A man with no shoes

A Day’s Randomness

2011-08-12T00:19:00.003-04:00

I learned that “morgenmuffel” is a German phrase for a person who is grumpy in the mornings. I also learned that that condition reverses into “guten morgen” after a few cups of coffee.

Today was the 2^nd day of school for my kids. They knew they had to get up early, I knew we had to get up early. I did. They did. Shoot…they were ready to leave 20 minutes before we had to leave. I’m good with it, cause there will be days where we will be rushing out the door and barely make it on time. So, I took advantage of it and got there 15 minutes before they opened the doors. We sat in the car, listened to music, and spent time together before being separated for the next 7 hours.

While in the car, the radio is always on. Most of the time, as it was also this morning, the radio is set to 107.9 Big FM. Hits from the 60’-80’s. My kids can recognize certain artists like Elvis, The Beatles, and a whole lot of newer artists. This morning, an Elvis song was playing. I said, “Ooh, Elvis!” My daughter reminded me that he was the “King of Rock.” She then said, “Michael Jackson was the King of Pop. What if Elvis and MJ had a kid? Would he be the King of Pop Rock?” Hmm…she then said that MJ would have to be a woman. She thought about it for a moment, and then said, “Well…”

At work, two other crew members and I were working on refinishing the gymnasium floor. It had already been stripped and it was time to put wax down. Someone had gotten on the floor between the time it had been stripped and the time to put wax down. So, we were in there using a bit of stripper and a scratch pad to take up the scuff marks. We’d spray a little stripper from a spray bottle on the marks and then buff it with the scratch pad. Every time we’d spray, it would make splatter spots all around the area we were working on. “Be careful of the stripper splatter,” I said. The more I thought of it, the more it sounded like a line from a really bad porno, or something that would be said in a Quentin Tarantino movie…

Before we started working on the floor, I had opened the back doors for a little “fresh air.” As soon as I did, I saw a ladies wallet on the steps. It was opened and I knew right away that it had been stolen. Some photos were water damaged, there were receipts sticking out of the wallet, and several credit cards and even a driver’s license. I searched through it to see if there was some sort of contact information so that I could call the woman and get her wallet back to her. Sure enough, there was a business card with her name and phone number. She worked at UTC, which is right there by where I work. I called and told her that I found her wallet. She was ecstatic! Turns out, the building where she worked was on the same corner of the church. She said to meet her out on the sidewalk at the corner of Douglas and McCallie. When we met up, she immediately hugged my neck and kept thanking me over and over. She looked in the wallet and said that all her credit cards were still in there. She was glad her driver’s license was still there, because she had already made an appointment to get another one. She told me that if there was anything I needed, to find her in the building on the opposite corner of the church. I’ll keep that in mind. I might need something someday.

Oh yeah…there was also a pile of human feces and a tank top shirt on the back steps. :-)

Another thing...thanks for the 4G of music. You know who you are (maybe). I'll be back for more.

Double Paned Prophetic

2011-07-03T02:29:00.003-04:00

The streaks are there before I even spray on the window cleaner. The slightly moist rag takes the streaks away, but leave even more that dissipate as the window dries. Small pieces of lint dance on the glass after all the streaks are gone. A quick wipe with a dry rag and the window is a crystal clear screen for the never-ending movie of the outside world that plays on in the most vividly realistic 3-D. There’s a lot going on out there. The horizon is miles away, and in the space of those miles there are cars taking people on journeys long and jaunts short. There are people without means of transportation either hopping on busses that come through like clockwork, riding bicycles, or using their own two feet to get to wherever they need to go. There are buildings with facades that are worn and cracked and buildings that are so new that they still have the price tags on them. All around the edge of the horizon, mountains line up and act as still sentries, guarding the perimeter of the bustling city from the unseen forces that are imagined as mounting the advance. Among the sounds from these sights are sirens and alarms, horns and shouts, laughter and crying. It is a view that changes from window to window, from floor to floor of this multi-storied building. Different windows; different views in perhaps different times from a life story…

First floor: There is a small boy sitting in the dirt with a dirty cast on a dirty leg. He’s pushing a toy car around in his imagined metropolis of mud buildings, Popsicle stick bridges and paper towel tube tunnels. He winces with a bit of pain as he moves his broken leg in order to swing around to push the car further down the road that continues on behind him. A horrible thing has happened, something this little boy doesn’t quite understand. He looks up in anticipation as he hears a female’s voice come through the open window of the house. Is that mama? Did she come back from that big white building filled with the nice people that put this heavy thing on his still aching leg? Daddy, brother and sister are home, as well as aunts and uncles and grandmas and grandpas, but mama isn’t here. That voice was just one of the other mamas that come and go with sad looks on their faces. Not mama’s voice…and the toy car continues on its journey to the cardboard box school near the end of the dirt and by the edge of the grass.

Second floor: Palm trees and moss covered oaks. Hmm…new things to the boy in the passenger seat. Not much is remembered of the trip from Tennessee to the Sunshine state, but things never seen before leave an impression. A strange noise, later to be found out as a peacock cry, at first scares the boy, and then when the source is found, amazement takes the place of fear. This is his first remembered trip to Florida where his grandmother lives. He gets a little shy when he sees a young couple kissing (the guy who took him down had met his girlfriend there and had no qualms about kissing her in front of the boy). But embarrassment turns to joy when his grandmother greets him and takes him home. Little did he know, but this was to be his home through his first years of college.

Third floor: The sounds of children laughing and playing carry over the playground outside a two-room schoolhouse. Double-dutch jump rope, high-in-the-sky swings, Red Rover, kickball, tether ball, and monkey bars; part of the regimen of exercise called “recess”. This is the place where first friends are made, first crushes are experienced, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are traded “up” for cheese and mayo sandwiches (and maybe a banana to boot). The innocence of childhood is slowly ebbing away, being replaced by just a touch of knowledge of the real world and the pain and the wonder it brings.

Fourth floor: He’s too young to be called a man and too old to be called a boy. He lugs his suitcase up to the room assigned to him for his first year at academy, mere hours away from home. The room is no bigger than his old room at home, but split down the middle in a mirror image of beds, dressers and closets. Yet this one holds two people and their possessions. The previous year, he and his best friend were the whole of the ninth grade class. Now he is just one of about a hundred sophomores. This is where even more friends are made, the knowledge that some people are just not nice at all, and others would give you their all for just the asking. In this time period there is the “never to be forgotten” first kiss, the realization that sports are just not his “thing”, and some decisions are made that just might not be the smartest ones to make. More lessons learned.

Fifth floor: More lugging of suitcases up stairs, this time in a college more than 500 miles from home, yet in the same area where home was before going to Florida. He really doesn’t know what he is doing here. Yes, it was his decision to come here, but deep down, he knows he is only here because it is what is expected of him. Might as well make the best of it and see what there is to do, because people are depending on him. He doesn’t really know what he wants to do in life, and this place is where he is supposed to be made ready for it through books and tests, on paper and in reality. Leave first crushes and kisses behind…this place is full of the real thing! But who has time for that when your education is at stake? Well, at least for the first few years anyway. More bad decisions and the real crusher of dreams called “complacency” take precedence over any original good intentions of the freshman of yesterday. He wonders who he is and where he is supposed to be…the answer is that he is who he is and right here is where he is supposed to be…

Sixth floor: Nothing else matters. There she is. He can’t believe that she is here after many seemingly failed attempts at showing how much he cared, all the notes and letters unanswered, a simple phone call from far away that felt so good…he returns, and here she is. He remembers a few short months ago, a night spent dancing and singing karaoke, and a “few too many” to drive home. Those few extra had nothing to do with the way he felt that night. It was a feeling that he had never really felt until then. That feeling never went away from that day forward. He knew that what he felt was coming back to him; love for someone else that surpassed the love for self many times over. He keeps telling himself that it is too good to be true, but it isn’t. It isn’t even about the prospect of sex. It isn’t even a goal. That doesn’t even happen for several months, and that is just all right for him. Trips to blue holes, vacations many states away and in the backyard of the near foothills, nights around a campfire; those things hold more places in his heart than any heated moment of passion. What is to be is coming to be…

Seventh floor: Rose petal lined path, sweet music, friends and family eagerly waiting, hand in hand they walk. Tears, laughter and “I do.” Running away to beautiful beaches, true alone time and enough pictures, printed and engrained…true honeymoon material. Love…

Eighth floor: A young child cries as another one runs laughing through the house. Six years from wedded bliss, he still feels the same love. Love increased by the same cries and laughter…love times three. He still thinks about how he got to this place from where he was. He never got what he came up to this state to do. But what he does have, he wouldn’t trade it for the world. When he didn’t know what he wanted to do, he believes that it has culminated into this moment in time. Husband, father, mentor, caregiver, lover; is it what he set out to be? It could be true. Being a firm believer in “where you are is where you are supposed to be”, it never occurs to him that there just might be something wrong. Life is good, life is strained, life is love…but what is hidden underneath; what is it that he just can’t see and isn’t even aware that it is to be seen?

