I ate lunch every day in 3rd grade next to Sarah Jane Tillman. I only remember 2 things about Sarah Jane Tillman : she ate paste during art class (yum!) and that she was my best friend.She was a bit portly for a 3rd grader so I suspect it had to do with the paste. It's a high calorie art supply unlike it's more modern cousin, the terribly bland glue stick. I was her best friend 'cause she said so. "What if I don't want to be" I asked. "Too bad. I said you are". I pondered this and shrugged. "Sure" I said "best friends forever" and we shook on it. I knew it wouldn't last though. I'm just not a paste guy.
I got a text today I was dreading but knew was coming. My friend Dane Burk died today. He was my friend. I found out around a year ago he had been diagnosed with a Glioblastoma. A brain tumor. As it turned out, a death sentence. So He lost his battle today and I'm so sad. He loved Jesus and was ready to go and for that I'm happy but feel at a loss as to what to pray, what to say. The world, is a little smaller today. I just thought you should know.
I first met Dane in the youth group in the late 80's. He dated my sister for like a week until he found out what me and my two brothers knew. Yikes. We started hanging out, Dane and me.At the church door every time it was open, doing some youth activity. That was nice and all but our best times were on the court. Basketball. Tennis. Racquetball. Rain or shine we were out there almost every day. For 2 years. 2 amazing years. He was my best friend. I loved being with him, challenging him, just goofing off. Movies, sleep overs, eating at Godfathers pizza. Singing with such passion the love songs to Jesus we used to sing as Bro. Jim led us. We never said it. I guess we never needed to. We were best friends.And I, am better because of it.
As I knew his time was coming to an end I thought back on so many good memories. I went back to our old church where at the end of an overgrown court stood nailed to a light pole, a backboard with no rim. No net, but laden down with the memory of epic struggle. And much laughter. I took a few imaginary jump shots then sat on a 5 gallon bucket. And cried. I drove from there to the tennis courts, to the racquetball courts. And cried. For 2 years I had such a full life. I had a friend.
Two years. Maybe closer to three. And then....poof. I left. Went to college. Made new best friends. Made choices. Made a career. Made a family. Made a life. And I never saw Dane again. Maybe I saw him once or twice for a few minutes when I came back home tho I don't remember that. Just seems like we mighta. But soon enough He left town too and our paths never crossed. I realized I hadn't seen Dane in maybe 32 years. 32 years? How is that possible? We were best friends. It made me sad but also amazed me how profoundly 2 years can shape a life, can have such impact. I consider it one of the best times of my life.
I don't know Danes wife. Or his kids. Well some what I do through Facebook. They seem so wonderful, a loving family dedicated to one another and to God. My heart aches for them. I was in church praying for them, for Dane on Sunday. Ok, well, I wasn't praying per se as much as my mind was wandering as it is want to do in church. On the video screen was a picture of a huge grape vine with gobs of grapes hanging down. The preachers speech was about abiding in the vine. Abide. All the fruit. It was just hanging there. I felt like God was speaking and saying this was Dane. He abided. And he produced. His wife and kids were just the tip of the iceberg. For months I've seen people posting prayers and stories and memories and I'm just seeing the fruit hanging down from the Dane branch, people he had touched, connected with, and helped make better people. People who love Jesus. I got chills. I felt like God said "That, is your sermon Mark. Go and do like wise" I hope I will.
For a time, Dane, you were my best friend and I am better for it. I know that you are in glory this very day and I rejoice with you. How great it must be. Thank you for living your life so well. You will be missed. You will not be forgotten. I love you brother, my friend.
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Sunday, September 28, 2014
CLARITY THROUGH LAUNDRY
I believed in Santa for a long time. Maybe I made it to 7th grade before the truth hit home. I was 15 so probably it was time. But what kid doesn't want to believe in Santa? I mean, a guy who comes around once a year and gives you stuff for no reason? Well, yeah, there was the whole 'making a list and checking it twice' thing but still, free toys! I missed the 'Santa's not real' clues for a long time. Dad "helping" Santa put a bike together. Shopping with mom and seeing her buy something that looked eerily like what was found under the tree for my sister. With my ear to the bedroom door hearing what sounded like two people putting toys under the tree instead of one fat guy. I'm a fat guy now. I make noises now when I bend over and stand up.. And the whole chimney thing. Ours was fake. Didn't even go through the roof. So the dawning of understanding came as somewhat of a shock. 7th grade. Maybe I was as dumb as my brother said I was. It was a sad time for me. I really wanted to believe......
I bring this up because I had another dawning revelation today. My underwear were inside out. No not the ones I was wearin' but the ones I was gonna put on when I got of the shower. I always make sure they're turned right when I take 'em off so they come out of the dryer ready to go (tho this has become harder for me since they took the label off the inside. I really have to study 'em). I want to step right into a pair of pantaloons right after toweling off. No fuss no muss. Drives me nuts to have to take them off again. This began happening back when we got one of those computer controlled front load washer dryer combos that you actually do have to read the operator manuals in order to use them. We all know washing machines eat socks (or maybe it's the dryer. Have you ever counted socks when you transfer them? Uh huh.You haven't have you.) Apparently now they turn your unmentionables inside out? C'mon, you think this isn't on purpose? Of course it is. The machines are learning, becoming aware. They're trying to make us mad! Insane! Wholly incompetent and dependent on them. And we wont even know. What a bunch of Lemmings.
