Lord, I Was Born a Ramblin' Sam

The Best Part of Christmas

2008-12-24T13:53:00.004-05:00

The shopping is done. The presents are wrapped. The cards – well, so what if they’re a little late. There is no tree this year, but the Nativity and the stockings and the votive village lend an understated glow to the room.

And now comes the best part of Christmas – quiet moments of peace and reflection, time to ponder the blessings in life and to offer silent thanks for each and all of them. Thanks for friends near and far, for the gift of having someone to hold close, for sunrises and sunsets, for health, and for smiles from sometimes unexpected sources. For the beauty of the earth, for talents, and the support to try to improve upon them, for warmth – inside and out. For peace of heart. For promises kept. For light, and hope – and dreams.

May your own Holidays bring you ample time and opportunity to appreciate all you have and those around you. May the silent night give you new hope and refresh your soul. May the warm glow of a fire bring warmth to your heart. And may the promise of this day and of the new year about to dawn bring you hope and opportunity, health and happiness – and a special peace that will linger long beyond the holidays.

To all of you who take the time to stop and read these words from time-to-time, please know how grateful I am for the time you choose to spend here. I truly hope that your own holidays find you warm and happy, that you allow your inner child to emerge, and that each of you is blessed with a quiet moment or two to reflect and appreciate – and to hope and dream in childlike wonder.

Merry Christmas. Happy Holidays. Happy New Year. Thank you.

Rob

Giving Thanks

2008-11-18T01:47:00.003-05:00

The theme for this week’s Community Photo Challenge is ‘Give Thanks for…’. Join us by entering an image that conveys the meaning of these words to you – and help us all to better understand the things that you are thankful for.

If you know me or have read previous entries in this Journal, you already know that Thanksgiving is perhaps my most favorite holiday. While Christmas has deeper and more profound meaning, the overwhelming nature of its celebration and all the preparation can leave one reeling by the time the day itself approaches. But Thanksgiving still holds at least some of its original intent – and the spirit of simply taking the time to express appreciation and gratitude for all we have is in many ways the embodiment of the way I try to live each day.

Some years are easier than others to be truly thankful, as challenges come and go. And these past few years have in many ways been more difficult than most. But in the end, one need not look very far to find things and events and people for which to be thankful – and this year is no different.

I am thankful to wake each morning and face a day filled with new opportunities. I am grateful for the warmth of the sun and the beauty of nature that lives just outside my door. I am thankful for light in all its forms and the truth it reveals, even within the shadows. I am thankful for God and country and the beauty of the land. And at the end of each day, I am thankful for the stars, the peace they bring and the hope they offer.

My life has been blessed by people, both new and long familiar. There are friends to whom I can always turn and a special one to hold. There is not a moment when my heart is not full - and, no matter the depth of the darkness at times, there is always a reason to smile if I look hard enough. I am grateful for the ability to see the beauty in all that surrounds me – and for those who help me to see.

Whether there is more sunshine in your life or clouds this year, I wish for you the perspective to see the things which are good and right and decent and loving – and to let each and all of them guide you, give you hope and grant you peace. Thank YOU for reading!

Autumn

2008-11-03T15:12:00.009-05:00

This week's Community Photo Challenge topic is, appropriately, Autumn. This photo is just for fun, since I am honored to continue to serve as a judge, but I hope that it inspires you to find one of your favorite autumn scenes and post an entry.

Our fall has been gloriously warm and sunny for the most part, but lack of rain in late summer and early fall has subdued the color - and finding opportunities to capture the traditional beauty of the season has proven challenging. This photo was taken not long after sunrise (and those who know me know how rare a shot like that can be!) at a State Park not far from here. A flock of geese flew into the shot just to add some interest, and I was most appreciative of their timing.

As the days shorten and temperatures fall, the colors of autumn serve as a reminder of the beauty of nature and the promise of the spring to come. Winter may sometimes be harsh in climates like ours, but life continues under the blanket of snow - and warmth comes more from the inside, which is not a bad thing at all. The change of season also causes us to alter our routines - and perhaps causes us to take stock of where we are and where we'd like to be in the journey of life. But wherever you are in your journey, I hope that you pause to reflect on the beauty of the here and now - and let the colors of autumn carry you through the more subtle shades of winter. Each season brings its own blessings, and those who take the time to see and appreciate them find light and warmth no matter the color of the sky or the numbers on the thermometer. I hope that you cherish each day - and always find the blessings within.

Community Photo Challenge - Spooky

2008-10-22T08:22:00.012-04:00

Okay – My first try at this didn’t end so well, but we’ll try again. This is really more of a test than anything – and a chance to promote the Community Photo Challenge. Their theme this week is ‘Spooky’ in honor of the season. While this image is more somber than spooky, as a judge I can’t participate in the voting round anyway, so I’ll use that as my excuse to bend the rules a bit.

