OH' HAPPY DAY......IT MUST BE KARMA:
It must be karma. You see, today is March 30th and as I opened my facebook page this morning, one of the first things I saw was the daily posting of "Georgia Fans That Support Mark Richt." No, the Karma was not that the Georgia fans page was there but what was on the page and the date it appeared. It was a picture of and an article written by Lewis Grizzard. You may ask why is this Karma? Easy answer I would tell you. You see, Lewis and I had the same operation on our hearts. Four bypasses and a pig valve installed. Of course I think Lewis had many more problems than I did as his surgery didn't turn out as good as mine. I've always wanted to write a post about my heart surgery but Lewis has already taken all the good lines. You know, like the one about "tearing up every time he passed by a Bar-B-Que restaurant."
I think I've read every book Lewis ever wrote. Some I've read two or three times. His books and articles always made me smile and took me back to the days of my youth. A time when life was much simpler. I think my favorite line in one of Lewis' books was "I don't take tub baths, since I don't wash my face in the same water that I put my butt in". The man had a way with words. Well, getting back to the Karma thing. It's not Karma that the Georgia Fan page was there or even that one of Lewis' articles was there. The karma is that it was there "today", March 30, 2013. You probably don't remember where you were on March 30, 2011 but I do remember where I was on that morning exactly two years ago. I remember that morning but none of the rest of the day. You see, that was the day I had my heart surgery. "Two years ago today."
As I read Lewis article this morning, I once again took a trip back to my youth. Back to when I was eight years old. I went back to the corner of College Avenue and Howard Street. That's where I would pick up my Atlanta Newspapers to deliver to my customers. That's right, I had a paper route at the age of eight. It was said that I was the youngest boy to ever have a paper route for the Atlanta Journal. At the age of eight I had become a "Business Man." It amazes me at how clear all of this is in my mind today, 57 years later. I remember that a daily paper was a nickel and a Sunday Paper was twenty cents. If you paid by the week it was fifty-two cents and by the month it was $2.24 including tax. Even at eight years old, taxes were a thing I could fuss about. It meant that I had to carry pennies with me to make change. When I first got my route, I had 73 customers and when I gave my route up two years later I had 89 customers. I remember thinking that I really made good money back then as I could buy almost any thing I wanted. I must have made seven or eight dollars a week Makes you wonder where all that money got away to. Just across the street from where I picked up my newspapers was a little store that we called the "The Fruit Stand." I'm sure it had another name but to all of us paperboys it was just, "The Fruit Stand." We would all gather there each afternoon while waiting for the big truck to bring us our papers. A soft drink was a nickel and a Chunky Candy Bar was 3 cents. For a quarter you could make yourself sick. I would ride my Radar bike that I had received for Christmas the year before with a basket on the front that would hold two stacks of newspapers side by side. I mean it was a big basket. After picking up my newspaper I would head back down College Avenue, take a right on Kirkwood Road and go until it would deadend into Boulevard Drive. They've changed the name of Boulevard Drive to Hosea Williams Drive. Now don't get me wrong. I liked Hosea and I know he helped feed the hungry and all, but to me it will always be Boulevard Drive.
The first Customer I had was the Bike Shop right where Kirkwood Road would deadend. I later bought a Mo-Ped Scooter from this shop but that's a story to be told later. Not long ago I rode down Boulevard Drive and could still tell you every house I threw a paper at. I could remember where a girl named Becky lived. She was, in my mind a woman of the world, probably in the range of 12 or 13 years old. Much to old and sophisticated for a lowly paperboy such as I, but she was pretty. I also delivered a paper to my friend Billy Watson's house. And then there was the house where Duffy lived. Duffy was older than me, probably 10 or 12 years old, and Duffy was deaf. Even today I can still see Duffy running in the park playing baseball with us or up at the rec center playing ping pong. Duffy was what today, we would call handicapped. If you ever knew Duffy, you knew better. Duffy wasn't handicapped, he was just one of the guys. I heard from another friend from Kirkwood, Bobby Hale, a couple of years ago that Duffy had died. Duffy taught us other boys a thing or two about life growing up. Rest in peace my friend. Now back to my paper route. When I would reach the house of Wendy and Mary Hill, I would stop and take a break. I always thought it was a great place to stop being that the scenery was nice to look at and the conversation was good. A few houses up, in the next block, was a house where a lady lived that had a parrot. The parrot was usually in a cage on the front porch when I delivered her paper and I swear the parrot would always have something to say.
I love to travel back in time. It always seems our youth was a great time to have been alive. But it also seems our youth was just to short, it just didn't last long enough. I guess that's why I enjoy writing so much. It takes me back to that time. It extends the time of my youth. It fills my heart with happiness, joy and good memories. I think that is why Lewis enjoyed writing also. It carried him to a happy place and he was blessed with the ability to take us on his journey with him in a magical way.
Yep, It's been two years ago today and soon after I got home from the hospital I started writing. I had never written before but since my surgery I've written over 80 post on my blog plus numerous miscellaneous post on facebook. Although I know I'm not a Lewis Grizzard and never will be, writing has been good for me. It has carried me to many places, if only in my mind. I hope that maybe, because of something I've put down on paper, you too have been able to go on a wonderful journey to your past. To a time when things weren't so complicated and life moved at a slower pace.
Thinking back to "The Fruit Stand", I remember spending many a quarter in that fine establishment on junk food that couldn't have been good for me. I just wonder if that may have been the beginning of my heart problems? OH well, I guess we can just be thankful for modern medicine and God's Amazing Grace. and the oportunities to go back a few years in time.
Until next time....HAPPY EASTER...and May God Bless you.
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Saturday, March 23, 2013
JUST ONE OF THOSE DAYS
Today has just been one of those days. You know the kind of day I'm talking about. Some would call it a lazy day. Others would call it a wasted day. It has seemed all day that I just wanted to sit around and do nothing at all that accomplished anything. I guess we could just call this a non-productive day. I'm sure you've had these kind of days yourself. First thing this morning I went to the computer to catch up on the news. I then rode the stationary bike for about thirty minutes. Then I ate breakfast. I then watched a little TV. Then back to the computer to just surf around. All of a sudden, before you knew, it was lunch time. After lunch I went back to the TV and started watching a program called "You Live In What?" Not sure if you've ever seen this program or not but it's a pretty interesting program. The makers of the show go around the country showing different structures people have what we today call "repurposed" and made into their homes. The imagination of people never fails to amaze me. I repurpose a lot of things myself. My birdhouses are mainly built of "repurposed" materials. I have also started to use old rusty tin roofing to paint pictures on. I guess you would call the tin I use a rusty canvas. I have learned through doing this that you don't really have to have a lot of talent to paint something that someone will like enough to buy. You see, I'm not a very good painter. I tell Peggy the only reason I can figure why any body buys one of my paintings is because it reminds them of something their four year old grand child painted.