-If you've read my posts on Facebook for any amount of time you've heard me rail against my computer.It's slow. It freezes. Posts delete themselves. Or it just shuts down. When Terri uses it it acts like Bill Gates personal computer. Works perfect. So irritating.
-The clock in my truck keeps changing time. I know they are supposed to do that but mine goes backward, a little each day so I have to keep resetting it. It's digital so isn't the computer supposed to do this?
-My coffee maker and alarm clock seem to have a hard time remembering from the night before I set 'em both to go off at 5:30 so half my days I wake up late to no coffee. Drives me crazy and makes me a little less like Jesus every day.
-The toaster burns the toast no matter where I turn the dial so I get the electronic computer controlled toaster with the "just right" browning feature which still scorches my toast and my wallet is torched for sixty five bucks.
-Your're phone mysteriously butt dials your wife, mother or significant other and lets them know that you're not at the men's sunday school social but at Dave's Pool and Beer Hall and who,by the way, is Lorainna?
I see it so clearly now. I am the frog in the slowly boiling water. It starts with a washing machine that eats socks to the one that learn to fold cloths. Pretty soon I'll tell the machines my account numbers and buy a phone that GPS's me. And I slowly let it happen, lulled into a new normal, not guarding the small things in life, those tiny important things that grow into big things later on and one day Skynet becomes self aware takes over and nukes the world and the people, the ones that are left, are put into pods to power the matrix. Pretty grim. All because I didn't guard the small. Because I shrugged at inside out underwear.
Okay. So maybe some of that isn't true. Maybe just my imagination. I was telling Terri all of this and a midst her 'yes dear's' and 'un-huh's and 'hummm's' the words "be on guard" was said. Maybe I said it. Or her. If I actually make a point here we'll say her. But it made me think of that verse.
Proverbs 4:23 says "Above all else guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it." I don't do that very well. The guard your heart thing. Probably better said is I choose not to do it very well. Too busy with the mundane to look at the details and slowly I come to realize the details matter. Maybe I watch a show or movie I shouldn't. Or read a book I shouldn't. Or not read the Book I should. Eat those extra fries. One less lap at the track. Don't answer that call (caller ID is of the devil). Tell a little white lie.And on and on and on....
Big things often start small. Every flood starts with the first rain drop. If we find we are not the person we ought to be (and often I'm not) we should check to see how we have guarded our heart. Or if we have. So grab a spear and stand guard at the gate of your heart and don't let the small things that don't seem to matter get by. Because it all matters. Because if you don't, you may one day get caught....with your pants down.
I bring this up because I had another dawning revelation today. My underwear were inside out. No not the ones I was wearin' but the ones I was gonna put on when I got of the shower. I always make sure they're turned right when I take 'em off so they come out of the dryer ready to go (tho this has become harder for me since they took the label off the inside. I really have to study 'em). I want to step right into a pair of pantaloons right after toweling off. No fuss no muss. Drives me nuts to have to take them off again. This began happening back when we got one of those computer controlled front load washer dryer combos that you actually do have to read the operator manuals in order to use them. We all know washing machines eat socks (or maybe it's the dryer. Have you ever counted socks when you transfer them? Uh huh.You haven't have you.) Apparently now they turn your unmentionables inside out? C'mon, you think this isn't on purpose? Of course it is. The machines are learning, becoming aware. They're trying to make us mad! Insane! Wholly incompetent and dependent on them. And we wont even know. What a bunch of Lemmings.
-If you've read my posts on Facebook for any amount of time you've heard me rail against my computer.It's slow. It freezes. Posts delete themselves. Or it just shuts down. When Terri uses it it acts like Bill Gates personal computer. Works perfect. So irritating.
-The clock in my truck keeps changing time. I know they are supposed to do that but mine goes backward, a little each day so I have to keep resetting it. It's digital so isn't the computer supposed to do this?
-My coffee maker and alarm clock seem to have a hard time remembering from the night before I set 'em both to go off at 5:30 so half my days I wake up late to no coffee. Drives me crazy and makes me a little less like Jesus every day.
-The toaster burns the toast no matter where I turn the dial so I get the electronic computer controlled toaster with the "just right" browning feature which still scorches my toast and my wallet is torched for sixty five bucks.
-Your're phone mysteriously butt dials your wife, mother or significant other and lets them know that you're not at the men's sunday school social but at Dave's Pool and Beer Hall and who,by the way, is Lorainna?
I see it so clearly now. I am the frog in the slowly boiling water. It starts with a washing machine that eats socks to the one that learn to fold cloths. Pretty soon I'll tell the machines my account numbers and buy a phone that GPS's me. And I slowly let it happen, lulled into a new normal, not guarding the small things in life, those tiny important things that grow into big things later on and one day Skynet becomes self aware takes over and nukes the world and the people, the ones that are left, are put into pods to power the matrix. Pretty grim. All because I didn't guard the small. Because I shrugged at inside out underwear.
Okay. So maybe some of that isn't true. Maybe just my imagination. I was telling Terri all of this and a midst her 'yes dear's' and 'un-huh's and 'hummm's' the words "be on guard" was said. Maybe I said it. Or her. If I actually make a point here we'll say her. But it made me think of that verse.