Ninth floor: Love times three, minus one. “I want a divorce.” The view from here is a bit smeared…

Tenth floor: Looking around at the clutter he thinks, “Wow…that was a lot of living and learning; healing and hoping; blunders and corrections.” He has come through a rough time, perhaps still in it, but coping and making it. He found out just how many true friends he has, who to trust and who not to whisper any secrets to. He still wonders who he is and where he is supposed to be, but the answers don’t seem to change. He looks out the window and into the past. That’s where he was. The vivid and crystal clear image of a child grown to man and the story that fills the empty spaces between the starting point and the point of now is just that; a story. But it is a story that is his. It isn’t one that he would trade for any story that has a perfect ending or one that he could change if he could. It is where he is supposed to be, for whatever reason. He still has love. He still has things to learn. He still has two young minds to direct in the paths of their lives, to create their own stories. He gives them pointers and tips on how to make a great story. But it is not his to make…it is theirs. He can only fill it with his love and his experience.

This last window needs a lot of cleaning. Two panes of glass that keep out the wind and the rain and allow light in and sight out. How many years of neglect from the city air and dust has it seen? What will it take to make the scene outside of it into one that isn’t hazy or blurred? Squirt, wipe, smear, wipe dry…

It’s looking better already.

Blue Tarp Community

2011-05-18T22:35:00.005-04:00

It was just past dawn on the morning after the worst storms I’d ever seen in this area of the country. I was on my way to work, taking the same route that I take every day. The scenery was as it is every day. Landmarks unknowingly placed along the known route tell me just where I am. I know my way around this area mostly because of these landmarks. The storms that blew through the night before were terrible. According to those who know, there have been storms not unlike this in the past, but this was long before I lived here. This morning, I was totally unaware of what lay ahead on the road. What was familiar had turned into a stranger.

The first sign of what had happened the night before was an overturned horse trailer. I thought to myself that the winds had to have been strong to turn that thing over. It was a nonchalant thought, just an innocent observation that I naively found a little amusing. I even chuckled a little. But the chuckle quickly turned into stoic silence and shock. Up ahead, trees laid across the road from both sides. Someone had already gone through and cut the trunks, first on one side of the road, then the other so that I had to zigzag my way up Apison Pike. What I saw was just utter destruction. Houses leveled. Utility poles lying with downed trees. Cars and trucks flipped over and crushed, even wrapped around trees. It was more than I could understand.

As I made my way through the mess, one thing popped in my mind; I didn’t know where I was. Nothing was familiar. It was like my car had been picked up and dropped in a foreign war-torn country. I actually said, “Where am I?” out loud to no one at all. Tears came to my eyes as a tinge of fear crept up on me. Something terrible had happened here. As I drove slowly through the thin layer of fog that added to the confusion, something else popped into my mind…a scene from a story I had read, “The Mist”, by Stephen King. Near the end of the story, the small group of survivors from the small town in Maine (of course!) made their way through an impenetrable fog in a truck along a road, hoping to reach a place where the fog was not. Unfamiliar plants and creatures crossed the path. It was unfamiliar to them. That was how I felt; in unfamiliar territories and lost.

I came to my senses and realized that a tornado had obviously come through here. I was still talking out loud and had tears in my eyes when I thought of my aunt and uncle, who lived a few hundred feet from where I was. When I could finally see their house, it was a relief to see it still standing. With just that little hint, I figured that if they had been inside of it, then they were OK. With that fear somewhat sated, I stopped by their driveway. There was no way I was getting up it. Trees and utility poles lay across it. I saw a woman on the side of the road across from their driveway, a woman I recognized from my days of working at McKee Foods. I rolled down my window and talked to her. I asked if she knew if my aunt and uncle were OK. She didn’t know, but she thought that they were, because some people had been going from house to house to see if people were alive or trapped or needing assistance of any kind. She pointed to a truck on the side of the road and said, “That person died.” She went on to say that her mother, who is wheelchair-bound, was up in her house and had no way of getting out. I told her, without even knowing, that help would be on the way. I left that area and went on towards E. Brainerd Rd. A policeman was sitting at the intersection, talking to the person who was ahead of me. I pulled up beside and heard the man telling the policeman about this woman, so I knew that help really would be on the way.

I headed on to work. I didn’t know what else to do. I suppose I could have skipped work and did all I could to help those who had lost everything. I didn’t. I know that there wasn’t much of anything that I could have done to help those that others weren’t already helping. I had to go to work. Since my power had gone off the night before, I didn’t even know that tornadoes had hit as many places as they did. I had no way of charging my phone, and it had gone dead. The first thing I did when I got to work was to plug it in and try to call my family in Apison. I tried the first person I could think of, especially since I figured all the land lines were down. I called my cousin, Shane. His parents are the members of my family that live right there by the destruction. I got him on the phone after several attempts and found out that yes, they were fine, but that his friend and most of his family had died in the storm. I just couldn’t believe the tragedy. I called my friend Michelle and in talking to her, found out that the storm had come close to where my kids were with their mother. I hung up and called my ex-wife. I couldn’t get an answer when I called. Do you know panic? I felt panic at that moment. Tears came as my mind imagined never seeing my kids again. I called her new husband and he told me everyone was fine. More tears came in the form of relief.

In the days and even weeks since that morning, people in the affected communities have banded together to clean up and try to piece back together portions of lives lost. The places where houses used to stand are now bare patches of earth, mounds of trees and debris burning away, taking memories up in the air with the smoke rising from the pyres. This place will never be the same. The whole landscape and horizon has changed. It will take time for nature to heal from the monster that raged through that day. It will take time for the people to heal, to rebuild from what they have left. Every day, I pass homes that still stand, their roofs covered with blue tarps to protect the roofs that they were fortunate to escape the storm with. People live in those houses with blue tarps; people who still have hope; still have their possessions and their lives.

While the EF4 tornado was ripping through Apison, and on its way to Cleveland, I was at home. The sky here was partly cloudy, even though I could tell that storms were north of me. The wind would pick up, and then taper off. The rain would come, and then let up. I guess I was blissfully unaware and lucky. I still had the ones I love.

My home is a PBS home. If the TV is on, chances are it is on PBS Kids. There is a show on there called “Peep and The Great Wide World.” The main characters are a chick named “Peep,” a baby bird named “Chirp,” and a baby duck named “Quack.” Even when my kids are not here, the TV is left on, mainly for company and entertainment for my bird. I can’t lie and say that I don’t eavesdrop on the programming, cause, well…I do. Just a few days ago, the story of “Peep” involved the coming of a storm. They had never seen a storm before. They grey clouds covered the sky and they didn’t move on, so they thought they would never go away. The rain started coming down, and they thought it would always rain. The only thing they saw that they could do was to get up and move from their homes; to try and find a place where there were no storms, no rain, no dark clouds. They decided to leave home, but before going, they wanted to visit their friend, a dog. The dog explained that storms never last forever. They move on and leave their mark on where they’ve been. The rains supply life to the trees and grasses that they lived in and played on. The ponds fill back up for swimming pleasure. The sun does come back out. And if you’re lucky, a rainbow supplies the background for a fade-to-black ending…

These storms are gone. They will leave a lasting impression upon the land and our memories. Those who perished have been buried and those who survived still live on. The cleanup continues and the people still work together. It is said that time heals all wounds. I believe it to be so. Time will heal the wounds in all areas; in nature, by replenishing the trees that were torn apart; in hearts, with the love shown for each other not only now, but for all time to come; in our minds by the wonderful phenomenon of filing and forgetting. One thing that I do hope for is that the camaraderie shown during this trying time doesn’t just disappear in an instant. After all, the blue tarps will eventually come down and hopefully, when they do, people will still be there for each other like they should be every day.

Remember, I’ve said it before and I’m saying it again. “In case we never meet again, I love you.”

Sproing!

2011-03-23T01:21:00.005-04:00

I know I’ve noticed it slowly edging its way into my peripherals for a few weeks, but within the past few days, my brain finally caught up with my eyes and showed me what I hadn’t been paying attention to. I see it in my yard, in my neighbors’ yards, on my drive to and from work, just about everywhere. The pinks and the whites and the purples and the yellows and the dull reds told me that spring was coming.

The way I saw it, it was already here. The nodding yellow daffodils are just outside my fence, a group of them standing there like a gathering crowd at the scene of an accident, hint that spring is here. The white Bradford Pear trees that look so pretty, yet smell so bad, and seem to be everywhere, tell me that spring is here. The warmer temperatures, the ever-thickening tufts of grass popping up in my yard, and the certain shorts-and-sandals wearing students at UTC, all tell me that spring is here. Even before the calendar stated that it was spring, I knew it was here. And pretty soon, the sounds of “Play Ball!” will definitely indicate that, yes indeed, spring is here.