Anyway as I was watching this program called, "You Live In What?, I got to thinking about repurposing things. I thought about the elementary school I attended, Kirkwood Elementary School. The school was built around 1900, give or take a year, and has now been converted to loft apartments. Same with Roosevelt High School in Atlanta. Even the old library I went to as a child in Kirkwood is now a private residence. There are so many of the old buildings in Atlanta that I grew up around that have been repurposed. The Roxy Hotel, The Briarcliff Hotel and even the old Sears Roebuck on Ponce DE Leon is being "Repurposed". I am glad that these building are being saved and "Repurposed." I wish they had done this with a few others years ago. Buildings like Terminal Station and The Kimball House to name a couple. I wish there was more 'Repuposing" today.
When I ride through Atlanta today though, I do get excited seeing old neighborhoods being saved by the young people moving in. Neighborhoods like Kirkwood, Grant Park, East Atlanta Village and Virginia Highlands. Places like the Forth Ward, Cabbage Town and West End. I'm not so sure if the young folks don't understand the value of "Repurposing" much better than us in the older generation.
Maybe "Repurposing" means a little more to me than it does to some of you. You see, in a couple of weeks I will celebrate the second anniversary of my open heart surgery. What does "Repurposing have to do with heart surgery you ask? Well two years ago the Doctors sawed my breast bone in half. They then stopped my heart from beating and took it out of my chest. They took veins from my legs and "Repurposed" them as veins in my heart in four different places. They then took a valve from a pig's heart and "Repurposed" it as a valve in my heart. So I guess you could say because of "Repurposing" I'm alive today.
When you think about it, all the stories I tell and all the things I write are "Repurposed" things I have heard and seen in my life. In fact, my life it's self was "Repurposed" when I accepted Christ as my Lord. My "Purpose" in life changed.
So as I sit here thinking, maybe this wasn't a lazy day or a wasted day. Maybe it was just God's way of telling me to slow down, to be still and to meditate on the past blessings He has given to me. As the saying goes "God Is Good, All The Time.
May your day be blessed also.
Today has just been one of those days. You know the kind of day I'm talking about. Some would call it a lazy day. Others would call it a wasted day. It has seemed all day that I just wanted to sit around and do nothing at all that accomplished anything. I guess we could just call this a non-productive day. I'm sure you've had these kind of days yourself. First thing this morning I went to the computer to catch up on the news. I then rode the stationary bike for about thirty minutes. Then I ate breakfast. I then watched a little TV. Then back to the computer to just surf around. All of a sudden, before you knew, it was lunch time. After lunch I went back to the TV and started watching a program called "You Live In What?" Not sure if you've ever seen this program or not but it's a pretty interesting program. The makers of the show go around the country showing different structures people have what we today call "repurposed" and made into their homes. The imagination of people never fails to amaze me. I repurpose a lot of things myself. My birdhouses are mainly built of "repurposed" materials. I have also started to use old rusty tin roofing to paint pictures on. I guess you would call the tin I use a rusty canvas. I have learned through doing this that you don't really have to have a lot of talent to paint something that someone will like enough to buy. You see, I'm not a very good painter. I tell Peggy the only reason I can figure why any body buys one of my paintings is because it reminds them of something their four year old grand child painted.
Anyway as I was watching this program called, "You Live In What?, I got to thinking about repurposing things. I thought about the elementary school I attended, Kirkwood Elementary School. The school was built around 1900, give or take a year, and has now been converted to loft apartments. Same with Roosevelt High School in Atlanta. Even the old library I went to as a child in Kirkwood is now a private residence. There are so many of the old buildings in Atlanta that I grew up around that have been repurposed. The Roxy Hotel, The Briarcliff Hotel and even the old Sears Roebuck on Ponce DE Leon is being "Repurposed". I am glad that these building are being saved and "Repurposed." I wish they had done this with a few others years ago. Buildings like Terminal Station and The Kimball House to name a couple. I wish there was more 'Repuposing" today.
When I ride through Atlanta today though, I do get excited seeing old neighborhoods being saved by the young people moving in. Neighborhoods like Kirkwood, Grant Park, East Atlanta Village and Virginia Highlands. Places like the Forth Ward, Cabbage Town and West End. I'm not so sure if the young folks don't understand the value of "Repurposing" much better than us in the older generation.
Maybe "Repurposing" means a little more to me than it does to some of you. You see, in a couple of weeks I will celebrate the second anniversary of my open heart surgery. What does "Repurposing have to do with heart surgery you ask? Well two years ago the Doctors sawed my breast bone in half. They then stopped my heart from beating and took it out of my chest. They took veins from my legs and "Repurposed" them as veins in my heart in four different places. They then took a valve from a pig's heart and "Repurposed" it as a valve in my heart. So I guess you could say because of "Repurposing" I'm alive today.
When you think about it, all the stories I tell and all the things I write are "Repurposed" things I have heard and seen in my life. In fact, my life it's self was "Repurposed" when I accepted Christ as my Lord. My "Purpose" in life changed.
So as I sit here thinking, maybe this wasn't a lazy day or a wasted day. Maybe it was just God's way of telling me to slow down, to be still and to meditate on the past blessings He has given to me. As the saying goes "God Is Good, All The Time.
May your day be blessed also.
Friday, March 22, 2013
THURSDAY'S CHILD.
"Thursday's Child has far to go"....She was born on a Thursday and from the very beginning it seemed her journey would be long. She was conceived by rape. For years she had no idea who her real parents were. She never met her father. Her life was what some would call a "hodge podge," a confused and disorderly mess or a weird collection of things. She was born in a town called "North" which was really in the deep south. It was actually in South Carolina. From early childhood she was raised by relatives who mistreated her. The local children made fun of her and called her an ugly duckling. They called her "yellow girl" and tied her to a tree and threw rocks at her. Did I mention that she was of mixed race? Her mother was of Cherokee and Black descent. Her father was White. She was a Thursday's Child. She had a "far ways to go."