Proverbs 4:23 says "Above all else guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it." I don't do that very well. The guard your heart thing. Probably better said is I choose not to do it very well. Too busy with the mundane to look at the details and slowly I come to realize the details matter. Maybe I watch a show or movie I shouldn't. Or read a book I shouldn't. Or not read the Book I should. Eat those extra fries. One less lap at the track. Don't answer that call (caller ID is of the devil). Tell a little white lie.And on and on and on....
Big things often start small. Every flood starts with the first rain drop. If we find we are not the person we ought to be (and often I'm not) we should check to see how we have guarded our heart. Or if we have. So grab a spear and stand guard at the gate of your heart and don't let the small things that don't seem to matter get by. Because it all matters. Because if you don't, you may one day get caught....with your pants down.
Friday, July 18, 2014
SAY CHEESE
I made hamburgers for supper the other night. I could eat burgers every night and never complain and since my one and only is away I will and I wont. I've been on a hunt for the perfect hamburger of late and have decided the one's I make at home are as good as any. Love to see cheese melting on that patty. And playing with fire is always fun right?
My hamburger tonight prompted a call I've been meaning to make for years now, to the International Cheese and Milk Byproduct Council. Wisconsin I suppose. At issue is the square cheese on a round burger and how to properly deal with the corners that droop over the edge. Not only is it a waste but you get those flare ups when it drops through the grill grates and onto the coals. Now I like seeing fire as much as the next guy but not when it's scorching the bottom of what will be my perfect dinner.
I did some research in various trade journals recently such as FDA Now, Food Statistics and the American Way and Mad Magazine found that fairly 76.3% of all American cheese slices consumed in America end up on a burger and only some 21% find their way to a sandwich. The other 2 or 3 % end up either melted on a vegetable, eaten by a baby or fed to the dog under the table. I realize that when cheese was invented all we had was square bread so the square cheese made sense. Though what's up with Provolone cheese? It's the one cheese you don't put on a burger and it's round. It goes on a square sandwich.
I think the problem with this cheese/hamburger situation has roots in the 1950's when the hamburger conglomerates took over the care and feeding of the American public and their unwillingness to work with other sectors of the food industries. Knife wielding burly men with blood stained leather aprons using a campaign of intimidation and slander, labeling dairy producers as '...small men who fondle cow teats...', wheedled their way into the darkest corners of our government, paying off officials and policy makers for favorable treatment in the laws concerning, well, lets just say it, burger shape. One notable exception was the Wendys Corporation who made some various concessions with the cheese producers and bread unions, agreeing to make square burgers in exchange for keeping the buns round. While unorthodox it seems to have been beneficial for all sides.( I purposely didn't mention Krystal and White Castle because, my gosh, is that even meat?)
As I'm putting my square piece of cheese on the round burger I'm contemplating a campaign to bring uniformity to out tables. Take soup for instance. You put soup in a bowl. The bowl is round, the soup is round. Shouldn't it all be this way? So I'm thinking of join one of the unions (Probably the dairy union, 'cause, well, who doesn't like to grab a teat once in a while?) to affect change from the inside out, working my way up until I get a seat at the table, so to speak, to push for the reforms every American deserves. I hope, that when the time comes I can count on your vote and your very best efforts. Help me put America back on the culinary map and make Julia Child proud. Thank you for your support. And God bless America.
Any questions, comments and financial contributions can be sent to 'Round Cheese Around the World' at P.O. Box 27.......
My hamburger tonight prompted a call I've been meaning to make for years now, to the International Cheese and Milk Byproduct Council. Wisconsin I suppose. At issue is the square cheese on a round burger and how to properly deal with the corners that droop over the edge. Not only is it a waste but you get those flare ups when it drops through the grill grates and onto the coals. Now I like seeing fire as much as the next guy but not when it's scorching the bottom of what will be my perfect dinner.
I did some research in various trade journals recently such as FDA Now, Food Statistics and the American Way and Mad Magazine found that fairly 76.3% of all American cheese slices consumed in America end up on a burger and only some 21% find their way to a sandwich. The other 2 or 3 % end up either melted on a vegetable, eaten by a baby or fed to the dog under the table. I realize that when cheese was invented all we had was square bread so the square cheese made sense. Though what's up with Provolone cheese? It's the one cheese you don't put on a burger and it's round. It goes on a square sandwich.
I think the problem with this cheese/hamburger situation has roots in the 1950's when the hamburger conglomerates took over the care and feeding of the American public and their unwillingness to work with other sectors of the food industries. Knife wielding burly men with blood stained leather aprons using a campaign of intimidation and slander, labeling dairy producers as '...small men who fondle cow teats...', wheedled their way into the darkest corners of our government, paying off officials and policy makers for favorable treatment in the laws concerning, well, lets just say it, burger shape. One notable exception was the Wendys Corporation who made some various concessions with the cheese producers and bread unions, agreeing to make square burgers in exchange for keeping the buns round. While unorthodox it seems to have been beneficial for all sides.( I purposely didn't mention Krystal and White Castle because, my gosh, is that even meat?)