Dormancy wakes up to activity. The sleep of winter turns into the budding awakening of spring. What seemed to have been dead is thrust into the world anew. The bulbs planted in my “serenity spot” (which is really just a place I planted flowers under some trees, nothing really serene about it, except it is in the shade) have already pushed aside the layer of detritus that cushioned them from freezing temperatures and are stretching up toward the warming sun. Lawnmowers are waking from their winter’s sleep ready to chop and maim and fill the air with the aroma of their presence…mmm…cut grass and gasoline. The trees that have stood silently naked during the bleakness of winter are slowly adorning their latest spring fashions in pastel colors that change to their final greens. Spring is springing forth to make way for summer…sweet, sweet summer.

I am a child of summer. Spring and autumn are my godparents. Winter is an ex in-law that I never seemed to get along with. Spring is really cool. You see, what it does is lay the groundwork for the fun of summer. It is a stepping stone to summer, a gateway season to wean us from the stupor of cold and build up our tolerance to the coming heat. Trees fill out to create shade from the sun; grass thickens to tickle the toes and pad the feet; lakes and rivers become places to float and frolic and swim in. But that is jumping ahead too far…patience, I must have.

Spring is normally the start of something new. Not all things are new. The bulbs under the ground are the same bulbs; the trees are the same trees; the grass is the same grass. The only newness of these things is the life reawakening in them. I guess you can say that nothing is really new. It’s all been done before. Maybe not in your yard or in your life, but somewhere it has happened already. I have a very small patch of monkey grass that I am trying to spread. I brought this patch with me from my old house, where the growth of monkey grass was thick and easy to propagate. Mostly all of it came from a patch from my neighbor’s property. It took years, but eventually, all my large trees had rings around them, and the flower gardens were bordered too. I had to start all over again over here. In the nearly three years that I have lived in my new place, my small patch has only grown maybe twice its size. But I am being patient. My bulbs that I transplanted have not failed me. They have spread more than I had imagined! The monkey grass and the bulbs are a little piece of my old place and life that hopefully will live on for a long time.

Some things don’t emerge anew when the season changed. My cactus (God rest its soul!) didn’t make it through the winter. I had 3 Hostas that I had transplanted from pots from my old house. Only 2 survived the transplant. It looks like only one is left now. Could be that the other one just hasn’t poked out of the ground yet? We will see.

Also, some things don’t even make it to spring. When the March Lion roared its way through a few weeks ago, I lost a tree. It fell and crunched a fence, but no other damage was done. I’m still trying to clean up after that mess. There are limbs all over the yard, not just from that tree, but from others that were blown down in that same storm’s display of aggression. There’s a lot to do before I can mow my yard. But I know that it will look so good when it is cleaned and mowed. Nothing beats a pretty yard!

Something that is new has to do with where I work. An opportunity is before me. More responsibility and growth is before me. I’m not going to talk about what it is just yet, but it is something I’ve wanted for a while and it is a good thing. Much thought and many hours dissecting the pros and cons have been spent in this decision. Soon!

Here’s to hoping that this spring brings happiness and growth to many. I need it, and I know lots of others who need it. We need the hope. We need the blessing of a rebirth and emergence as a new plant, ready for blossoming and the blessed beauty of its flower and the nourishment of any fruit that grows.

Hmm…Fruit. That reminds me. I want a garden this year…

Along for the Ride

2010-12-24T22:39:00.004-05:00

I wrote this a few years ago as an entry into a Christmas writing contest. I wasn't happy with it (and am still not) when I turned it in, but deadlines are deadlines...but I still got 1st place.

The coffee in the cup in front of me is a creamy, caramel-colored lifesaver. A waitress, (Jan, by the name printed on her tag) tilted the carafe towards my cup as if to ask if I needed a refill. I covered my cup with my hand. I had it just the way I liked it and topping it off would make the combination of coffee, creamer, and sugar off balance. I don’t know about the other diners in this mellow, out-of-the way coffee shop, but I don’t like coffee straight out of the pot, a bitter black concoction more apt to strip paint than provide warmth and that little jolt of energy, a jolt that I so desperately needed this morning. Last night had been the longest night of my life…but strangely enough, it was possibly the best night of my life.

I work for a package delivery service. It doesn’t pay much and the work sometimes is harder than what the pay is worth. It gets especially busy this time of year, with all our clients almost tripling their demand for on-time shipping. Why must they wait until December to finally get their act together? It really would help if we knew ahead of time what we were shipping and where we were delivering it to. It would really help if we had the shipping order in our hands at least by October, but because of others’ procrastinations, our boss doesn’t give us our orders until it is almost too late. And it would really help if we didn’t try to ship all our orders in one night.

At the root of it all, we like to blame it on the list of customers itself. I can always depend on having a job to do, but you can never tell how the list is going to change. There are always some clients who, for one reason or another, choose not to ship this year. Some are taken off of the list for non-compliance with the shipping agent’s stringent rules. Yet, others are put on the list when they make an order for the first time. Our boss, who is the main person in charge of the list, has a team of helpers who help with the ongoing task of maintaining the list, gleaning information from customers’ wishes in order to fulfill their shipping requests in a timely manner. Even with that team, the upkeep is overwhelming.

The end of this year was particularly hard for me. I have worked for the same company for… let’s see…well, as long as I can remember I’ve held the same job. My parents worked for this same company until their retirement. I was still a few years away from employment at the time, but I was already being taught the tricks of the trade for the day I too joined the ranks of the greatest shipping company in the world. They both taught me the ropes, like how each customer is unique and how their orders were tied to them in a special way; and the proper way to package the products to be shipped so as to protect them from the slightest damage. All of this and more were important to keep the company going from year to year. But even having been taught all of the secrets of proper shipping, that’s not where I started.

My first job with the company was in the Department of Transport Maintenance. Some of the others on my team inspected the vehicle, going through a pre-flight checklist, mainly for safety and proper operation of the transport. It was my job to make sure that the delivery transport was cleaned, stocked with all the necessary in-flight accessories needed for the pilot to make the delivery, and lastly, to ensure the pilot’s cabin was free from clutter that could obstruct his view. Also, the cargo hold had to be emptied out and cleaned to make room for the new order of packages. That’s what I did. It wasn’t a menial job...it was important for the pilot’s comfort and convenience, but it still wasn’t what I wanted to do. I had to work my way up, just like in any other job.

I quickly rose up the ranks, moving to Pre-flight Inspector, on to Transport Propulsion Manager, on and on up to my current job: Manager of the Packaging Department. It was what my father did before he retired, overseeing the entire preparation, labeling, and sorting of packages to be delivered. This is where I was meant to be. Every male in my family, from generation to generation was destined to be Packaging Manager, some whether they wanted to or not. For me, though, it is exactly where I wanted to be.

I guess I’ve drifted…I was thinking about this past year and especially last night, wasn’t I? Yeah, that’s it. Let me get a sip of my coffee and I’ll go on. Mmm…that’s good. OK.

I guess it was back in October, and everyone was on edge, waiting and knowing that soon we would all be tested to the utmost of our abilities; tested by only doing what each of us were trained and ready to do. I was going over our inventory of packing supplies (boxes, paper, shipping labels, tape, etc.). Come the end of the year and we don’t have enough…boy, would I look stupid. Since our warehouse and packing plants are several days travel from the nearest city, we needed to place our orders in enough time to get here to enable us to cover our bases for the busiest time of the year. It was close to quitting time and I was closing the inventory program on my desktop, the newest addition to our never ending quest for the newest technology to keep us on the “cutting edge”. Elroy Snowden, the Warehouse Manager for our entire operation poked his head into my office.

“All set?” he asked. I didn’t have the fondest liking for Elroy. He was only a few years older than me, and even though our jobs were on the same pay scale, he acted like he was the List Maintenance Manager, who in turn was only second in command, just under the boss himself. He had his nose so far up in upper management’s “business area” that I wondered how he ate food with that smell lingering just above his mouth.

“Yeah, just let me finalize a few things here and I’ll be out of here.”

“Well, before you go let me give you a heads up on something…something that’s going to seem real important in a few weeks,” he said. I didn’t look up from my computer, but I could just sense the smug look of self-importance on his face. “I hear that the list is going to be big this year. It seems that we have had less people dropped this year than ever before, and that’s going to affect everyone, especially your department.” That was something I didn’t want to hear.

“OK, Elroy. I suppose I’ll hear all about it in a meeting, right?”

“Yeah, I suppose. You’ll be the first to know as soon as I find out something, OK?” He said that in a manner that reminded me of just why I didn’t like him…or any of his kind, for that matter. He faked compassion, he tried to conceal it, but I knew what he was…he was condescending.

Just go away. Leave and never come back. I thought this as I grinned and said, “Well, I’m ready. Let’s get out of here. Tomorrow is just another day that is going to come too soon.”

2

The next day, I arrived at work to a buzz of activity. Workers were huddling together in groups, with some looking harried and worried, others sitting around with their heads in their hands, while others just sat with blank looks of confusion on their faces. I pulled the first worker I could find and called him into my office.

“What’s going on out there?” I asked him. I had my feelings; the news had gotten out…of that I was sure.

“It’s the list! It’s the list! Oh, we are so screwed!”

“What about the list?” I demanded to know.