It was an Aunt that raised her until about the age of eight. Raised is a word of many meanings. In this instance it means providing some food and shelter. That was about it. No guidance and very little, if any, love. When Thursday's Child was about the age of eight, her Aunt met and went to live with a Black man that wanted nothing to do with the child. He said her complexion was to pale. She then lived with other family members for a couple of years and was finally sent to New York to live with yet another family member. She would later learn that this woman she was sent north to live with was really her birth mother. This would be the first time she lived with indoor plumbing and electric lights. I know this sounds likes a big improvement in her life but in fact, things were far from better. Her mother mostly ignored her and the Harlem school kids were as harsh as the South Carolina children had been. Her saving grace came when some of the school teachers began to respond to her. She had always done well in school as she had a passion for reading and learning. The other thing that really opened her up was a woman at the church she was attending. The main reason she went to church was because of the music. She loved the old gospel singing and wanted to be a part of the choir. As she became involved in the choir and began singing more and more, this woman came up to her one day, placed her hand on the child's shoulder and said to her..."You my child were born with the hand of God on your shoulder." Thursday's Child said at this very moment, she felt a spark inside her that started a fire to burning.
What you have just read isn't a fairy tale. It isn't a made up story. It is about a real person. A Thursday's Child. Last week as I was reading the old Nursery Rhyme my mind once again started to wander. What day of the week was I born on I asked myself?
Yep...Thursday it was. Just my luck I thought. Of course it could have been Wednesday's and I would have been full of Woe. I have been told I was full of something before but it wasn't Woe. But now I was being told I had far to go. Darn I thought to myself......" I hope it isn't to far. I'm getting pretty old for a long journey."
And then, as my mind often does, I started to think about journeys and distances. I thought to myself..."What makes a journey long? Is it made long because of where you're going or maybe it's determined by where you are starting from? It could be long or short because of who you are traveling with, or whether you are with anyone at all. All of this thinking made me think of Peggy asking me if I wanted to take a walk around the block to which I responded ....."Why? I'm already here." But as I thought of that I remember another journey Peggy and I went on many years ago. It was what many people would call a long journey. We just called it our Honeymoon. You see, most of our friends took a few days for their honeymoon or a week at the most. We took three and a half weeks. We drove the northern route to San Francisco, then flew to Hawaii for a few days and then drove back through Los Angeles and the southern route home. You see.....our journey started at home and ended at home....Kind of like a long walk around the block. But it was a special journey. It was special not because of where it started or where it ended but because of the places it took us in between. The things we saw and the times we shared. It was made good because of who I was with. It was a wonderful journey
Sometimes now I look back at my life's journey and say to myself the line from the song by Jerry Reed..."I've got a long way to go and a short time to get there." Sometimes we look at our life and get a little sad. I think that's how we sometimes look at our life journey when we get a little older. We think "If I had only done this or only done that. If I had only made this decision instead of that one." Or sometimes we try to justify where we are in our journey by a decision someone else made. Or we blame our place in life on where we came from. I've tried to use all these excuses before and none of them worked. None of the excuses satisfied me. Sure I wish I had done some things differently but I really can't complain to much. I've had a very good journey so far. I've had some bad times and I've had some great times. Some of you have had it better than me and some have had it worse. But one thing is for sure. No one has had better travel companions than I have. I've enjoyed the things I've done and the things I've seen on this journey we call life. Why do I think my life has been so good you ask? It's really very simple. You see, I'm just like the lady I was writing about at the beginning of this post. I was born with the "
Hand of God' on my shoulder.
He has watched over me everyday of my life and even though I'm getting older, God's hand is still there. I'm older but I've still got "far to go." You see....."I'm a Thursday's Child." You know, I'm not so sure all of us don't have a little of "Thursday's Child" in us.
In case you were wondering who the lady I was writing about in the beginning was, her name was Eartha Kitt. Some of you will remember her and some of you won't. She wrote an autobiography titled "Thursdays Child." It's worth the read.
In the meantime, be thankful for your lot in life. Sometimes you may forget but You too were born with the "Hand of God" on your shoulder.
God bless.
"Thursday's Child has far to go"....She was born on a Thursday and from the very beginning it seemed her journey would be long. She was conceived by rape. For years she had no idea who her real parents were. She never met her father. Her life was what some would call a "hodge podge," a confused and disorderly mess or a weird collection of things. She was born in a town called "North" which was really in the deep south. It was actually in South Carolina. From early childhood she was raised by relatives who mistreated her. The local children made fun of her and called her an ugly duckling. They called her "yellow girl" and tied her to a tree and threw rocks at her. Did I mention that she was of mixed race? Her mother was of Cherokee and Black descent. Her father was White. She was a Thursday's Child. She had a "far ways to go."
It was an Aunt that raised her until about the age of eight. Raised is a word of many meanings. In this instance it means providing some food and shelter. That was about it. No guidance and very little, if any, love. When Thursday's Child was about the age of eight, her Aunt met and went to live with a Black man that wanted nothing to do with the child. He said her complexion was to pale. She then lived with other family members for a couple of years and was finally sent to New York to live with yet another family member. She would later learn that this woman she was sent north to live with was really her birth mother. This would be the first time she lived with indoor plumbing and electric lights. I know this sounds likes a big improvement in her life but in fact, things were far from better. Her mother mostly ignored her and the Harlem school kids were as harsh as the South Carolina children had been. Her saving grace came when some of the school teachers began to respond to her. She had always done well in school as she had a passion for reading and learning. The other thing that really opened her up was a woman at the church she was attending. The main reason she went to church was because of the music. She loved the old gospel singing and wanted to be a part of the choir. As she became involved in the choir and began singing more and more, this woman came up to her one day, placed her hand on the child's shoulder and said to her..."You my child were born with the hand of God on your shoulder." Thursday's Child said at this very moment, she felt a spark inside her that started a fire to burning.
What you have just read isn't a fairy tale. It isn't a made up story. It is about a real person. A Thursday's Child. Last week as I was reading the old Nursery Rhyme my mind once again started to wander. What day of the week was I born on I asked myself?
- Monday's child is fair of face,
- Tuesday's child is full of grace,
- Wednesday's child is full of woe
- Thursday's child has far to go,
- Friday's child is loving and giving,
- Saturday's child works hard for a living,
- But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day
- Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.