As I'm putting my square piece of cheese on the round burger I'm contemplating a campaign to bring uniformity to out tables. Take soup for instance. You put soup in a bowl. The bowl is round, the soup is round. Shouldn't it all be this way? So I'm thinking of join one of the unions (Probably the dairy union, 'cause, well, who doesn't like to grab a teat once in a while?) to affect change from the inside out, working my way up until I get a seat at the table, so to speak, to push for the reforms every American deserves. I hope, that when the time comes I can count on your vote and your very best efforts. Help me put America back on the culinary map and make Julia Child proud. Thank you for your support. And God bless America.
Any questions, comments and financial contributions can be sent to 'Round Cheese Around the World' at P.O. Box 27.......
Sunday, July 13, 2014
SIMPLE
Somewhere in the spring of 1980 me and Ronnie Trojanowski hopped in his what had to be an 1870's Datsun B210, Japans answer to the atomic bomb, and headed for the river. It was tan (or maybe that was rust), had four wheels and more duct tape than bolts holding it together. Come to think of it, it was probably far more dangerous than the lightning that would be crashing down around us as we tubed down the river an hour later. That's the great thing about being 17 and a guy. You're mentally retarded and you're ok with that as long as you got someone along to be retarded with you. Mostly I was the one who came along with everyone else. We all have a place.
Florida is full of springs. All cold. All 72 degrees. Well, cold to Floridians. I only knew about the beach and it's warm 85 degree gulf stream waters as a child. The first real spring I ever went to was with the church group in high school during one of their many "summer outings" designed to keep us wee little cretins from smoking pot and setting off firecrackers at the nursing home. Usually on these trips half the kids were saved and half were degenerates sent by their parents to get that way and I think it was one of that group who pushed me in. No warning. No dipping my toes in. No getting used to the water. I was airborne and then I couldn't breath.
Cold . So cold .. When you're not ready for it, cold water is a killer. It was Gods second choice of punishment for those cast into eternal damnation. It only helps a little to dip your feet in before the plunge but there's some psychological boost you get if you do it first. I get chills just walking up to the springs now. I'm getting a chill just talking about. One of my most favorite things is tubing down the Ichetucknee springs river but I almost can't do it. I don't like to be cold. Brrrr...72 degrees...
I got a chill the other day that had nothing to do with water. It was a song. You ever get that? It was Simple Man by Leonard Skynard (only the best southern band ever). It's about a mother telling her son about how to live life. Don't live fast. Find a woman. Not a fast one I suppose. Don't lust for rich mans gold. Be a simple kind of man. I got chills. And I cried because that's what I've always wanted. To be a simple man. To get up in the morning and love God to the best of my understanding. And my wife. And care for my neighbor. I didn't want to have a complicated life with business issues. Marital issues. Car issues. Money issues. Getting fat and growing old issues. I wanted it simple. I wanted it black and white not this nuanced colorful world I'm stuck with. That sounds stupid doesn't it? Probably I shoulda told my wife this before we got married....
For a while now I have struggled with questions about my faith. Scripture. And God. Why He does or doesn't do the things He does. I feel small when I say something like that. How I'm really supposed to live and does it even matter if I do or don't live a particular way. Sometimes it appears to not matter. What's that old saying? Evil wins when good men do nothing? I am a good man and I'm tired of doing nothing. Uncertainty will make you that way. Very lukewarm. In not pursuing answers to my questions and doubts I've become something I never wanted. A simpleton, not the simple man I long to be. I've become the Gilligan of my world. Loveable, funny, nice and about as deep as a puddle. I want to change that. I want to live up to the worth and value God bestowed on me. And I will. How can I not? I have been touched by the One who loved us all and I can't not follow. Because he loves me. And that, feels really good to this simple man. Real good.
Sunday, July 6, 2014
SCREWED
I thought I'd never drive . I didn't get my license until I was 18 . I knew if I ever did learn I'd have to learn in a light blue 1978 Chevrolet Impala . Station wagon . When you're 15 isn't a station wagon just a brightly painted hearse ? In fact , when you're 15 wouldn't it be way cooler to drive an actual hearse ? What say's street cred more than a 15 year old in a hearse ? It would be a chick magnet right , even for this 15 year old ? What's really behind those dark tinted windows with those swag curtains they'd want to know. If the hearse is a rockin'. . . . .
I drive like my dad . Slow and steady wins the race . Maybe he was hell on wheels before I knew him but all I remember is getting honked at by passing cyclists . Possibly because he drove a Volkswagon Rabbit and a Datsun B210 before that . Not familiar with those ? On the historical time line they're sandwiched somewhere between the invention of the wheel and the wheel barrow . Not the fastest of rides but it seemed to suit him . My mom on the other hand drive like a woman running moonshine in a dry county . pssshh . Earnhardt . He never drove against my mother . Well , all in all I think I turned out ok in the driving department . I mean I can at least .
Another thing I can do is fix cars . Well , in a gorilla can fix a stuck door sorta way . I have my wife to thank for that . When we were first married she asked me to fix a stuck glove box or something and I gave my litany of excuses of why it couldn't be done except the true one about how I was mentally retarded when it came to fixing cars . ''It's ok snookems (she doesn't call me that anymore) . My brothers have been fixing cars for years . Mike is coming . He can fix anything I need ''. I didn't know at the time what a gauntlet was but it was thrown down so off I went to Sears for a set of Craftsman tools so I could rescue my fair maiden in her time of despair . And have been doing so in the many years since .
