinds of ways to remember. Association, sequencing, imaging, verbal/visual legation, its really great. Joe's interest had been piqued...well whats the name of it?...Pete decided to demonstrate one of the techniques he had learned...Ok, he said, closing his eyes, I am thinking of a plant, yes joe nodded, green stem, leaves, big fragrant flower...bunched petals, with..ah...thorns....Joe understod..it's..it's a Rose!...oh yeah,thats it, Pete nodded, ...then without hesitating he yelled...HEY ROSE, whats the name of that Memory School I been goin' to?...
Prority#5 Learn to mix humor into every aspect of life. Learn to laugh at yourself and NEVER take yourself too seriously. Riducule is not humor, or laughing AT any one...Humor is laughing WITH others or ABOUT another's humanity, and finding common "twists" and unexpected reactions...Humor can be private, or public ..Study humor with the same effort we study any subject that will benefit us. Then practice it with a vengence.
Angle#6 Fill the subconscious HUMOR FILES with stories and jokes and funny expriences, whether from joke books, readers digest, or hanging out at "cheers"...remember great movie lines, expressions, and mannerisms you can borrow for the perfect moment. Mostly just say what comes to mind at the moment it pops up from the subconscious...and when something strikes you as funny...for Pete's sake remember to LAUGH!!! 8/18/2005 #50 The Art of UnderstatementPriority#7/Angle#4
I have realized that the more people say about themeselves, the more others doubt their words. That presents someone with a penchant to shoot the breeze with a dilemma. how to maintain credibilty while still holding a fairly strong self image. I WANT people to take me seriously, but I simply abhor efforts to MAKE it happen. I would much prefer it to just occur. Now there are those who think you need to TAKE what you want by sheer force of will, or "character strength" and that The lesson taught in the words, speak softly and carry a big stick is simply a cliche. I do not believe as they do...I think modesty is the stongest inciter of high opinon and good will possible.
In order to illustrate what I am actually saying I would like to recount a story from my early days in business. I happened to desparately need a USDA plant where I could maufacture items for sale to the school lunch programs in the western United States. I looked into it and found the sheer regulatory burden would be prohibitive so I went to a very kind Jewish man who operated an old but very busy meat plant and asked for his help. I sat in his office for countless hours with my jaw on the floor at the depth of his "folk wisdom" learned thru years of experience. He was one of the most adroit businessmen I have ever known. Wealthy, ambitious, personable and willing to tutor two young boys about production of products under USDA-twice a day inspection.
The most IMPORTANT lesson he taught me was it is NEVER what you say. ITS WHAT YOU DONT SAY...that makes the most important and lasting impression. I started manufacturing Pizza, first a few hundred cases a month then thousands then Tens of thousands. He provided me the facility and HIS inspection legend for next to nothing because "he liked me"..His only request was that I NEVER fight with an inspector, but show them honor and respect...when they say JUMP, we simply say, HOW HIGH? For that, he shared with me the magic of his personality. An honest humility which peeked out in every encounter, usually thru his mastery of the ART OF UNDERSTATEMENT. ( dont listen to me, what do I know!)
The first time I noticed it was when a salesman asked him how much his sales for the year would be. He sat back, paused and then said, I hope enough to buy your products, cause I really do think they are extraordinary. The salesman pushed him, like a car salesman trying to qualify a buyer. So a million a month? two million?...Irv sat back in his chair as if he were calculating his gross, scribbled a few numbers on a pad, looked up and said...my goodness were down this month by 10%...Ill have to cancel our company party if we dont pick it up...winked, laughed and said, I am not exactly sure how much, but I promise you ITS NEVER ENOUGH!