Yep...Thursday it was. Just my luck I thought. Of course it could have been Wednesday's and I would have been full of Woe. I have been told I was full of something before but it wasn't Woe. But now I was being told I had far to go. Darn I thought to myself......" I hope it isn't to far. I'm getting pretty old for a long journey."
And then, as my mind often does, I started to think about journeys and distances. I thought to myself..."What makes a journey long? Is it made long because of where you're going or maybe it's determined by where you are starting from? It could be long or short because of who you are traveling with, or whether you are with anyone at all. All of this thinking made me think of Peggy asking me if I wanted to take a walk around the block to which I responded ....."Why? I'm already here." But as I thought of that I remember another journey Peggy and I went on many years ago. It was what many people would call a long journey. We just called it our Honeymoon. You see, most of our friends took a few days for their honeymoon or a week at the most. We took three and a half weeks. We drove the northern route to San Francisco, then flew to Hawaii for a few days and then drove back through Los Angeles and the southern route home. You see.....our journey started at home and ended at home....Kind of like a long walk around the block. But it was a special journey. It was special not because of where it started or where it ended but because of the places it took us in between. The things we saw and the times we shared. It was made good because of who I was with. It was a wonderful journey
Sometimes now I look back at my life's journey and say to myself the line from the song by Jerry Reed..."I've got a long way to go and a short time to get there." Sometimes we look at our life and get a little sad. I think that's how we sometimes look at our life journey when we get a little older. We think "If I had only done this or only done that. If I had only made this decision instead of that one." Or sometimes we try to justify where we are in our journey by a decision someone else made. Or we blame our place in life on where we came from. I've tried to use all these excuses before and none of them worked. None of the excuses satisfied me. Sure I wish I had done some things differently but I really can't complain to much. I've had a very good journey so far. I've had some bad times and I've had some great times. Some of you have had it better than me and some have had it worse. But one thing is for sure. No one has had better travel companions than I have. I've enjoyed the things I've done and the things I've seen on this journey we call life. Why do I think my life has been so good you ask? It's really very simple. You see, I'm just like the lady I was writing about at the beginning of this post. I was born with the "
Hand of God' on my shoulder.
He has watched over me everyday of my life and even though I'm getting older, God's hand is still there. I'm older but I've still got "far to go." You see....."I'm a Thursday's Child." You know, I'm not so sure all of us don't have a little of "Thursday's Child" in us.
In case you were wondering who the lady I was writing about in the beginning was, her name was Eartha Kitt. Some of you will remember her and some of you won't. She wrote an autobiography titled "Thursdays Child." It's worth the read.
In the meantime, be thankful for your lot in life. Sometimes you may forget but You too were born with the "Hand of God" on your shoulder.
God bless.
Saturday, March 2, 2013
JUST WHAT IS NORMAL?
As I pondered this question, my mind quickly returns to something my mother use to say whenever we were talking. I use the word talking, because it sounds much nicer than the word gossiping. We would be talking about someone, whether it be about an individual or a whole family, and Mom would often say "Well, they're just not like us." I always associated her saying this as to meaning either us, or the other party wasn't normal. I never quite figured out who was normal and who wasn't normal. Here I am, many years later, a father and a grandfather and I'm still not sure who, or what is normal. I used a quote the other day from Morticia Addams of the famous Addams Family T.V. Show. She said "Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly.” It sure makes you think doesn't it. Normal applies to so many segments of our lives.
Thinking about being normal can be whimsical and funny and silly or it can be serious and sad and bring tears to your eyes caused by guilt or some other deep feelings. As I think back in my life I can remember thinking it was normal to drink a 6 ounce bottle of Coke and feel totally satisfied, but at the same time I also believed it was normal to sit down and drink a 6 pack or more of beer at one sitting without getting up once except to relieve myself. As I look back now, I realize that wasn't normal, that was getting drunk. The only thing about this situation that was normal was the act relieving myself. This is an example of thinking something we did was funny or silly and normal at the same time. We believe these kind of things and thoughts were normal for a fellow at a young age. I can also remember times of hitch hiking to Florida and New Orleans as a teen and riding my bike down Stone Mountain before my teen years, and I say these times and experiences were normal for a kid back in those days and times. I remember these and many other experience and I, shall we say " justify" them as being normal but some stories I don't tell because I don't want to give my Grandkids the impression that this behavior is normal today.
I can also remember, and it makes me feel so ashamed to remember, a time when I would look at a child in a wheelchair because of Polio, or a child with Down Syndrome or Autism and I would think to myself, "These poor kids just aren't normal." Many times we try to "justify", there's that word again "justify", don't you just love that word. We try to "justify" some of those feelings by the fact that "Well, we were just young. We didn't know better back then. We've learned from experience." But have we? Have we really learned anything? So many times we judge whether a person is normal or not just by the way they look as compared to ourself, or maybe how they believe about some things. If they don't look like us, they're not normal. If the don't worship like us, they're not normal. Sometimes they even have to eat the same kinds of food as we do to be normal. We say we're not prejudice but do we make the same effort to invite Blacks or Hispanics to our churchs as we do people who look like us, or do we say..."Well, they just don't worship like us, you know, in a normal way." Are we just as happy when a Jew or Mormon moves into our neighborhood as if it was a Christian moving in? You know what I mean...."Normal People". Do we look at a diverse neighborhood as a problem or as an opportunity to learn of other cultures and to share the gospel? How about the friends our kids have? Do we let them pick their friends or do we try to pick all their friends for them? After all, we do know what's best for our kids. Those other kids are different. You know what I mean..."They just are not normal."
I worked with teenagers for years and can name so many kids that weren't normal. Kids that were wild. Kids that were poor. Kids that were dirty more than the were clean. Kids that cussed and drank and did other things that weren't NORMAL. But many of these kids that weren't normal grew up to be fine, successful, even prominent adults. Some business owners. Some preachers. Some teachers. Some even managed to grow up to be good Moms and Dads. They grew up to be NORMAL people. Why you ask? Maybe our normal kids were a good influence on them. Maybe a teacher was a good influence on them. In fact, maybe you, were the influence they needed.