“You won’t believe this, but they say that the list is going to be at an unprecedented level this year. While only 65 million have been dropped from the list, at least 75 million more have been placed on the list since last year. That brings our total number of those on the list to over 6 billion! That’s the highest it has ever been!” His eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his skull at any moment.

“Calm down now, just calm down. This is not something that we can’t handle. We’ve had increases almost as much as this in the past. I wouldn’t get so worked up about it.” I said this almost not believing it myself. This was the biggest increase, or at least the biggest increase that I could remember. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, it looked like Elroy was right.

“Top you off, honey?” I looked up and Jan was trying to give me more coffee.

“Not yet. I’m not ready.” I almost forgot that I was not in the office at that moment. I’m still sitting at the end of this counter, a counter filled with people; some with their own cups of coffee and their own stories to tell. But I’m telling mine, so now back to it.

Elroy was right. After attending the meeting, complete with every project and warehouse manager available, including the boss (the main man, the head honcho, the big cheese) I determined that even though the news was not good, the results could be. I set out to prove that what my father had taught me long ago was going to keep me in the best light possible, even maybe shine brighter on me and my department. I was given a secondary crew to support the crew that I already had. It was wonderful! It looked like things were going to be alright after all. And they were.

The tale of how everything came down to the wire up to just a few days before shipping day is pretty boring, I must say. But let me just sum it up a little. With the extra help that the boss had granted my department (well, not really just my department, but the whole process had extra help), things went smoothly. Not that I was looking for a promotion or anything, but maybe there was this little notion in the depths of my thinking, not whacking me over the head with a stick, but more like tickling me with a feather, making me wonder if one was in store for me if things went like I planned. Maybe that feather was all I needed. And maybe I, in turn, used that same feather to tickle a little enthusiasm into my workers. Something worked…because we were ready for shipping two days before the deadline. More than 6 billion packages were sitting in the warehouse, ready to be distributed to each and every client who had requested them. It was pretty amazing, but what really was better than that, was the fact that the number of orders increased from last year (over 10 million!) and we had done it! The boss was going to be pleased.

3

Now, right there in the middle of my outright joy and self-satisfaction of a job well done, I almost forgot one thing that could have distracted me from the task that needed to be done. I was professional enough, but when personal matters invade into your professionalism, you never know what will happen. I had found out, somewhere in the last days of pushing my workers to finish the job, that my parents were getting a divorce. A divorce! They had been married for what seemed like centuries and now, for whatever reason, they were giving up. If I had still been a child, this news would have been a whole lot worse than what it was. It was still bad enough, though. I was their only child, a likeness of my father. I was who he was, and I am who he is. Without the help of both of them working as a team, I never would have stepped into my father’s shoes; that I am sure of. News of this spread among the warehouse and even though my workers didn’t come up to me, offering hollow or sincere regrets, I felt they all knew.

I was sitting at my desk, on the eve of delivery, when a knock came on my office door. I expected it to be Elroy coming to offer his counterfeit condolences. I looked up, and to my utter surprise, there was the boss himself. I thought I hid my amazement pretty well as I stood up to welcome him in.

“Sit down, sit. No need to stand,” he said as he stepped just inside my office door and closed it. “I heard some things and wanted to stop by to say that if there is anything that I can do, just let me know.”

I was still in shock of him coming to my office. He rarely even left his own while at work, much less visited his underlings with condolences. “Thank you. I think I will be all right.” I knew I would be. After all, I wasn’t a kid. I could take a little disappointment without letting it defeat me.

“I also wanted to tell you that you have done a heck of a job getting the packages ready for this delivery. In spite of your personal matters trying to let you down, I think that you stepped up and rose above it all. I’m sure that all of our customers will be very happy, don’t you? I know I am.” He said this with an honest, yet sly grin on his face. What was he up to? Where was he going with this?

“I remember your father. He was a great worker. And I’m sure an even greater Dad,” he said, closing his eyes as if to draw up a picture of my father at work.

“Thank you. He was and is.”

“Enough about that…let me ask you something,” he said. “You know that as well as being the one in charge of everything that goes on here, I am also the one who pilots these packages to their destinations.” I knew that. He was pilot, co-pilot, and delivery person wrapped up in one package. He worked alone.

“Yes, sir, I do know that.”

“In light of the excellent job that you have done this year, and also as a deterrent from your personal matters, I would like to invite you to join me on my flight. You don’t have to lift a finger to help; I can take care of everything. I just feel like it would be nice if you could get away from here, don’t you?”

“It would be nice,” I said. Who was I, that he would single me out of all these other managers to go out on the only flight of the year that he himself directed like a long running Broadway play? No one, I thought to myself.

“Well then, be ready. We leave at midnight.” Without another word, he turned and walked out through the now-empty warehouse that only hours ago, still held most of the packages destined for their respective destinations all over the globe. I was still reeling from it all. No, not the news of my parents impending divorce…that was small change compared to what lay ahead of me now. I couldn’t believe what was happening to me. Did Elroy know? I don’t think so, for if he did, he would already be standing in my office doorway, congratulating me but secretly hating me. Deep down, I hope he did know. I really did.

4

So now, here I am. The darkness outside is slowly creeping away, making room for the light that will soon wake up the world to a brand new day. Not just any day, though. It is Christmas day. I spent the entire night, globetrotting with the best deliveryman in the world. We had delivered all 6 billion packages with me hardly even noticing it. Time seemed to have just flown and stood still all at the same time. I could only imagine all the people finding their packages, ripping them open to find that they got exactly what they ordered. I knew this happened each year, but this time was very different. Instead of just checking the list of deliveries that went into the cargo hold of the transport and sending them on their way to be delivered, I was able to take a peek first-hand of what happens when they leave my warehouse. Promotion or no promotion…I didn’t care. I was able to see a little bit of what every manager, employee, and customer would never dream of seeing. I saw the master deliveryman at work. I saw a little bit of what he does when he leaves his post for that one day of the year, that one day that the rest of the world holds so dear. This was one experience that I would hold dear, one that I would be telling my children about many years from now. Yes children, Daddy rode along…and what a ride!

The bell on the diner door jingled a little, telling those who would listen that someone was coming in for a little coffee, maybe one of those glistening cheese danishes or a doughnut even. I sensed the other customers looking up as they do every time that bell chimed. I didn’t need to look to see who it was. I could feel who it was. It was him, with his bushy white beard, that ridiculous yet all-too-cool red uniform covering a larger-than-life body. I knew there was snow on his black boots and a red and white cap on his head. I felt a hand on my shoulder. Yep, white gloves.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Yes sir, I’m ready.” Jan came over and asked if I needed a refill yet. Gathering up what sugar and creamer lay in front of me, I allowed her do it this time. “Just make it to go. We’ve got a long trip ahead of us. A long trip indeed.”

Just My Luck

2010-09-20T01:58:00.000-04:00

My feet hurt. I’ve driven over this stretch of turns and straight-aways on this parcel of road many times. It seems a ways to go by car. Now I’m on foot. If I was wearing some decent shoes for this trip, instead of my tried-and-true sandals, my feet wouldn’t be hurting. I think I’m developing a blister on my right foot. Ouch. The 3-minute drive looks like it is going to turn into a 30-minute walk.

No one is stopping to ask if I need a ride. If you are on the side of the road, as I was about 10 minutes ago, there is bound to be someone who stops to ask if you are ok. Two people did stop as I was futilely turning the ignition in hopes that my Volvo had become the physician that heals himself. I thanked them, but didn’t take any offers for help. After all, my car always magically starts to run again after a few choice words and turns of a wrench on an unrelated part of the problem. I did accept the offer of one dude to help push my car out of the road and into a lot just up the road. Little did I know that he wanted to push me with his car. I should have had a hint of unconventionality when he asked if I wanted a push, then before I could decide and say “yes”, he started asking, “Yes? No? Yes? No?” I said yes, and then he got in his car. “Boomhauer” came right up to my bumper, and by that point, I knew what was going to happen. And I let it happen…minus one bumper sticker from his bumper rubbing on mine, and I was off of the road.

Glad I brought something to drink. Food Lion Diet Green Tea with Citrus Flavor. I’ve never tasted anything as tasty as this drink tastes right now. Plodding on, step by step.

The Green Tea was left over from yesterday’s “Day Trip, Morphed into Sleepover” at the lake. I was only going to go for the day, so I didn’t take the normal camping gear. I did put some things in the car, for “just in case”; A pillow, a blanket, a cooler for some water (and the Tea, as it turned out), and a bag of Cheddar Cheese Rice Cakes. I was glad for these things, for the “just in case” turned into “reality”. That was decided as soon as the second shot of Rum was burning down my throat…taken for medicinal purposes only, mind you. I was practicing the art of self-healing and trying to clear my lungs of excess muckiness as a result of a sinus infection. Worked rather well too, I must admit. And of course, there was a campfire there too, for the sole purpose of inducing a cough to help rid of said muckiness. Nice…

Stupid car…I love it. I hate it. I had only had it back on the road for a week. The last problem had been resolved by replacing the in-tank fuel pump. The periodic stuttering and stalling had stopped and Patty (as is her name) had been running like a dream. And as in all dreams, they end when you wake up. I’m awake now…and not knowing that the dream is over.