I don't remember what I fixed then but I'm sure I had parts left over . I always seem to . A few extra screws , a nut or bolt or bracket . Something . I have a jar filled with all the left overs , thinking that some day , with all the cars we've had over the years between my wife and kids and me , I'll have enough to make a whole new one . I mentioned one time I took the dash off to fix the A/C and had 19 screws left over . 19 ! I keep thinking they must not be necessary , hoping really . I fear the day when I hit a speed bump doing 35 and end up with the dash in my lap and the air bag flapping out the window . But until then they'll just decorate my shop in the jar for the unnecessary .
In church this morning someone said something that made me think of those parts . Those screws . The screws that no one sees . The screws that are so insignificant that they aren't even noticed when they're gone . Do you ever feel like that ? Like your role in life is so small you don't really matter and in fact the world seems to operate just fine even when you've checked out . It's a bummer of a feeling going around knowing you're not really necessary . I feel like that at times . Like this blog . I read other peoples stuff and I'm like 'why even try? Everybody else is so much better'. I have to tell myself ''So what?''. Of course there are people better . Doesn't mean I take my ball and go home . Well, I guess I have the last 6 months but never mind that . I'm back .
Somewhere at General Motors there's a bespectacled engineer with high water pants, a pocket protector and a salary somewhere north of 80 grand who drew the spot where the screw held the thing a ma jig to the manifold . He though it was important and he should know . He designed it . He knows it works without it but better with it . And somewhere out there , is the Engineer of the universe who is way smart and knows what works best . Who best to be a screw and who to be a wheel . A trunk . A horn . I'm sort of a screw , or one of the minor parts that no one sees . I wanted to be a paint job . Flashy . Attention grabbing . I like to have people polish me . But I'm a screw who's been in a jar for a while . Maybe I should get back in my place and do my job . How 'bout you? Anonymity anyone ?
I drive like my dad . Slow and steady wins the race . Maybe he was hell on wheels before I knew him but all I remember is getting honked at by passing cyclists . Possibly because he drove a Volkswagon Rabbit and a Datsun B210 before that . Not familiar with those ? On the historical time line they're sandwiched somewhere between the invention of the wheel and the wheel barrow . Not the fastest of rides but it seemed to suit him . My mom on the other hand drive like a woman running moonshine in a dry county . pssshh . Earnhardt . He never drove against my mother . Well , all in all I think I turned out ok in the driving department . I mean I can at least .
Another thing I can do is fix cars . Well , in a gorilla can fix a stuck door sorta way . I have my wife to thank for that . When we were first married she asked me to fix a stuck glove box or something and I gave my litany of excuses of why it couldn't be done except the true one about how I was mentally retarded when it came to fixing cars . ''It's ok snookems (she doesn't call me that anymore) . My brothers have been fixing cars for years . Mike is coming . He can fix anything I need ''. I didn't know at the time what a gauntlet was but it was thrown down so off I went to Sears for a set of Craftsman tools so I could rescue my fair maiden in her time of despair . And have been doing so in the many years since .
I don't remember what I fixed then but I'm sure I had parts left over . I always seem to . A few extra screws , a nut or bolt or bracket . Something . I have a jar filled with all the left overs , thinking that some day , with all the cars we've had over the years between my wife and kids and me , I'll have enough to make a whole new one . I mentioned one time I took the dash off to fix the A/C and had 19 screws left over . 19 ! I keep thinking they must not be necessary , hoping really . I fear the day when I hit a speed bump doing 35 and end up with the dash in my lap and the air bag flapping out the window . But until then they'll just decorate my shop in the jar for the unnecessary .
In church this morning someone said something that made me think of those parts . Those screws . The screws that no one sees . The screws that are so insignificant that they aren't even noticed when they're gone . Do you ever feel like that ? Like your role in life is so small you don't really matter and in fact the world seems to operate just fine even when you've checked out . It's a bummer of a feeling going around knowing you're not really necessary . I feel like that at times . Like this blog . I read other peoples stuff and I'm like 'why even try? Everybody else is so much better'. I have to tell myself ''So what?''. Of course there are people better . Doesn't mean I take my ball and go home . Well, I guess I have the last 6 months but never mind that . I'm back .
Somewhere at General Motors there's a bespectacled engineer with high water pants, a pocket protector and a salary somewhere north of 80 grand who drew the spot where the screw held the thing a ma jig to the manifold . He though it was important and he should know . He designed it . He knows it works without it but better with it . And somewhere out there , is the Engineer of the universe who is way smart and knows what works best . Who best to be a screw and who to be a wheel . A trunk . A horn . I'm sort of a screw , or one of the minor parts that no one sees . I wanted to be a paint job . Flashy . Attention grabbing . I like to have people polish me . But I'm a screw who's been in a jar for a while . Maybe I should get back in my place and do my job . How 'bout you? Anonymity anyone ?