Again I think back to years ago. I think back to hair on my shoulders. I think back to silk shirts with collars large enough to serve as a kite if you would have tied a long tail on my back belt loop. I think back to bright colored striped bell bottom pants and sandals with their soles made of old tires.. I think back to a time when most adults thought "I wasn't normal." The thing that scares me now is I look at the young people today with their body piercings and tattoos and some of the clothes they wear and most of those kids look back at me, and they also think...."I'm not normal." And I ask myself....Will I ever be normal?" I have a feeling I never have nor will I ever be normal.....All I can say is, "That's my goal." I think I'll have some shirts printed up that say......."ABNORMALITY IS THE NEW NORMAL"........I could probably sell them and make a fortune. But then I ask myself....Is being rich normal?
As I pondered this question, my mind quickly returns to something my mother use to say whenever we were talking. I use the word talking, because it sounds much nicer than the word gossiping. We would be talking about someone, whether it be about an individual or a whole family, and Mom would often say "Well, they're just not like us." I always associated her saying this as to meaning either us, or the other party wasn't normal. I never quite figured out who was normal and who wasn't normal. Here I am, many years later, a father and a grandfather and I'm still not sure who, or what is normal. I used a quote the other day from Morticia Addams of the famous Addams Family T.V. Show. She said "Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly.” It sure makes you think doesn't it. Normal applies to so many segments of our lives.
Thinking about being normal can be whimsical and funny and silly or it can be serious and sad and bring tears to your eyes caused by guilt or some other deep feelings. As I think back in my life I can remember thinking it was normal to drink a 6 ounce bottle of Coke and feel totally satisfied, but at the same time I also believed it was normal to sit down and drink a 6 pack or more of beer at one sitting without getting up once except to relieve myself. As I look back now, I realize that wasn't normal, that was getting drunk. The only thing about this situation that was normal was the act relieving myself. This is an example of thinking something we did was funny or silly and normal at the same time. We believe these kind of things and thoughts were normal for a fellow at a young age. I can also remember times of hitch hiking to Florida and New Orleans as a teen and riding my bike down Stone Mountain before my teen years, and I say these times and experiences were normal for a kid back in those days and times. I remember these and many other experience and I, shall we say " justify" them as being normal but some stories I don't tell because I don't want to give my Grandkids the impression that this behavior is normal today.
I can also remember, and it makes me feel so ashamed to remember, a time when I would look at a child in a wheelchair because of Polio, or a child with Down Syndrome or Autism and I would think to myself, "These poor kids just aren't normal." Many times we try to "justify", there's that word again "justify", don't you just love that word. We try to "justify" some of those feelings by the fact that "Well, we were just young. We didn't know better back then. We've learned from experience." But have we? Have we really learned anything? So many times we judge whether a person is normal or not just by the way they look as compared to ourself, or maybe how they believe about some things. If they don't look like us, they're not normal. If the don't worship like us, they're not normal. Sometimes they even have to eat the same kinds of food as we do to be normal. We say we're not prejudice but do we make the same effort to invite Blacks or Hispanics to our churchs as we do people who look like us, or do we say..."Well, they just don't worship like us, you know, in a normal way." Are we just as happy when a Jew or Mormon moves into our neighborhood as if it was a Christian moving in? You know what I mean...."Normal People". Do we look at a diverse neighborhood as a problem or as an opportunity to learn of other cultures and to share the gospel? How about the friends our kids have? Do we let them pick their friends or do we try to pick all their friends for them? After all, we do know what's best for our kids. Those other kids are different. You know what I mean..."They just are not normal."
I worked with teenagers for years and can name so many kids that weren't normal. Kids that were wild. Kids that were poor. Kids that were dirty more than the were clean. Kids that cussed and drank and did other things that weren't NORMAL. But many of these kids that weren't normal grew up to be fine, successful, even prominent adults. Some business owners. Some preachers. Some teachers. Some even managed to grow up to be good Moms and Dads. They grew up to be NORMAL people. Why you ask? Maybe our normal kids were a good influence on them. Maybe a teacher was a good influence on them. In fact, maybe you, were the influence they needed.
Again I think back to years ago. I think back to hair on my shoulders. I think back to silk shirts with collars large enough to serve as a kite if you would have tied a long tail on my back belt loop. I think back to bright colored striped bell bottom pants and sandals with their soles made of old tires.. I think back to a time when most adults thought "I wasn't normal." The thing that scares me now is I look at the young people today with their body piercings and tattoos and some of the clothes they wear and most of those kids look back at me, and they also think...."I'm not normal." And I ask myself....Will I ever be normal?" I have a feeling I never have nor will I ever be normal.....All I can say is, "That's my goal." I think I'll have some shirts printed up that say......."ABNORMALITY IS THE NEW NORMAL"........I could probably sell them and make a fortune. But then I ask myself....Is being rich normal?
Romans 12:2
Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.Sunday, February 24, 2013
HICKORY DICKORY DOCK
Hickory, dickory, dock,
The mouse ran up the clock.
The clock struck one,
The mouse ran down,
Hickory, dickory, dock.
This has been one of my favorite Nursery Rhymes for as far back as I can remember. Why this one you ask? I think it is because of a story I was once told about the meaning of the rhyme. I have never been able to confirm if the story I was told is true or not but I still choose to believe it is. Kind of like Santa and the Tooth Fairy. Some people will try to tell us they don't exist either but we know better don't we? I have seen the nickles and dimes left in the middle of the night under a pillow and the gifts under the tree on Christmas morning. I have seen the smile on a child's face and have experienced the good will in a man's heart. I know what is real and what isn't. Just like the author of this nursery rhyme. Some say it was written by a fellow named Oliver Goldsmith while others say it was a counting rhyme used by shepherds hundreds of years ago. I choose to believe it was written by Mother Goose, one of my all time favorite authors. I know. Now you are going to tell me Mother Goose was a fictional character Believe what you want but I believe she was real and your not going to convince me differently.