After a few years of weak attempts at emulating him, I started to see the importance of understating things in JUST THE RIGHT WAY. People who knew we had won some major bids in the millions, would patronize me in introductions or sales meetings. Often they would ask me to tell a little about myself and our company. I found that by telling them about my education, my business experience, my expertise in such vast fields as labeling or foumulation, did nothing for our image. IF, however, I said...well gosh were just a couple of farm boys who somehow ended up making pizza...it musta been the year the bailer broke and we knew we had to do somethin' or we'd starve. My partner liked pizza so here we are makin a few, and askin you to buy some for your schools. After one such meeting a very bright lunch coordinator came up to me and said...Farm boys huh?..Id bet my life that your both millionaires with MBA's and ya probably have companies like Nabisco trying to buy you out. I whispered in her ear....shhhhh dont let it get out, it might ruin the acquisition!...she paused and whispered back who's The BUYER...them or you?...I paused and said...I cant honestly say...ohhhhh she smiled as she left nodding her understanding, it must be YOU buying them!
During this time, I had won some state bids in Arizona. We sent a truck into Pheonix every week, sometimes twice. Our equipment was just one step above scrap metal, so we had a breakdown or two during the six years of servicing that market. I used to claim to know every diesel mechanic from Tucson, to the Idaho panhandle. Nobody believed me until I started pretending to name all their kids while listing their birthdays.
My Parents had just sold some property to the LDS church for a new chapel on my old horse pasture. At the city meeting I had seen the father of an old high school pal, and asked him to relay my best wishes. To my surprise this friend phoned me a couple times while was out. I had the messages so when he finally caught me in the office, I was just flattered that he would call me. Most of the calls we get from our old classmates usually have something to do with them selling us something, wanting us to watch an amway tape, or hoping to unload their role as organizer of the next class reunion. I was so pleased that after merely talking to his father he would just call to say hi. The call didnt go as I expected. He had realized that my parents had some other land, and was wondering if I could influence them to sell him enough land for TWO big lots, cause the kind of home a DOCTOR, earning over SIX figures, needs will not sit asthetically on ONE...I nearly showed my disappointment as I realized he had not called on MY acount at all...I told him that I didnt have much to do with my parents affairs, and he challenged me by saying that his father knew it was I who had driven such a hard bargin.
I tried to help him understand my tiny role in that sale, and changed the subject to HIM...he informed me how he had completed medical school in record time, had an important position at a local hospital, a fabulous wife, two or three superbabies, and status and money flowing from his every decision and accomplishment. So what are YOU doing he asked me after a time. ME? oh I am just making a few pizzas I confided...How many he asked me point blank...I thot about walking out into the production area that morning and putting a few extra pepperonis on some pies that needed to be reworked before packaging. Two or Three I guessed. His image of me was one of a tiny pizzeria owner in a white apron and a paper hat I am sure. WHAT? he cried out, are you STILL a high school hash slinger? (referring to my days managing a local restaurant in Provo during high school) well, kinda sorta. I mumbled... How can you survive on only three pizzas, its nearly two o'clock, you must not have had a busy lunch hour. No I said it was pretty laid back. GEEZ! he said in a distainful tone...didnt you finish your education? you really should have...As I recall you were pretty smart...(the professors that supervised my masters degree should have had such wisdom I tell you!) anyway he began to lecture me about how if I ever wanted to get ahead I would need to expand my horizons, set worthy goals, not settle...la di da...
I was beginning to get bored with his arrogance when the most WONDERFUL happenstance occured. An operator broke into the line! Is the owner there? she asked...yes I am the owner, Russ? yes this is Russ...oh good, one of your semis has had problems in Pheonix, hes near Camelback, and the driver needs you to phone him as soon as possible. She had no more finished than my friend was asking...YOU HAVE SEMIS? how many?...you do business in Phoenix? YOU HAVE SEMI's? I thanked her, and then told my friend I needed to go. YOU HAVE SEMI'S? I assured him again that I knew for a fact that my mother would not sell any more land, and wished him the very best in finding his dream lot, and hung up, to call my Driver..
That week my partner was attending church with my Doctor friend. H e overheard a conversation about me and was just laughing when he came by the plant, he was fit to be tied...I didnt know you had a FLEET of semis all over the country!!! I do?...according to your old buddy Bill you do. oh my...I just love how their imagination born of UNDERSTATEMENTS so far exceeds reality that its really worth the effort, if only to see how far that might be.