Monday, January 13, 2014
Sign Here Please
Where do I start? I found out recently there are some things that happen in life that throw you for a loop and when the dust clears you don't know . Know what to say . Know how to say . When to say . To whom to say . To family of course . Obviously . And then . . . . It effects only some of the everybody's we know but then I don't know how I know . Maybe it effects a nobody in the everybody's who turns out to be a somebody one day that anybody could have seen coming in the future . Sorry . I'm obfuscating 'cause I'm scared to tell you . . . But here goes , what I know as told to me and my own personal recollections . I hope it helps . . . .
I couldn't breath . I couldn't feel my legs. With tears in my eyes I opened my mouth and tried to suck in air as my heart pounded out of my chest . The air I managed to take in felt like fire . I think we all know this day will come but you never reeeally expect it . And we hope it wont be this bad .
"You ok dare buddy? Look at me . Look in my eyes !" Whats this guys deal yelling at me like this . It's not like I'm dying .
"Mark ! You gonna make it Mark? Hold on for me buddy!" He said Mark like Maawk . He's from Brooklyn I think. Or is it the Bronx . I'm from the south so what do I know about New York ?
"Gee he don't look so good Vin . I don't tink he gonna make it ."
"Tito shut ya mouth and gimme some water an a towel " he barks . "He's gonna make it." He said water like 'waaada' .
I'm sweating bullets . I think Tito's right . I'm not gonna make it . I feel someones hands on me . Pushing . My shirt is off and it feels weird having someone else's hand on me . I think it's the Vin guy . Vin . Gotta be short for Vinny right? Which is short for Vincent I think . Why do parents give names to kids that are gonna be shortened anyway? Just go with Bob or Joe to start with . Maybe corporations are right . Maybe we should be a number . I want to be 37 .
It's funny what goes through your mind at a time like this .
"Stay wid me Maawk . Ya gonna make it . . . "
" He's fadin Vinny , he . . ."
I knew it was Vinny . He shoots , he scores .
". . . ain't breedin so good ."
And Vinny's pounding on me and yelling something I can't hear and my heart struggles to pound the way it has for fifty years and I know it's the end , my body's spent and as my eye's close and my muscles go limp and I begin to fall , finally into eternity and my ears grasp one final sound .
"Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee . . . "
Darkness . Silence . Void . "What's happening to me?" I remember thinking . Why am I here and how am I here . A voice breaks the emptiness as if carried by a faint breeze and whispers "Sign here please ." It's the voice of satan .
" Huh?" I mumble , staring at her . He's a she .
"I saaiiddd . . . " drawing the word out , "sign here please , right by the X."
"I uugh , I . . ."
"Look Maawk . . " .She begins in that high pitch Brooklyn accent . Satan's a New Yorker . This , I believe . " . . . we done been ova dis so jus sign an-"
"Oh , right . I was just reading the-"
"You's don't gotta read it , it's just standard boiler plate . Look , " she says with apparent exasperation , "I got a hair appointment in ten minutes so if you don't mind ," she says and points to the X . "Sign here please ."
. . . eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep . Beep .Beep . Beep . I take a violent deep breath and my eyes flair open . My heart's still pounding , sweat pouring off my balding head and my legs . . . I can't feel my legs . "Oh God , what have I done? What's happening to me?" I think when , wham , there's a slap to my back and a burst of pain as the treadmill slows to the off position and a voice exclaims "Maawk ! Ya did it ! Ha ha . . . I knew ya had it in ya ! "Tito didn't tink so but I knew if I pushed ya ya'd make it altho ya had me scared dare for a second . Taut he might be right and we was gonna lose ya's ! Hey Tito ! I tol ya he was gonna make it din I ? Dat's ma boy ! Alright , now hit the showers and tomorrow , we'll see if we's can get ya's up to a half mile !" he said with a big 'atta boy' smile and pounds me on the back one more time as a send off . "Tomorrow" He yells . "Don't be late!"
I can't believe I joined a gym . An enthusiastic psycho gym . Man . How'd I get talked into this I think to myself as I walk toward the exit . As I pass the front desk I see a man pondering a sheet of paper , a pen in his hand and I wonder if I should intervene . Behind the desk I see satan , impatiently tapping her fingers on the blotter , a Malboro pinched between her lips , blue smoke wafting upward toward yellowed ceiling tiles . She glances over and looks at me and smiles a devious smile , takes a deep drag and blows me an air kiss filled with nicotine . I shudder and put my head down and walk out the door . She did have nice hair though .
I found out recently what they did before gyms . They did push ups and sit ups at home . And ran around the block . Well some of us did . Mostly though , I think anymore we only eat at home and drive around the block . Some of us even eat while driving around the block ! I'm hopeless .
Most of us need help to accomplish something important or significant in our lives I reckon because most of those lofty things in life are hard to get . They take effort and I think , mostly , time . If you're anything like me you're a great starter but not so good on the follow through . In my case I've found I'm lazy surrounded with pockets of hard work and I try to only let the pockets show . Gotta look good for my fans . I've come to know there's a whole lot more cloth in the rest of the pants than what makes up the pockets and I better take care of that or there'll be no pockets to worry with . And I can't do it alone . And I think I'm not alone .