Before the walk started, I had checked a few things under the hood. There was a loose ground, so I tightened it. For some reason, even though the plug wires were in their correct order, the distributor cap was on backwards. User error. Got that turned around and the wires re-directed. Perhaps that was the problem? Rrrrr-rrrrrr-rrr. Nope. No-go. Not out of gas. I had just filled up two days ago and the needle still said over ¾ of a tank. I smelled gas, so that told me that the pumps were doing their job (without tools or the proper testing equipment, a guess is all I have). All hoses, fuel and vacuum, seemed OK and connected to their respective fittings. That leaves only one possible and most likely culprit: Gremlins. Oh, how I hate those things…

Oh yeah, I do have my cell phone. Why don’t I just use it to call someone and have them pick my up, make this walk a little bit less? Phone is in pocket, hand is about to retrieve it…oh yeah…no good. Since I was only going for the day yesterday, I didn’t bother to bring my phone charger. Many texts went to and fro last night, and sometime, in the hours between waking and eating breakfast and getting in the car to leave the “camp”…the phone died. It didn’t even have enough power for me to look up numbers to use someone else’s phone to call for help. I was supposed to “be somewhere” at 5:00 PM today. It is now after that time and I have no way of letting the other parties know that I won’t be there. Sadly, it was an appointment that I really, really didn’t want to miss.

Oh boy. I’ve reached a busy road. Closer to my destination, but the cars on this road go faster than the 30mph. limit of the subdivision streets. At least I am closer to where I want to be.

I do have a blister. I can feel it. Sigh.

My mind wanders to the night before. After a round or two of mental adjustments and male-bonding, our thoughts and bodies leaned towards the two man-powered watercrafts beached just a ways from the campsite. Paddles in hand, we headed to the canoes and pushed off. The water was a shimmering sheet of glass, broken only by the emergence of water plants touching the surface in patches. The waxing moon reflected on this surface, bright enough to show us where to go, yet dark enough to not always be able to see where to go. The horizons reflected on the water looked like islands floating in space and the water we were on was cosmic matter. Hey…it’s how I saw it. Nothing extra to induce this vision…not needed anyway. The night and the euphoria induced by just being out there made it all happen. It was grand, paddling all over that lake, listening to the slap of paddles on water, the frogs croaking and peeping, and the occasional flapping of the insect-hunting bat overhead. Nice…

Glad that happened, cause now is far from then. I’ve crested the hill and can see my destination. I can see some people sitting in the driveway, some shooting hoops. They see me and wave. And I know what is going through their thought processes. “Hey, that looks like Travis walking this way. I’m gonna wave…” I wave back.

I’m met with a welcome and a barrage of questions. Matter is, I broke down, ended up walking 2 miles to get back to where I had left 45 minutes ago. Back to where I got help from someone who cares about me; from someone who cares enough to take me back over to my car to see if we can get the car running again; someone who cares enough to use their own towing service through insurance to have my car towed home once the trying ended.

It just hasn’t been a great couple of days for me, at least mentally and physically. I’ve been fighting a sinus infection, got $190 worth of bad news about my phone bill (Oh, how I love Verizon and their “overage” charges. I ♥ them!), and now, just when I thought I had the extra money to pay said phone bill, my car breaks down. I just can’t get ahead. The Morton Principle is in full action once again. Just my luck…

But there’s the one who loves me. Calling the towing company. Doing for me because she can and wants to. That feels good. I’ll get the phone bill paid for. Somehow. I’ll figure out what’s wrong with my car. Eventually. This sinus infection is still around, but diminishing. Soon it will be gone.

But the little things that count? They’ll stick around.

It’ll all work out.

09-20-10

Loved to Death

2010-06-01T23:55:00.001-04:00

(I wrote this piece a few weeks ago, but somehow lost it on my hard drive…found it, so here goes…)

“If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.” – From The Crow, spoken by Sarah (1994)

“Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come.” - Shakespeare

I don’t know how many times my wake-up alarms went off this morning. I could probably figure it out if I knew the interval of the alarm between each hit of the snooze button. I know that it was already forty-five minutes beyond the first alarm (the one that is supposed to wake me up) and the time that I finally opened my eyes and told myself that the time to wake was now. I sure didn’t want to, but I did.

The past few days have been ones of little sleep. On Wednesday, I worked a twelve-hour day. It wasn’t such a hard day, really. The first half was spent checking my floors in the 10-story business office building at work. Easy. The second half was spent in the kitchen, preparing a meal of chicken fingers and spicy cubed potatoes for the Wednesday night dinner. Not hard, but tiring work. And if my work day wasn’t long enough, I had been invited to go out afterwards for a while. Even though I felt like a zombie, I went, hung out and even had a frosty beverage or two. Angelo’s wasn’t packed with a crowd like it usually is, but my friends were there, so all was good. I think the last time I was there was St. Patrick’s Day where everyone was going green! There was so much green, that for a moment, I felt like I was at an EPA convention (cue snare drum). Anyway, I saw a friend that I hadn’t seen in a while. It happened to be her birthday and she was celebrating it by listening to a bunch of tipsy folks singing karaoke and drinking some weird Iced Tea supposedly made in Long Island (riiiight). I was really glad to see her again, cause, well…she catches my interest.

Yesterday, I worked nine hours, but before that, I went to my kids’ school to turn in some paperwork for upcoming events at the school. I love my kids’ school. I love the fact that the parents of the children attending there are involved with the daily activities of the school. And I like completing my obligation of mandatory volunteer hours. Too many parents aren’t involved with their kids’ education. Anyway, I have completed my obligation for this year. Whew! After work, I met another friend (interesting too!) at Starbucks for a Happy Hour ½ off frappachino. I’m a sucker for caramel, so I had the biggest one they had. I think I correctly said the name of the size I wanted. At least the server didn’t laugh at me, so I must have said it right. Venti…ven-ti…oh just give me a large! I heard a coffee creamer commercial the other day where the server was asking for the name of the coffee, not “how do you want your coffee”. I found it funny and thought of Starbucks immediately. Whatever they called it, I would have to say it was yummy! After what seemed like only a few minutes (but was really almost an hour and a half), I headed to the East Brainerd ball fields where my son was playing a game.

I am proud of both of my kids. They are both playing ball this summer. I mean, they played last summer, but this is a new league, with new coaches, and they are both a bit better at it than they were last year. I’m not much of a sports fan, but if my kids are playing, you can bet I’ll be there with the giant oversized “#1” Hand, cheering them on, and heckling the other players (LOL…not really). Now if they would only allow me to wear my Dual Beer Mug Hard Hat, then all would be well. My boy made me proud. In tonight’s game, he hit the ball every time he was up to bat. Usually, if he starts out bad, he gets downhearted for the rest of the game, or at least until he makes a hit. But this time he started out strong and stayed strong for the entire game.

I love them. My son just turned 7 and my daughter will be 11 this year. Well worn words and phrases state the obvious. “Time sure flies by”, “They’re getting so big”, and “Cherish every moment”, are ones that, although getting passé and cliché, make me think of how true they are. They won’t be little for long and the things that are reserved for the future are feeling more and more like “now” and less and less like “then”.

I spent some time tonight thinking about my kids. Most of it was looking at pictures of them as infants and toddlers, remembering those days with a mix of sadness and delight. I really cherish the photos of them as babies. Those days seem to fade into oblivion, but with photos and videos to remind me, they can stay fresh in this aging and forgetful mind of mine.

They are asleep for the night. When I look at my sleeping children, I wonder what they’re dreaming about. Surely not about tar balls washing up on sandy beaches from the oil spill in the Gulf and how that catastrophe has drastically damaged the ecosystem for years to come. Nor about how in a land far away from their comfortable home, the Israelis and Palestinians continue to battle an age-old conflict that will never be resolved. I’m sure it isn’t about flooding in Nashville, the violent crackdown on protesters in Thailand, nor how Korea, a country divided, continues the threat of war.

I’m sure they are dreaming happier dreams. My son might be dreaming of hitting the winning home run for his little league team or catching the fly ball that ends a winning game. He might even be dreaming of this certain little girl that is a grade ahead of him at school…and I wouldn’t doubt it; he talks about her all the time. My daughter might be dreaming of riding on the back of a winged dragon, or watching dinosaurs roaming in a strange landscape, or even with her…dreams of a boy, although being her daddy, I hope those dreams are still in the future.

I’m pretty sure their dreams do not involve hatred, evil or death. I know they know what death is. A great-grandmother, pets, and people that they sort of knew have died in their lifetime. They know that the possum in the road is not there because that’s where he fell asleep. The mouse that the cat brings up on the porch isn’t going to go home and tell of the near-miss with a large feline. Death is death; no one or no thing is going to come back, at least not on this earth. Ethereal matters I will not discuss here…He knows where my heart is.