Had I told him of our small stable of trucks and vans (I almost used "rolling stock"...too high falootin, no?) , he would have looked down his nose at it, but in that instant when he realized that his image of me was slightly errant, he corrected it gloriously!
Prority#7 Ellicit the respect of peers and friends by presenting yourself in as honest and humble a way as you can devise. Help them respect you for ANY reason they can devise.
Angle#4 Thru the art of understatement portray things so another's imagination WANTS to redefine you beyond any boast you could possibly dream up or any lie you could ever tell. Allow any positive misperception to remain only as far as correcting it will not damage their pride, either for their own status, or in having discovered the 'truth'... Deliberately Omitting your achievements is not being dishonest. Pride in your human attributes and humble origins MUST always replace accounts of your successes, arrogance of any kind, status generating behavior, or just plain conceit. Finally, have a little fun being you!!!---after all YOU know who and what you REALLY ARE. Pretty neat huh? #49 If it can be broken, it can be fixedBlog 3 of 10 on personal angles...
Priority#8/Angle#3
I believe it is extremely important to know how to FIX things. I used to know a man named Bill Johnson, who was the most capable repairman I ever met...I introduced him once with a phrase I love to claim for myself(even if for me its more brag than fact) ...Here is the man who can fix BROKEN hearts and the CRACK of dawn. The art of repair, reassembly and touch up is becoming more and more important in our society, and in the event of an economic disaster the ability to keep working things functioning will be vital. Its not so hard to know HOW to fix things but WHEN it is necessary and or worth it. Just to illustrate I want to share a meaningless string of events in my recent past that I relish each time I see my son pull into the driveway.
It was late september when Andy told me he wanted to buy a car. I had sold his Grand Prix and the money must have been burning a hole in his pocket, so I asked him what kind of car he wanted. My cousin who had a restored rebult camray suggested it might be a good buy, so Andy looked at it. I could see in his eyes the minute he saw it, that it wasnt for him...he shopped around and kept his eye peeled for something affordable and "just him"...he looked at an eclipse, a miata, a convertible mustang, and a BMW...then one day while I waited for him to pick me up at a local shop next door to a wrecking yard, I noticed a wine colored Stealth..I looked inside to find the leather seats cracked and torn apart. I dismissed it and went back to wait..I mentioned it to the mechanic who got stars in his eyes...I went thru that engine, its phenominal he told me as my mind wondered and he recited sports car attributes that sounded more like sales brochures I used when I sold muscle cars in the seventy's....as Andy arrived the owener of the shop asked me If I was going to buy it....buy what Andy asked...oh an old car the wrecking yard has repainted...
Where is it?...oh, you wont want it...its a 91, repainted, the interior looks like a bomb went off in it, and they probably want too much for it...I want to see it!...well its right over there, I said pointing to the Dodge version of the Mitsubishi 3000GT. We looked it over and left. I could tell he had been intrigued, and he kept asking me what I knew about that Stealth R/T...I knew that my old Mitsubishi truck had gone 413,000 miles before oil started showing up in the Anti-freeze...still runnin tho..Do you think it would be dependable, its only got 106,000 miles...how much would it cost to re-upholster? After about a week I knew he really wanted that car. In the mean time, some theives had broken into it and ripped out the radio, stolen a few interior pieces and left it wide open. The owner who had been trying to sell it for over two months was so disgusted that he decided to dismantle it and part it out. I heard about it from the mechanic next door, and for some unknown reason felt a twinge of loss...I phoned the wrecking yard to find out they had sold off the computer, the trans computer and saw from a distance that the lights had been removed. I asked how much they would sell it for AS IS, thinking It might be a steal...the price reflected the missing parts, but due to the value of the remaining parts it was still just an OK deal. In a kind of impulsive lapse I told the owner, who I have known for years, that I wanted it for my son. Ill come pay for it next week I told him...dont sell any more parts ok?...he agreed.