There is a reason there are gyms. And Alcoholics Anonymous . And Weight Watchers . And psychiatrists and psychologists . And churches . An good neighbors . We weren't built to do it by ourselves . We all have frailties and weaknesses that sometime become anything from bad habits to addictions and we hide it . Can't have people thinking bad about us . The Apostle Paul said in Galatians 6 to carry each others burdens because life is hard . We find ourselves stuck in a rut , depressed , and addicted to booze or TV or a bucket of fried chicken as a way to deal . And deal we must , but don't do it alone . You'll never make it .
I'm in a rut . I hate being in the place in life I am and some days I can barely work . I've been here before . I get out , man up , but seem to get back in the rut now days as quick as I get out of 'em and it's a merry-go-round I want to get off of . I called the preacher today . He'll help . I'm going to see some friends . They will too . Probably I'll go to the gym . And eat better , maybe broccoli and kale . Whoa . Gear down there big shifter , don't want to move too fast . I've learned you can live life while ignoring God and get by . And be miserable . I don't want to be miserable anymore .
There's a dotted line before my life with a caption above it . It says 'Sign Here Please'. I think I will .
I couldn't breath . I couldn't feel my legs. With tears in my eyes I opened my mouth and tried to suck in air as my heart pounded out of my chest . The air I managed to take in felt like fire . I think we all know this day will come but you never reeeally expect it . And we hope it wont be this bad .
"You ok dare buddy? Look at me . Look in my eyes !" Whats this guys deal yelling at me like this . It's not like I'm dying .
"Mark ! You gonna make it Mark? Hold on for me buddy!" He said Mark like Maawk . He's from Brooklyn I think. Or is it the Bronx . I'm from the south so what do I know about New York ?
"Gee he don't look so good Vin . I don't tink he gonna make it ."
"Tito shut ya mouth and gimme some water an a towel " he barks . "He's gonna make it." He said water like 'waaada' .
I'm sweating bullets . I think Tito's right . I'm not gonna make it . I feel someones hands on me . Pushing . My shirt is off and it feels weird having someone else's hand on me . I think it's the Vin guy . Vin . Gotta be short for Vinny right? Which is short for Vincent I think . Why do parents give names to kids that are gonna be shortened anyway? Just go with Bob or Joe to start with . Maybe corporations are right . Maybe we should be a number . I want to be 37 .
It's funny what goes through your mind at a time like this .
"Stay wid me Maawk . Ya gonna make it . . . "
" He's fadin Vinny , he . . ."
I knew it was Vinny . He shoots , he scores .
". . . ain't breedin so good ."
And Vinny's pounding on me and yelling something I can't hear and my heart struggles to pound the way it has for fifty years and I know it's the end , my body's spent and as my eye's close and my muscles go limp and I begin to fall , finally into eternity and my ears grasp one final sound .
"Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee . . . "
Darkness . Silence . Void . "What's happening to me?" I remember thinking . Why am I here and how am I here . A voice breaks the emptiness as if carried by a faint breeze and whispers "Sign here please ." It's the voice of satan .
" Huh?" I mumble , staring at her . He's a she .
"I saaiiddd . . . " drawing the word out , "sign here please , right by the X."
"I uugh , I . . ."
"Look Maawk . . " .She begins in that high pitch Brooklyn accent . Satan's a New Yorker . This , I believe . " . . . we done been ova dis so jus sign an-"
"Oh , right . I was just reading the-"
"You's don't gotta read it , it's just standard boiler plate . Look , " she says with apparent exasperation , "I got a hair appointment in ten minutes so if you don't mind ," she says and points to the X . "Sign here please ."
. . . eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep . Beep .Beep . Beep . I take a violent deep breath and my eyes flair open . My heart's still pounding , sweat pouring off my balding head and my legs . . . I can't feel my legs . "Oh God , what have I done? What's happening to me?" I think when , wham , there's a slap to my back and a burst of pain as the treadmill slows to the off position and a voice exclaims "Maawk ! Ya did it ! Ha ha . . . I knew ya had it in ya ! "Tito didn't tink so but I knew if I pushed ya ya'd make it altho ya had me scared dare for a second . Taut he might be right and we was gonna lose ya's ! Hey Tito ! I tol ya he was gonna make it din I ? Dat's ma boy ! Alright , now hit the showers and tomorrow , we'll see if we's can get ya's up to a half mile !" he said with a big 'atta boy' smile and pounds me on the back one more time as a send off . "Tomorrow" He yells . "Don't be late!"
I can't believe I joined a gym . An enthusiastic psycho gym . Man . How'd I get talked into this I think to myself as I walk toward the exit . As I pass the front desk I see a man pondering a sheet of paper , a pen in his hand and I wonder if I should intervene . Behind the desk I see satan , impatiently tapping her fingers on the blotter , a Malboro pinched between her lips , blue smoke wafting upward toward yellowed ceiling tiles . She glances over and looks at me and smiles a devious smile , takes a deep drag and blows me an air kiss filled with nicotine . I shudder and put my head down and walk out the door . She did have nice hair though .
I found out recently what they did before gyms . They did push ups and sit ups at home . And ran around the block . Well some of us did . Mostly though , I think anymore we only eat at home and drive around the block . Some of us even eat while driving around the block ! I'm hopeless .