Now about the story. The way it was told to me was that many years ago the first big clocks were made with gears of wood. Now these gears or splines took a long time to make and once they were made, they were in constant motion and under a lot of pressure from the other gears and splines as they turned the hands of the clock. Like any piece of machinery, these gears needed maintenance so they were oiled on a regular basis. Now back in these days, they didn't have the lubricants we have today so the people would use animal fat to oil the gears. Now the animal fat worked very well but the one downfall was that it attracted mice. The mice would climb the clocks and gnaw or chew on the gears. It was like the maintenance men were sitting up a mouse buffet. The mice loved it and they told all their mice friends and they all came often to partake of this wonderful "All you can eat buffet." Does this sound kind of familiar? Maybe the Golden Corral or Ryans. Oh well,,, back to the story. So here we had another downfall. The mice gnawed and chewed and chewed and gnawed until the gears would have to be replaced which cost a lot of money and took a lot of time and hard work. So a very smart man, an engineer I assume but not from Ga. Tech as this was before the year of the Yellow Jacket, was asked to come up with a solution to the "animal fat / gear / mouse" problem. He worked and worked to find a lubricant that wouldn't attract the mice but could come up with nothing. He thought of putting poison in with the animal fat but decided the smell of thousands of dead mice would be to much to take, plus he didn't want to face the pressure from PETA. Yes, There were even tree hugging fanatics back then. Then one day as the engineer was working at his desk, one of the mice he had for his experiments got loose unbeknowst to him. The mouse jumped up on the desk and by chance turned over a small bell the engineer had sitting there that he used to summon his assistant. As the bell rang, it startled the mouse and in a blink of an eye the mouse was gone. The engineer leaned back in his chair and a smile came to his face as he realized he had discovered the first burglar alarm. Have you ever noticed how many things are discovered by accident? The name he came up with for his invention was "Chimes" as it sounded much more Politically Correct than burglar alarm. You know, you have to appease the PETA people even now days just as you did back then.
Well, after installing the "chimes" (burglar alarms) on all the clocks the mice were scared away at every hour on the hour. But, just like happens with most good things, this also came to an end. You see, after a while the sound of the chimes became familiar to the mice and they discovered the chimes wouldn't hurt them Instead of a deterrent, the chimes became a call to eat, a dinner bell if you will. Kind of amazing how we get so use to warnings after a while they don't frighten us any more isn't it.
Well, that's not the end of the story. You see, a few years later there was a young man that had dropped out of school in the third grade Although he wasn't what we would call educated, he was very smart, inquisitive, a hard worker and had a desire make life a better place for the people. So at the young age of nine or ten he went to work for the town blacksmith to learn a trade. He learned his trade well and went on to become a wonderful metal smith and to invent metal gears and splines to run the clocks. The mice found out very soon that steal wasn't near as tasty as wood marinated in animal fat.
Well there are many morals in this story. If you look I'm sure you can find one worth sharing. Some people will tell you it's not a true story but it's My story and I'm sticking to it.
May your day be blessed by God
Hickory, dickory, dock,
The mouse ran up the clock.
The clock struck one,
The mouse ran down,
Hickory, dickory, dock.
This has been one of my favorite Nursery Rhymes for as far back as I can remember. Why this one you ask? I think it is because of a story I was once told about the meaning of the rhyme. I have never been able to confirm if the story I was told is true or not but I still choose to believe it is. Kind of like Santa and the Tooth Fairy. Some people will try to tell us they don't exist either but we know better don't we? I have seen the nickles and dimes left in the middle of the night under a pillow and the gifts under the tree on Christmas morning. I have seen the smile on a child's face and have experienced the good will in a man's heart. I know what is real and what isn't. Just like the author of this nursery rhyme. Some say it was written by a fellow named Oliver Goldsmith while others say it was a counting rhyme used by shepherds hundreds of years ago. I choose to believe it was written by Mother Goose, one of my all time favorite authors. I know. Now you are going to tell me Mother Goose was a fictional character Believe what you want but I believe she was real and your not going to convince me differently.
Now about the story. The way it was told to me was that many years ago the first big clocks were made with gears of wood. Now these gears or splines took a long time to make and once they were made, they were in constant motion and under a lot of pressure from the other gears and splines as they turned the hands of the clock. Like any piece of machinery, these gears needed maintenance so they were oiled on a regular basis. Now back in these days, they didn't have the lubricants we have today so the people would use animal fat to oil the gears. Now the animal fat worked very well but the one downfall was that it attracted mice. The mice would climb the clocks and gnaw or chew on the gears. It was like the maintenance men were sitting up a mouse buffet. The mice loved it and they told all their mice friends and they all came often to partake of this wonderful "All you can eat buffet." Does this sound kind of familiar? Maybe the Golden Corral or Ryans. Oh well,,, back to the story. So here we had another downfall. The mice gnawed and chewed and chewed and gnawed until the gears would have to be replaced which cost a lot of money and took a lot of time and hard work. So a very smart man, an engineer I assume but not from Ga. Tech as this was before the year of the Yellow Jacket, was asked to come up with a solution to the "animal fat / gear / mouse" problem. He worked and worked to find a lubricant that wouldn't attract the mice but could come up with nothing. He thought of putting poison in with the animal fat but decided the smell of thousands of dead mice would be to much to take, plus he didn't want to face the pressure from PETA. Yes, There were even tree hugging fanatics back then. Then one day as the engineer was working at his desk, one of the mice he had for his experiments got loose unbeknowst to him. The mouse jumped up on the desk and by chance turned over a small bell the engineer had sitting there that he used to summon his assistant. As the bell rang, it startled the mouse and in a blink of an eye the mouse was gone. The engineer leaned back in his chair and a smile came to his face as he realized he had discovered the first burglar alarm. Have you ever noticed how many things are discovered by accident? The name he came up with for his invention was "Chimes" as it sounded much more Politically Correct than burglar alarm. You know, you have to appease the PETA people even now days just as you did back then.
Well, after installing the "chimes" (burglar alarms) on all the clocks the mice were scared away at every hour on the hour. But, just like happens with most good things, this also came to an end. You see, after a while the sound of the chimes became familiar to the mice and they discovered the chimes wouldn't hurt them Instead of a deterrent, the chimes became a call to eat, a dinner bell if you will. Kind of amazing how we get so use to warnings after a while they don't frighten us any more isn't it.
Well, that's not the end of the story. You see, a few years later there was a young man that had dropped out of school in the third grade Although he wasn't what we would call educated, he was very smart, inquisitive, a hard worker and had a desire make life a better place for the people. So at the young age of nine or ten he went to work for the town blacksmith to learn a trade. He learned his trade well and went on to become a wonderful metal smith and to invent metal gears and splines to run the clocks. The mice found out very soon that steal wasn't near as tasty as wood marinated in animal fat.