Am I afraid of death? I should say no, but I think yes. I think that we all are afraid of dying, of leaving behind those we love; of not knowing what will happen after the last breath has left our bodies. You can say you are ready for it when you know it is near all you want, but I believe no one is really ever “ready”. Call me selfish, but I love life. I love living. I love being around those that I love. I love myself. I love loving. Am I vain to think that a lot of people would miss me? Is it wrong to think that many lives would be missing something that once made them smile, laugh, get angry, think…that to not have me in their lives ever again would be like they had died as well? I don’t know too many people that would absolutely not be able to continue life with relative normality if I were to disappear. Close family and friends, maybe for a little while. My kids; definitely.

When my sister died, there was one thing that I had wished for, something that even now, I would trade all the good times I was having while she was suffering, all the happiness in my life, all the drugs and alcohol and friends who were only around while a good time was to be had…I would trade all of it for one thing…I wish that we had been closer. I know in the physical sense, it was impossible; I lived in Tennessee while she was in Florida. I wished for mental and spiritual closeness with her that we just didn’t share. I blame it partly on the length of time spent apart, but mostly on my nonchalance, my “don’t give a damn” mentality…I was living my life and apart from my wife (at the time) and kids, everyone else ranked way below the here and now of then. And by the time I realized that there were other things more important than my little bubble of a world, she was gone.

I don’t ever want to have to wish that wish again. I want a close relationship with each and every one of my friends and my family. Even if I don’t know you that close, unless you have harmed me or anyone else that I love, unless you are the absolute incarnation of evil…I love you. Life is too fragile and too short to live in hatred or to be detached from those who care about you, about me, about whomever. In my heart, I know that I don’t hate anyone; I know that I don’t wish harm to come to anyone. I know that I can be inward, shy, reserved, and just plain scared sometimes…afraid of all the “what ifs”, afraid of rejection. I’m working on it…I’m working on it. But I also know that I’m comfortable when the “what ifs” are identified and dealt with. I know that rejection happens. I know that hurt happens. I know that mistakes can be made and sometimes the choices we make affect not only ourselves, but those around us. I’ve made choices that were hard to make. I know that even though outer forces and factions come into play when making a choice, ultimately it is my own decision. Sometimes I even regret the decisions I make. At the time, and even later, I know that the choices are made with the best interest of all involved, and even if they were the “right” choices…regret is often a consequence.

They say that “Death waits for no one”. I say that it can. It can hang around, lurking nearby, just waiting for the perfect time to pounce. Or it can show up one day unannounced. So love deeply those that you love. Let them know by actions and by words just how much you can and do love. Don’t let a chance to show appreciation escape. Love with all of your heart and that love will outlast any temporary stay on this planet. I want those I love to know I love them and always will.

I want to love them to death…

Wrong Turn Goes Right

2010-01-31T01:31:00.002-05:00

Where am I? What seemed like ages ago, I felt a pull in the guise of a voice, perhaps in the smallest whisper, one only heard in the rustle of my hair in a breeze, an invitation to GO, pulling me towards my car. “Get in and drive”. Earlier, I had been sitting in my computer room, wasting time in front of the computer. I was on Facebook, Myspace, blogspot.com, Twittering my time in bits and bytes. Just wasting time, and ignoring the want of something more. The sun had been blocked by clouds for most of the morning, so when I saw the windows of this place I call home light up in the orange glow that suggests a warm day outside; the time to stop ignoring and start doing had finally arrived. But I protested a bit. Just a little bit. I was hungry. I had already had two cups of coffee but no food. The urge to fill my stomach overwhelmed the urge to get out, but once that need was filled, the call of escape started tapping me on the shoulder once again.

I didn’t know where I was going. I just got into my car and sat there for a while. I took inventory of what I had gathered for the excursion: water and Dr. Pepper, cell phone, camera. I couldn’t think of anything else I needed. Maybe except for a travel partner, someone to sit in the empty seat next to me, someone to share an afternoon drive to nowhere…someone who possibly had longer hair than I and a whole lot better looking…but I had to be content with just the imagination of that someone. With that, I turned the key and started the journey.

It is country out here. Country as cows and mules and chickens and porch dogs. Country as clean air, John Deere, Pabst Blue Ribbon, and buckshot. Due east, mountains rise above the horizon, misty blue mounds that disappear from sight when the road dips, looms into view when it rises. To the north, lies Cleveland. To the south; Dalton. To the west; Chattanooga. I headed east. Of course, I couldn’t go east as the birds fly. No roads go due east from here. They meander in all directions, surely meant to disorient the unwary wanderer, which I seem to be one of. I keep meaning to put a map in the car, or better yet, get online and map the roads that lead to the mountains from my house, but as of today, I had done neither one. I just decided that if I could see the mountains in front of me, I was headed in the right direction.

I can’t remember at what point I forgot to remember if that was a left or a right at that last intersection. I think that I distinctly remember saying that it didn’t matter, that all these roads lead to a major road somewhere, certainly goes to somewhere familiar, or at least familiar enough to find my way. But here in front of me is a fork in the road. I can’t see the mountains that have been peeping above the tree line, so that clue isn’t working for me at the moment. Up ahead is a church with a cemetery. I’ve always liked roaming through cemeteries. There’s finality in a graveyard. It is the one place that everyone will visit one day, not just for the day, but for a long, long time. Walking around in one is sobering. Death is neither picky nor discriminate. We all are welcome there!

But I don’t stop at the church with the graveyard. I keep on. I take a road that goes right (right seems right to me) and continue on. I pass houses, some with the look of antiquity (faded wood porches that wrap around the house…love those old houses), others that look only a few years old. Some houses even stay true to the “in disrepair, cars on blocks, appliances in the front yard (a washing machine flower pot…why didn’t I think of that?), and a yard gone fallow. Even though I don’t know where I’m going, I’m not lost at the moment; I’m just misplaced. Faith in getting somewhere is what keeps me going. Knowing that I’ll end up just where I’m going keeps me going further. The mountains are big enough that sooner or later, they will come back into sight and I will know exactly where I am and which way I should go.

If there was someone to ask for direction, I would do it. I’m not above admitting that I am wrong, lost, or going in the totally wrong direction. I’m not usually the person who just goes and goes on a whim, just thinking that I will find my own way. I like direction. But I’m stepping out here, going into territory unknown, although still familiar, and not worrying or caring one way or the other. What will be, will be. I’ve found myself doing that more and more lately, whether I like it or not.

I like Stephen King. I have for a long time now. His books have a way of pulling me in to the world within the writings, almost making me a character alongside those in the book. I guess any book can do that, but I’m talking about my favorite author here, so I’m going with that. I admit that sometimes he takes up too much time beating around the bush, taking forever to get to the point where the action starts, building up characters and timelines almost to the point of “get to the point already”. I’m about to start reading the 7th and last book of his “Dark Tower” series. Short synopsis: The Gunslinger, Roland, and his three companions (his “ka-tet”) are getting closer and closer to the Dark Tower and the secret that lies therein. There are many more worlds than our own, each one held by a Beam radiating from this Tower, and they are being broken one by one by workers loyal to “The Crimson King”. When the last Beam is broken, all worlds will fall into darkness, and be ruled by the Red Eye of the Crimson King…not a good thing. Roland is a believer in “Ka”, which in our world can also be called “Karma”. Ka decides that what will be, will be. Ka is what guides the bullet from his gun. Hell, Ka is what draws his gun. Even more so, Ka is what gives him a reason to shoot in the first place. “If Ka wills…”

I’m not too sure I like being subjected to Ka, Karma, or Destiny. I would like to think that I am in control. After all, I am the one choosing which way I will go, whether it is left (bad choice?) or right (good choice?) or just staying the course and keep on going forward. If where I end up is left up to Ka, then what’s the point in making any decision for right or for wrong? Or what’s the point of making any decision at all, for that matter? If I’m destined for failure, why should I try to succeed? If I’m destined to succeed, then all these failures are for what purpose? To show me what it is like to fail just so that I can have something to look back on once I’m at the top of The Tower? To me, to believe that is to have a “do-nothing” attitude. Hey…then I must be a believer in Karma, to some extent. I have been accused of just that before. I just “let things happen”.

Man, I’m getting confused here. Things happen for a very good reason. Which way is that going? If things just happen, then did I have a part in it? I’m sure I did…or do. And if I did have a part in it, then wouldn’t I have knowledge of what the reasoning behind it all was? I sure don’t. I haven’t and I’m not sure I ever will. At least it seems like I never will. Something else I’ve heard; “Where you are at this time and place is exactly where you are supposed to be”. That’s another thing that eats at me. I believe that and at the same time, I want proof that it is where I’m supposed to be. And I want to know if where I’m supposed to be is where I want to be, or if that will lead me to where I want to end up. I have the end result (the mountains, my happiness, my security) in my mind as my destination, and by golly, I’m going to get there. Ka be damned. Ka be praised.

Taking a left, taking a right, going straight ahead…It’s a choice I choose to make, even if the choice is the one that I was going to make all along, according to Destiny, whether I am conscious of that or not. Driving and going, going and driving...but, wait…I just now realized something. I’ve been driving and driving and getting lost and finding my way and getting lost again. I’ve passed time and I’ve passed places familiar and foreign. But really, you know what? I haven’t gone anywhere. I’m holding my head in my hands and thinking and straining and draining my brain…and I’m still in my driveway.