Most of us need help to accomplish something important or significant in our lives I reckon because most of those lofty things in life are hard to get . They take effort and I think , mostly , time . If you're anything like me you're a great starter but not so good on the follow through . In my case I've found I'm lazy surrounded with pockets of hard work and I try to only let the pockets show . Gotta look good for my fans . I've come to know there's a whole lot more cloth in the rest of the pants than what makes up the pockets and I better take care of that or there'll be no pockets to worry with . And I can't do it alone . And I think I'm not alone .
There is a reason there are gyms. And Alcoholics Anonymous . And Weight Watchers . And psychiatrists and psychologists . And churches . An good neighbors . We weren't built to do it by ourselves . We all have frailties and weaknesses that sometime become anything from bad habits to addictions and we hide it . Can't have people thinking bad about us . The Apostle Paul said in Galatians 6 to carry each others burdens because life is hard . We find ourselves stuck in a rut , depressed , and addicted to booze or TV or a bucket of fried chicken as a way to deal . And deal we must , but don't do it alone . You'll never make it .
I'm in a rut . I hate being in the place in life I am and some days I can barely work . I've been here before . I get out , man up , but seem to get back in the rut now days as quick as I get out of 'em and it's a merry-go-round I want to get off of . I called the preacher today . He'll help . I'm going to see some friends . They will too . Probably I'll go to the gym . And eat better , maybe broccoli and kale . Whoa . Gear down there big shifter , don't want to move too fast . I've learned you can live life while ignoring God and get by . And be miserable . I don't want to be miserable anymore .
There's a dotted line before my life with a caption above it . It says 'Sign Here Please'. I think I will .
Saturday, January 4, 2014
Porches
I built houses once upon a time back when I was younger living in West Palm Beach . Helped build I suppose I should say as I was nineteen and barely knew how to swing a hammer . I did more toting and fetching than driving nails . The one time they did let me use the nail gun I nailed two fingers together so back to toting and fetching . They let me have a tool belt though which is all I really wanted anyway 'cause the hammer made that cool clacking sound when I walked . Yeah . I'm a carpenter .
The company I worked for was called Amazing Builders out of West Palm Beach . Amazing ? I guess the fact they let me work with 'em for a year or so was amazing but we never got to see a finished house so I don't know how they knew . They were a framing crew who just did the form work , stud walls , roof trusses and deck . And poof like a puff of smoke we were gone and on to the next one so we , or at least I , never got to see what it looked like when it was complete . And boy would I have loved that . They were mansions built on the beach in Palm Beach , fifteen or twenty thousand square feet affairs with maybe not streets of gold but driveways anyway . Gold plumbing for sure . Does water taste better out of one of those ? I'll never know this side of heaven . Wait . Jesus said I'll thirst no more . Scratch that .
I never wanted to live in a mansion - too much to clean and who changes the light bulbs in a 20 foot ceiling ? I always wanted to live in a log cabin in the woods on the side of a mountain . A little two room affair with a fireplace and a front porch with two rockers and a hound dog under it . I wanted to plant a garden . I'd have chickens pecking the ground around the front steps , a goat tied to a post , pigs in a pen and a cow in the barn . I wanted to cut down a tree and chop wood and stack it on the side of the house under a lean to , hoping it would be enough to last through a snowy winter . My wife would cook chili and chicken n dumplings and such in a cast iron pot hanging from a hook over the fire and come out and stand on the porch and holler ''Come and get it'' while banging a triangle hanging from a rope next to a porch post . After dinner my bride and me would sit in those rockers on the front porch and I'd blow a mellow tune on the harmonica while she sewed up the holes in my socks and dungarees .We'd sleep in a feather bed under a under a homemade quilt made from fabric she got for a real good price at the general store down the holler and I would wake up of a morning to the smell of coffee and biscuits and bacon from the pig we used to have . Perfect .
Perfect until government revenue men came with their pick axes and hammers and laid waste to my still and set fire to my grow house behind the barn . You didn't think this picturesque setting came for free did ya ? Lawmen . They carted off the animals and the bank took the house on account of I couldn't pay the note and here Mabel and me set behind bars on a hay bed 'cause somebody , probably that preacher man , called john law . sigh . It was nice while it lasted . I made some good hooch I'll tell ya .
I was thinkin' about this last night . Not the moonshine but the porch . We went to the picture show last night and there was a scene where a little girl walked onto an old wooden porch , weather worn and peeling . The porch , not the girl . The boards creaked as she stepped over and sat in the swing and stared off at the field where the wildflowers swayed in the wind . Inside the house her alcoholic father lay in bed with a sickness , blood seeping from his nose as he was passing from this life to beyond . They never said what he was dying from but die he did and as he did so she sat there in that porch swing and seemed to take comfort of some sort feeling the sun , the breeze and the sweet smell of roses . I wept .
I've always fantasized about a porch and it's therapeutic value . It's because some of my best moments , moments I was so close to God it felt like He was in the rocking chair next to me , came while I sat on some wooden porch . It's like , for me , inside the house is the harshness of life or maybe just life in general . It's marriage and money . It's kids and jobs and cars . Sickness and old age and the heart break of losing someone you love . But the porch . The porch . It's where I go to meet God . My Dad . I rock and I talk and I listen . He tells me He loves me and He holds my hand . And as I get up to go He stands and kisses me on the forehead and says come on back any time . He'll keep my chair warm .
In 2014 , I look to find myself on the porch more . I hope you'll join me .
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