Well there are many morals in this story. If you look I'm sure you can find one worth sharing. Some people will tell you it's not a true story but it's My story and I'm sticking to it.
May your day be blessed by God
Sunday, February 3, 2013
AND NOW THE REST OF THE STORY........
Tuesday will be my 65th birthday. I remember back when 65 was considered to be a "Senior Citizen." Then as medical care became better and some of us decided we should take better care of ourselves, we began to live longer. And then someone decided it would be a good thing since we were living longer, maybe we should get old sooner and we became "Senior Citizens" at the age of 55. In fact AARP wanted my money so bad they declared me to be a senior at age 50. Seems everyone except Social Security wants me to be a senior citizen sooner and sooner. If the government had their way none of us would be eligible to draw any money from Social Secuity until age 85. Have you noticed that it all comes back to money? And when I say all, I mean that first thought that usually come to mind when thinking about or discussing anything.
When I got up this morning I made me a glass of tea, sat down at the computer, clicked to my local newspaper and prepared myself for my daily dose of depression.
After stomaching all I cared to about the world, politics, disasters and the like, I then clicked to Facebook. The first thing I saw was that a couple of old High School friends, Roy Jarrett and Jim Bello, had written on my wall. I haven't seen either of these men in many years but they both played a big part in the process of my life I like to call growing up. They were writing to wish me a Happy Birthday. As is usually the case, my mind, all of a sudden started to swing back and forth between being 65 and the good times of playing football with Roy and baseball with Jim. I went from the depression of the news to the happiness of childhood in a matter of seconds.
I then thought about many of the days in the past, days that back then seemed just to be so routine but now are so special in my memory. Like the daily trips taking Cindy and Vicki to Middle School, that at the time seemed so mundane, but now as I recall them making fun of me because I liked to listen to Paul Harvey and his...."And Now The Rest Of the Story" on the radio and his "Bunn-o-Matic Coffee Maker" commercials, it is moments like these that bring such a warmth to my heart and a gigantic smile to my face.
Or it is moments like yesterday when the whole family is together and time is shared between brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and cousins and in laws and children and parents. It's knowing that everyday is special. It's realizing that everyday is truly a gift from God.
Have you thought about your life lately? I mean really thought about it? Sometimes now in my life I get the feeling I want to....no wait...."want to" isn't what I feel. The right expression is a feeling that I "need to" write something. Do you ever feel a need to put something on paper? A need to express a feeling you have? A need to tell how you love something or someone? And then just as quickly a feeling of fear comes over you. "I can't write" you tell yourself. "It will be boring" that inter self tells you. "People will laugh at me" the voice whispers. And then you convince yourself...... "I really don't have anything to say." I have a secret to tell you. There is nothing to fear and you DO really have something to say. Think of your life as a book and each day is a clean page. That clean page needs something on it. Every day is your special day and every day has a special story for you to tell. Come Tuesday of this week, I will have lived 23,742 days. That's 23,742 stories I have to tell. I'm way behind and better get busy.
Every day, you're writing a new story too. Someone needs to hear it. The blank page is before you. Time may be running out. If you're not a senior citizen, You will be before you know it. I hope to read your first story soon.
God Bless
J. Wesley Daniell
Tuesday will be my 65th birthday. I remember back when 65 was considered to be a "Senior Citizen." Then as medical care became better and some of us decided we should take better care of ourselves, we began to live longer. And then someone decided it would be a good thing since we were living longer, maybe we should get old sooner and we became "Senior Citizens" at the age of 55. In fact AARP wanted my money so bad they declared me to be a senior at age 50. Seems everyone except Social Security wants me to be a senior citizen sooner and sooner. If the government had their way none of us would be eligible to draw any money from Social Secuity until age 85. Have you noticed that it all comes back to money? And when I say all, I mean that first thought that usually come to mind when thinking about or discussing anything.
When I got up this morning I made me a glass of tea, sat down at the computer, clicked to my local newspaper and prepared myself for my daily dose of depression.
After stomaching all I cared to about the world, politics, disasters and the like, I then clicked to Facebook. The first thing I saw was that a couple of old High School friends, Roy Jarrett and Jim Bello, had written on my wall. I haven't seen either of these men in many years but they both played a big part in the process of my life I like to call growing up. They were writing to wish me a Happy Birthday. As is usually the case, my mind, all of a sudden started to swing back and forth between being 65 and the good times of playing football with Roy and baseball with Jim. I went from the depression of the news to the happiness of childhood in a matter of seconds.
I then thought about many of the days in the past, days that back then seemed just to be so routine but now are so special in my memory. Like the daily trips taking Cindy and Vicki to Middle School, that at the time seemed so mundane, but now as I recall them making fun of me because I liked to listen to Paul Harvey and his...."And Now The Rest Of the Story" on the radio and his "Bunn-o-Matic Coffee Maker" commercials, it is moments like these that bring such a warmth to my heart and a gigantic smile to my face.
Or it is moments like yesterday when the whole family is together and time is shared between brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and cousins and in laws and children and parents. It's knowing that everyday is special. It's realizing that everyday is truly a gift from God.
Have you thought about your life lately? I mean really thought about it? Sometimes now in my life I get the feeling I want to....no wait...."want to" isn't what I feel. The right expression is a feeling that I "need to" write something. Do you ever feel a need to put something on paper? A need to express a feeling you have? A need to tell how you love something or someone? And then just as quickly a feeling of fear comes over you. "I can't write" you tell yourself. "It will be boring" that inter self tells you. "People will laugh at me" the voice whispers. And then you convince yourself...... "I really don't have anything to say." I have a secret to tell you. There is nothing to fear and you DO really have something to say. Think of your life as a book and each day is a clean page. That clean page needs something on it. Every day is your special day and every day has a special story for you to tell. Come Tuesday of this week, I will have lived 23,742 days. That's 23,742 stories I have to tell. I'm way behind and better get busy.
Every day, you're writing a new story too. Someone needs to hear it. The blank page is before you. Time may be running out. If you're not a senior citizen, You will be before you know it. I hope to read your first story soon.