I head for the mountains.

Hey Buddy, Can You Paradigm?

2010-01-07T22:38:00.002-05:00

The holidays are over and a new year has begun. 2010. Good grief…that sure seemed like a long time coming. Back in the simple and carefree days of my youth, any year with a set of digits more than 2000 was the future, man. The time of jetpacks and flying cars, self-cleaning homes and shiny silver clothing. Robots doing the work of man and man not caring. War and hurting disappearing like the dinosaurs. But here we are 10 years past that unimaginable number and we still walk and work and drive on asphalt. War is even more prevalent and pain still hurts. Remember 10 years ago? The whole Y2K scare? Everything automatic or computerized was supposed to revolt against man and we were “this” close to being pushed back into the dark ages? Or even back to the turn of the century (which seems to me, close enough to be the dark ages)? I bought into it a little. I mean, hey, it didn’t hurt to be prepared, even if nothing really happened. I bought a generator big enough to run a few major appliances, enough gas to run that generator and even a vehicle for a few days, and canned food and water to last a month. Turns out, I didn’t even have to use the generator and had extra gas for my cars, and food and water that ended up being used on campouts.

Now that it is the future, I think about the past. Sometimes my mind wanders back to when this man was just a wee lad, to the days of elementary learning and blissful naivety. I remember the three-bedroom, one-bathroom house in the heart of Florida that held five kids and one adult, and the adult took up one bedroom, leaving the children the remaining two. I shared a bedroom with my brother until he went to live in the great white north of Tennessee. That left me with three females (four, counting my grandmother) as roommates. To alleviate crowding in the “girls” room, my youngest cousin moved into my room with me. Those days are as hazy to me now as a brick-paved London street at midnight. Around Thanksgiving of this past year, the cousin that I shared a room with was asking me, “Remember the time when (insert some obscure incident here)?” and other questions that jogged my memory to remember absolutely nothing. My mind drew a blank with her specifics. But of course there are other things that I remember rather well.

With my grandmother living on a fixed income and raising the greater part of her grandchildren (the children of two of her three children), we didn’t have money for extravagant extras such as video games (Atari was the shiznit) or the latest popular anything being advertised on the lone television of the house that resided in the living room. We had to work off some of our church subsidized tuition to the private two-room schoolhouse by cleaning both the church and the school. It wasn’t that hard of work and it taught us skills needed for keeping our homes clean as adults, but of course being kids, it was torture to spend time before and after school doing work instead of playing. And the work wasn’t confined to the church and the school. There was plenty to do at the house. Windows to wash, floors to vacuum or sweep and mop, and rooms to keep clean. Outside, there were animals to feed, a yard to mow, weeds to pull, fruit to pick, eggs to harvest…you name it. My grandmother was not a tyrant, but she made sure we knew the value of work and the satisfaction of knowing that it was done to the end and done right. I still to this day attribute my finely honed attention to detail to those tasks taken to hand on the two acres of fruit trees, moss-covered oaks, and chicken houses that made up the most of what I called home.

I didn’t have a father figure growing up. My dad was out of the picture, due to whatever reasons he had for giving up his parental rights to my brother, sister, and me. Of course, I had uncles who lived nearby, but they had their own lives, and to be truthful, didn’t have much time for a molding a young boy to be a productive citizen. The closest I had to having male guidance were the preachers that rotated in and out of our church. I would do jobs for them at the house that most of them stayed at when they spent their tenure at our church. One preacher was working on a handcrafted wooden boat. After hours of raking leaves in the yard, he would meet me with a tall glass of lemonade and ask if I wanted to give a hand in sanding, sealing, and polishing the two-toned watercraft in his garage. I gladly took to task dipping a paintbrush and carefully layering the sealant onto the boat or gently sanding the alternating strips of dark and light wood that comprised an honest work of art. And what was my reward for my time in his garage? Satisfaction. That, and time on the river when it was finally done. Fishing just off the banks, even if nothing was biting, spending time with someone who genuinely cared enough to teach me things that I otherwise might not have had the chance to learn. I needed what every child needs…to be taught, to be shown…to learn by example.

Being an example for someone is hard work. It is hard to constantly keep yourself in check to make sure that the things you do or the things you say don’t affect someone in a negative light. I mean, it is easy enough to live by example, but to live as an example…your work is certainly cut out for you. There are two kinds of people that you have to be an example for. Those who don’t know you and those that do. You might say that those that don’t know you aren’t as important as those that do. But I think they are. How else can you turn them into friends, co-workers, lovers, or family? Here’s how…by showing them who you are in the most positive light, not just because you want to impress them, but because you truly and honestly are that person.

I am not a bad person. I am not hateful (I “hate” hate, if that makes any sense). I try, oh so hard, to treat others the way I would like to be treated. That doesn’t mean that I don’t make mistakes or hurt people. I certainly don’t intentionally hurt anyone, but it happens. And when it does happen…I hurt as well. I lose my patience. I sometimes let four-letter words slip past my tongue. I get jealous. I get mad. I do all these things that other humans do. And that’s just it. We do them because we are human. We mess up. As a race, we fall short of perfection each and every day. And if we care even the slightest bit about how our actions can affect someone else’s life, then we ought to strive on a daily basis to improve and somehow reverse our shortcomings and prove not only to ourselves, but to those that matter, that we can be living examples of love and life. And just who are those that matter? Everyone matters.

What is a model? Isn’t a model just a replica of the real thing? I used to be deep into the hobby of modeling. Not a fashion model, that’s for sure…I’m talking about putting together small replicas of the real thing. Model cars, model boats, model airplanes. The true modeling hobbyist knows that details are important. Deep into my days of getting Testor’s glue on my fingers and paint on my grandmother’s table, I joined the “Model of the Month Club”. Each month a model car (or plane, or boat, but usually it was a car) was sent to me via the U.S. Postal service. I remember the first time I received a package. I was so excited that I couldn’t wait to open it up and start putting it together. The package looked all official with “Fragile” warnings and “Model of the Month Club” logo. Wow. I was going to be responsible for something that not only represented the real thing, but I had to be extra careful not to break it as well. That excitement lasted just about as long as it took me to open the box. Everything (and I mean everything…well, except for the windshield) was one color and hard plastic. The “rubber” tires were hard plastic. They weren’t even black. They were the same color as the rest of the pieces. It was the lamest model I had ever gotten. I didn’t want to paint the tires black. I didn’t want to chrome the pieces that were already supposed to be chrome. It was not a good example of what it was supposed to represent. I looked at the picture on the box compared to what was inside the box…and shook my head.

I must be an example. I must improve on who I am, because I have people who depend on me for their own “learning by example”. I do not want to “be a disappointment” to those that matter (and everyone matters, right?). I think everyone would agree that the most important example that we have to set are to those who are most impressionable, those who look up to us to show them the way they ought to be, who to be, how to love, how to live. Those are our children.

I sometimes think that I am not a good father. There. I said it. How do others think of the job I do? I think most would not even know except for what they see, what I show them. Of course they wouldn’t know otherwise. But I do. Then there are those that see what they want to see and I can do no right in those eyes. I try, but…sigh…I always fall short. I have already failed at a chance to be an example…and those who know; know what I am talking about…

I see other parents interact with their kids and I think, “I’m not strict enough. They’ve got their kids under their thumbs and by golly; those kids know who is boss.” And then I see those same parents and think, “How can they be so mean to their kids? How can they treat them the way they do and try to make it come across as love?” And herein lies the confusion in my mind…how do I show love and compassion to my children and still be the one who lays down the law and dole out the punishment that comes with disobedience?

Ah. Then it hits me…

It is because of the love and compassion that I have for them that I must show them what is wrong and what’s right and the consequences that come from our actions. Be an example to myself. And part of that is to live as that model. Try to do right. Try to show love at every moment. Strive to be a good person through all the mistakes and in spite of all my imperfections. And does the mere fact that I see and recognize those mistakes and imperfections make me a better person already? Does it make me a better example to not others alone, but to myself?

I think it does.

Spare Some Change?

2009-12-10T02:16:00.003-05:00

I worked a long day today. 11.5 hours. It isn't that hard and it keeps my mind from wandering too far. Seems like I should keep it on a short leash, kinda like the kid in Wal Mart, endlessly pulling taut the tether strapped around his chest on one end and held in the hand of a "parent" who obviously got their kid mixed up with the family dog.

I left work and (speak of the devil) made my way to Wal Mart to get some essentials and the 2-presents-per-kid-per-week that seems to make me think I'm not spending that much on my kids for Christmas. Spread out like that, I forget just what I have bought. Thank goodness none of them are wrapped up yet. Smart on my part, I must say..."I may not be a smart man, but I know what a duplicate is."