The next Wednesday I arrived with cash in hand. Where's the Stealth I asked...oh when you didnt show up MONDAY, the boss hauled it out back removed the tires and dropped it in the Dodge row. REALLY?...your joking right?..not a chance. I walked out to the Dodge row and found it between a car that had been sawed in half and an old SUV that had a fresh wine colored scratch clear down the side where the wrecker had mashed the stealth into it while backing it in. I stood looking at that wine colored shell, sitting without wheels, three inch deep in mud. I sat on a Ford across from it and just stared like I was in a trance...really I felt absolutely terrible about its LOSS...not just to me, or my son, but as a symbol of what that kind of sports car represents to me...unlike the current nitro cars and imports...its low WIDE profile almost begged to come out of Provo canyon, gloved hands stearing the sharp curves, hugging that asphalt ribbon...Seeing it there without lights, console in pieces, hubs deep in the thick goo...scratched, bumper torn away, antenna bent, chunks of mud from the wrecker tires thrown in lines over the long hood just made me literally sick to my stomach.
It was getting dark, so I walked back up to the office. I cussed the boss's impatience or more his disbelief in the sincerity of my offer... when I entered he looked up...I came to get the Stealth I said as if I was still expecting to just pick it up...Sorry, you said Monday...when you didnt come I decided to part it out. I started to walk out...but something stopped me and turned back...I want it anyway!...I dealt the bills like face cards, I noticed the wheels are stacked outside the back door...have your guys put them back on and Ill come pick it up tommorrow morning. HAVE YOU SEEN IT?..yep, and thats precisely WHY I WANT IT!
If the wrecker had coated it with mud dragging it out there, it put two coats on it coming back. They dropped it in the parking lot, the color completely hidden by the mud. Thursday Morning I took Andy to breakfast, and we talked about his internet search for the perfect car... Between bites, he said...I think I want that burgundy car at the wrecking yard! Oh, I said, Im not sure you do...they started to part it out. I saw this look of "oh no! disappointment fill his eyes" Thats the only car that has interested me even a little. Oh Im sorry Andy. Lets look and find one just like it. I've been looking, there isnt anything even close to that color.
By Saturday, I had ordered the ten missing parts from wrecking yards from Boston to Tupulo. Found some lights locally and a black 3000GT in Salt Lake with perfect seats and trim, and had spent six hours removing every part, screw, nut cover, and detail we needed to put that Wine colored potion back in the bottle. When the first transmission computer arrived it was defective, so we ordered another from Portland. I then talked to the painter who had covered that man toy with enough clear coat to imply a fourth dimension. and he agreed to repaint the blemishes and redo the bumper for a song. Everyone at the wrecking yard wanted to see if we could make a miracle machine from a bucket of bolts..and did everything possible to facilitate the resurection of the Stealth. Cost, tho a hundred or two more than I had planned, was relatively modest, but even if it had required double the total cost, I would have gladly invested in the magic that took away that sense of loss.
Late on Monday afternoon, I took Andy to see a car I thot he might like. At first he didnt recognize it, I got a bucket full of water and poured it over the muddy surface. I began to wash it with the second bucket watching from the corner of my eye to see when it would dawn on him that something special was happening.
HEY! This is IT! I tossed him the keys and watched as he assessed the situation, unaware that most of his concerns were already solved and sitting in the back of the van. I wanted it to be OUR project, really HIS project, so he could claim perfect ownership. How long do you think it will take to fix it up? If you love it, until the day you sell it, I laughed,...actually I think more like two weeks. WOW, its beautiful!
Yes it is beautiful, in so many ways. Mostly because something that could have been discarded was made absolutey exquisite. It was like so many souls, broken and yet somehow thru love made whole again. And in the final analysis, the real magic is the way such undertakings make the hearts of those involved complete...reflections of the desires and dreams born somehow in those private moments looking at something that just shouldnt be lost to the wrecking yards of life.
Priority#8= More things should be repaired for the sake of the ones doing the fixing, whether its broken hearts or the crack of dawn, or Wine Colored visions.
Angle#3=Decide based on your vision of the PROCESS, as well as the desired END. Then Belive in that vision, embrace it, contemplate it and WANT... that mutual completion. |
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