God Bless
J. Wesley Daniell
Friday, December 7, 2012
Sittin' in the mornin' sun
I'll be sittin' when the evenin' come
Watching the ships roll in
And then I watch 'em roll away again
As I sit here this morning, as usual my mind goes in many directions. I think of times past. I think of friends and family, of good times and sad times, but mostly good times. I think of times spent in the mountains and times at the beach. I think of laughter ringing in the air and of tears gently falling to the ground. I think of children playing in the park, full of energy, and I also think of a child snuggled in my arms, full of contentment and their feelings of security and peace.....And then...just as quick as the eye can blink my mind goes to times still to come. The "future" we call it. What does it hold for me? What does it hold for those I love? Being almost 65, I'm in what I like to call the forth quarter of the game but if the Lord is willing and this pig valve is strong enough to survive the excitement yet to come, who knows? After all, many a game has been won in the forth quarter. And then just as quickly as my mind went from the past to the future an old song pops into my mind. A song from 1967. A song made famous by a Georgia boy and recorded on this day, December 7, 1967. Three days later Otis Redding would die in a plane crash outside Madison, Wisconsin.
When Otis Redding, along with Steve Cropper, wrote this song, I wonder where their minds were? Were they thinking of times past or dreaming of things to come? You can be sure it was one or the other. When my mind goes back to the past, some of my best thinking was done while gazing at the waters. Made no difference if it was sitting beside a small creek, in a boat on a peaceful lake or looking at the beautiful colors or the powerful waves of the oceans from the beach or a pier. It seems water always takes us on a trip if only in our mind.
As always, when I started writing today, I had no idea where I was going. I still don't, but as I just now stopped to read what I had so far put on paper something hit me. Have you ever noticed how much of our lives we live in the past or the future? It's old times or when I was in school or back when I was young etc etc. Then the next thing you know, it's December the 7th and we're saying, "Well next year I'm going to do this or do that." I wonder what Otis Redding had planned for December 11, 1967?
Oh sure, it's nice to look back. It's fun to think of the things we did but it's also sad to think of the things we didn't do. Can you think of one thing you wish you had told someone, but didn't? Can you remember that one person you wish you had called just to let them know you were thinking of them, but didn't? There's no going back now. The time has past. And how about that old friend you haven't talked to in months or years. You know the one. The one you told your spouse that y'all needed to go see as soon as the Holidays are over, things slow down and we had more time, or the old aunt or uncle that is shut-in that you've been meaning to go see but just haven't found the time. Listen to that excuse ...."Haven't found the time." I found time to watch that football game. I found time to rake the leaves. I found time to go shopping. Hmmmmmm.......maybe it's not finding time that's the problem....maybe it's MAKING time that's the problem. Or how about just saying a prayer for someone you love. I've prayed for people and I've been prayed for. It doesn't take much time. I remember just after my heart surgery running into an old friend and they told me..."I heard about your surgery and I've been praying for you." I looked at him and said..."I know, I could feel it." And I could. I talked to my sister last night who will have her surgery next week and to my brother-in law. They both talked about the out pouring of prayers they had received and the strength and comfort the prayers had given them. Prayers are like love..."they don't cost anything but are more valuable that silver and gold."
You know, I don't have a past that I can change and I don't have a future that's promised to me. All I have is today. It's all you have too. Make it count.
I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay
Watching the tide roll away
Ooo, I'm just sittin' on the dock of the bay
Wastin' time
I'll be sittin' when the evenin' come
Watching the ships roll in
And then I watch 'em roll away again
As I sit here this morning, as usual my mind goes in many directions. I think of times past. I think of friends and family, of good times and sad times, but mostly good times. I think of times spent in the mountains and times at the beach. I think of laughter ringing in the air and of tears gently falling to the ground. I think of children playing in the park, full of energy, and I also think of a child snuggled in my arms, full of contentment and their feelings of security and peace.....And then...just as quick as the eye can blink my mind goes to times still to come. The "future" we call it. What does it hold for me? What does it hold for those I love? Being almost 65, I'm in what I like to call the forth quarter of the game but if the Lord is willing and this pig valve is strong enough to survive the excitement yet to come, who knows? After all, many a game has been won in the forth quarter. And then just as quickly as my mind went from the past to the future an old song pops into my mind. A song from 1967. A song made famous by a Georgia boy and recorded on this day, December 7, 1967. Three days later Otis Redding would die in a plane crash outside Madison, Wisconsin.
When Otis Redding, along with Steve Cropper, wrote this song, I wonder where their minds were? Were they thinking of times past or dreaming of things to come? You can be sure it was one or the other. When my mind goes back to the past, some of my best thinking was done while gazing at the waters. Made no difference if it was sitting beside a small creek, in a boat on a peaceful lake or looking at the beautiful colors or the powerful waves of the oceans from the beach or a pier. It seems water always takes us on a trip if only in our mind.
As always, when I started writing today, I had no idea where I was going. I still don't, but as I just now stopped to read what I had so far put on paper something hit me. Have you ever noticed how much of our lives we live in the past or the future? It's old times or when I was in school or back when I was young etc etc. Then the next thing you know, it's December the 7th and we're saying, "Well next year I'm going to do this or do that." I wonder what Otis Redding had planned for December 11, 1967?
Oh sure, it's nice to look back. It's fun to think of the things we did but it's also sad to think of the things we didn't do. Can you think of one thing you wish you had told someone, but didn't? Can you remember that one person you wish you had called just to let them know you were thinking of them, but didn't? There's no going back now. The time has past. And how about that old friend you haven't talked to in months or years. You know the one. The one you told your spouse that y'all needed to go see as soon as the Holidays are over, things slow down and we had more time, or the old aunt or uncle that is shut-in that you've been meaning to go see but just haven't found the time. Listen to that excuse ...."Haven't found the time." I found time to watch that football game. I found time to rake the leaves. I found time to go shopping. Hmmmmmm.......maybe it's not finding time that's the problem....maybe it's MAKING time that's the problem. Or how about just saying a prayer for someone you love. I've prayed for people and I've been prayed for. It doesn't take much time. I remember just after my heart surgery running into an old friend and they told me..."I heard about your surgery and I've been praying for you." I looked at him and said..."I know, I could feel it." And I could. I talked to my sister last night who will have her surgery next week and to my brother-in law. They both talked about the out pouring of prayers they had received and the strength and comfort the prayers had given them. Prayers are like love..."they don't cost anything but are more valuable that silver and gold."
You know, I don't have a past that I can change and I don't have a future that's promised to me. All I have is today. It's all you have too. Make it count.
I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay
Watching the tide roll away
Ooo, I'm just sittin' on the dock of the bay
Wastin' time
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