Out in the parking lot, I was putting my purchases in the trunk area of my (Oh, how I love it!!) Volvo Wagon, aka Grocery Getter/Kid Hauler/Work Transport, when I heard behind me a man's voice. "Excuse me sir." Sir. He called me "Sir". I'm a Mister, but I ain't a Sir... "I just came from Knoxville and am on my way to my parent's house in Lafayette. Do you think you could help me with some gas? I'm almost out and I don't think I can make it there with what's in the tank." Now I could have rolled my eyes in disgust or told the dude to get lost. But that isn't me. I must have an aura around me that either lets people know that "Hey, this guy's a sucker. He'll buy into your story" or that screams "This guy understands and has been there. He has a heart". Take your pick.

I've helped people out before. I'm not a hard nut to crack. I know what it is like to want/need and not have. And what the hell...I've got a little bit of extra money in my wallet. I had just put $20 on my Wal Mart Gift/Gas Card and had $7 left, which turned out to have this dude's name on it. Nope, never got his name, but apparently Someone did, because I felt compelled to tell him to follow me over to the Murphy USA...and because I was headed over there anyway.

This dude seemed sincere. He looked tired and ready to get to his destination. I looked to see if anyone else was in his little beat-up pick'em-up truck. If there were kids in there, that $7 was going to look awfully small to me. Luckily, it was just him, and $7 was plenty enough to get him from Ooltewah to Lafayette. Over at the gas station, he pulled up to the opposite side of the island that I pulled up to. I told him to hold on and that I would pre-pay for him. I gave the attendant the $7, told her to put it toward the gas on pump #6, walked over to the dude and told him he was ready to go. "Pump it till it quits", I told him. I then pumped my own gas. Dude was done far sooner than I expected, but then again, it doesn't take long to pump $7 worth of gas these days. I heard him pull the handle to squeeze in a few more cents (gotta make it an even number) and then he put the handle up. I asked if he got it all and he replied that he did. "Thank you Sir (there was that "Sir" again) and Merry Christmas. I got antifreeze and oil, but just didn't have enough for gas. Bless you".

He got in his truck and pulled away. In the meantime, my pump had filled my car up and had stopped. I put the cap back on, closed the gas flap and was moving around the back of my car to head to my door when the attendant rapped on the window and motioned me to come over to the window. When I approached the window, she asked me, "You prepaid $6, right?" I reminded her it was $7. "Well, he only put in $2." I know I told him to pump till it stopped and that it would be $7. Why he stopped at $2 (actually, $2.01 cause she asked if I had a penny) I don't know. I quickly ran to the front of the product display that flanked the front of the window to see if he was still in the area, but he had already taken off to (I presume) Lafayette. Back to his family. Back to someone he loves. Back to familiarity and hopefully, safety. When I got back to the window, I fished in my pocket, produced a penny, then she gave me back a $5 bill. I was still bewildered. "I don't know the guy, I was only trying to be a good soul and help out another one". She smiled, shrugged as if to say "I don't know" and I turned and got into my car.

I got change back from trying to do a good deed. That's a new one on me. Made me feel like I was in a Discover Card commercial. Cash back on all purchases. It pays to Discover.

I've been a funk lately. Things have taken a turn in my life and have gone in a direction where I never wanted to go. I didn't want things to happen like they have. But it is life and things happen, don't they? I'm in a funk, it’s the Happy Holidays Merry Frigging Christmas time of year and I'm in a funk. I'm sure I'm not the only one. In fact, I know I'm not the only one. This time of year is bad on lots of people. People I know and love so much are in their own version of the “funk”. I love Christmas, don't get me wrong, but there are times when I walk into a store and wanna hurry up and get my stuff and get out of there before I end up either ramming an unsuspecting shopper with my under-laden buggy or pull the hairs out of my head one by one...all because of the tinny oh-so-happy piped-in Christmas music. "Just hear those sleigh bells jingling, ring ting tingling too. Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you..." "Have yourself a merry little Christmas, let your heart be light. From now on, our troubles will be out of sight..." "Sleigh bells ring, are you listening, in the lane, snow is glistening. A beautiful sight, we're happy tonight, walking in a winter wonderland..." Wait a minute. Is there an underlying theme here? Am I to believe that happiness is founded in jingling bells and mounds of cold, wet and slushy frozen precipitation? And that all my troubles will disappear with the coming of a pre-determined set holiday in the middle of winter? And that all of that has to be shared with someone special in order for that happiness to materialize?

No.

I don't believe that at all. I especially don’t believe that I have to have someone to love in my life in order to be happy. In other words, happiness does not stem from company. I know that. But I also know that having someone special in my life, someone to share all of life’s accomplishments and, yes, even defeats, makes that life a little more cheery, more laughable, more loveable, and the happiness that is already there is shared…and sharing makes it grow. I shared a little happiness tonight with someone whom I didn’t even know. Someone who apparently needed a little sharing…and that act of sharing moved the bold red line up a little bit on my happiness meter. Not because of that person (I don’t even know him, but I wish him well) but because of the happiness that was already deep inside of me, hell, inside all of us, that rises to the surface, more prominent in some, and even less in others.

Being down doesn’t last for long. That I do believe. I think I do…I hope I do. It doesn’t, right?

And by the way…Have yourself a Merry little Christmas now. ;-)

The Fall and the Deluge

2009-09-19T18:36:00.005-04:00

Day two of no air-conditioning and all is well. It’s not that my AC is broken; I can turn it on if I want to. I usually don’t have the window units running while I am gone, whether it is all day at work or a short trip to the store. When I step in the door and if it is a bit warmer than I want it to be, I turn on the units. Out comes 70º of cold blow to cool down the place in record time. But I didn’t turn them on yesterday or today. It didn’t feel like it was needed and it wasn’t. The cursed rain has brought a side effect that makes the consumption of electricity here drop quite a bit…cooler weather. The impenetrable cloud cover that has blanketed the sky for what seems like forever has turned away a lot of the sun’s heat. That’s ok. Even though I am sick and tired of the rain, I welcome cooler weather with open arms.

I think that autumn tried to sneak up on me this year. I was flipping the Farmer’s Almanac calendar that hangs in my computer room. You know, the one that has the whole year’s weather predictions and the best days of the month, planting schedule, more holidays than I’ve ever heard of, and even the length of the days. A little concoction of overkill information mingled with a little fortune telling. As I flipped the page (I was about 13 days into September before noticing the calendar needed changing…) I saw that the first day of autumn is next Tuesday. That soon and I didn’t even notice.

I’ve always loved this season. Cooler weather makes for better camping. I love the way the days are tolerable and the nights are brisk. A campfire is a whole lot more appealing when you can hover around it and it actually feels good and needed instead of too hot and just there cause, well, that’s what you do when camping. Cooler weather lets you see your breath. You never see it in mid-July now, do you? Cooler weather lets us get our coats and jackets back out of the closet for yet another season of use. Cooler weather makes the trees shed their clothes and dresses the ground with their cast-off coverings. Cooler weather makes a jaunt up into the mountains pure driving excitement. Cooler weather makes snuggling better…

I’ve been happy lately. Nothing much has changed. A little of the past catching back up with me; anticipation of what seems to be a bit of the future; someone who I am hopeful for…a little of this; a little of that…makes a mixture of something to take the place of any feelings of gloom. My daughter asked me the other day a question that kind of made me think and put a little crack in my heart for her. She asked me if I ever felt like someone didn’t want me around them. I told her of course I had. It really is easy to read people when you know what to look for. I told her also that if people don’t want you around them, then they are probably not the people you want to be around anyway. It would be great if it really was as simple as that. But I didn’t go into the complexity of the heartache of knowing someone doesn’t want you around when all you want to do is be with that person.

I said I have been happy lately. I guess that should be just a general statement. Mostly that has been the norm. Of course there are those days. This brings me to a part of cooler weather, especially in this part of our great country, which is not so smile-inducing, for me, at least. It seems that instead of fluffy-white snow to play in, it is usually cold rain falling down from a cold, dreary sky. Just this morning, at work, as I was looking out of the 9th floor window facing Lookout Mountain, I saw the distant rain coming from Missionary Ridge to the east and from the valley to the south. It seemed to be merging into a wall of water that would soon be splashing up against the window and creating puddles on the parking lot below. I knew it was coming and I just sighed. I really am sick of the rain! On one of the sunny days last week, I was able to squeeze in time to mow my yard. Before that, it had been about two weeks since I was able to mow it. It had just been too wet from rain whenever I was home and had the time to mow. I’m glad that I got it done, because I think it has rained every day since then. So this morning, I was a little bit less than happy for a short period of time. It didn’t last too long, but it was long enough for gloomy thoughts to push their way into my head and push out any happiness lingering within. I don’t mind rain, normally. Everything needs water. Plants, animals, and humans…without it we wither, just like the flower sitting in the pot holding on to the cracked earth, begging for some relief. But day after day of rain is enough to make even the happiest soul yearn for a little sunshine. Too much of a good thing is not always good. Remember way back when…animals two-by-two…huh? Remember? Is it just me? Is there something wrong with me? It seems like constant rain brings on the gloom. I tried not to let those thoughts enter my head. I try not to think about them. I try not to think about the rain. Sunny days come. They really do. They exist between the days of rain.

I try not to think about the distance of the setting sun