This image was captured in a large cemetery not far from here. Among its more famous residents are John D. Rockefeller, President Garfield and Elliot Ness – as well as Ray Chapman, immortalized in one of my previous entries. The cemetery treats itself more as an outdoor sculpture garden than a place of sorrow – and as such is typically filled with walkers, joggers and students from the nearby university studying or simply decompressing after a stressful day. It is a place that celebrates life while still showing respect for loss, and it’s that mixture of emotions as well as the serene beauty and wonderful play of light no matter the time or the season that draws me here often.

This particular monument has caused me to pause and reflect for the silent power of its message since the very first time I saw it, so I’ll share it with you and allow you your own opportunity to reflect if you wish.

To participate in the Photo Challenge, simply click on the link above and post an entry. Topics vary widely and a new Challenge is offered bi-weekly. It’s a fun way to share your work and an opportunity to see the wide variety of approaches people take to a subject. Good luck to all entrants – and I’ll attempt to be back here with a more typical entry in the near future.

Thoughts from the Car

2008-06-20T13:57:00.000-04:00

I don't take the time to write here often enough and when I do it seems that there are too many common themes. So if you've heard a version of this before, please forgive me and don't further waste your time.

One of the things I used to treasure was 'alone' time in my car. It was my refuge from life and a chance to be alone with my thoughts. But in these days of wireless phones and bluetooth headsets and email alerts and text messages, the car has mostly just become an extension of the rest of life. Most times that's a good thing - because it allows me to continue to accomplish things and stay in touch. But sometimes its nice to have a break - and last night was one of those times.

I had my car in for service the other day, and took the phone charger out to put into the other car. I failed to put it back and found that I had a depleted battery and no charger - so suddenly it was like the 'good old days' - me and my thoughts and nothing else. I put on the radio but there wasn't a whole lot to keep me company, so on a whim I pressed 'play' on the CD to see what disc I had in the player.

Initially I was shocked to find that I still had a Christmas disc loaded - and at first I started to scramble for something else to listen to. But after a few moments I simply let it play - and the longer it did, the wider my smile became.

So here, just a day or two before the official start of summer, I turned up the music and lost myself in the spirit of a season and a state of mind that too often we reserve for only a limited part of the year. And by the time I reached my destination, my load seemed lighter and my outlook brighter than it had when I got in the car.

I think I'll keep that disc loaded and ready. I don't know when the next chance will be for me to lose myself in the spirit of Christmas and a general feeling of warmth and peace again, but for now my heart rests a little more easy - and the magic of that season lives within me - even without a blanket of snow and a 'silent' night.

I hope that the peace and calm and warmth of the Holidays visit you at unexpected times and in unexpected ways - and that your heart smiles as a result.

Photo Challenge - March into Spring

2008-03-06T01:32:00.007-05:00

I'm honored to be acting as a judge for the AOL Community Photo Challenge again this week. Feel free to join the fun by entering in the category of your choice. Since I'm ineligible to participate, I thought I'd throw a small curve into my entry.

Some days you wake up not feeling particularly well, but when you look out the window and find this perched in your backyard, suddenly you think 'Gee, maybe I'm not feeling so bad after all....' and just hope it goes away soon!

Actually, this does fit the 'March into Spring' category, since the tradition in these parts is that in early spring the buzzards come home to roost in a local park - not quite as romantic as swallows to Capistrano mind you, but still a reason to look forward to warmer days ahead.

I wish you all warmth and sunshine - emanating from the inside, out.

Photo Challenge - Winter Blues

2008-02-15T14:54:00.003-05:00

Since I don’t seem to have much to say lately, and since I’ve been privileged to act as a judge for the new AOL Community Photo Challenge these past few weeks, I thought I’d post a photo that relates to this week’s theme. The theme is ‘Winter Blues’ and I’ve always liked the way that this photo portrays the stark beauty of new fallen snow painted with shadows, while the blue of the sky offers a promise of hope for the warmth and life of the Spring to follow.

As a judge I can’t compete in the Challenge, but perhaps this scene will inspire you to share your own work. To learn more about the Challenge, its simple rules and timelines, click here: AOL Community Photo Challenge Good luck!

Silent Nights

2007-12-24T01:54:00.000-05:00

As the spirit and the hope and the peace of this season descend upon us and touch our hearts, my hope is that each of us takes the time to realize that life and love and family and those close to us and those we hardly know, whose lives we may touch for only an instant, are all important and special in their own way – and should never be taken for granted.

This has been a year when those lessons have been brought close to my home and to my heart on too many occasions – and the best and only way I know to honor those I have lost is to try to live my own life in a way that will prove that those lessons were not taught in vain.

I wish you warmth of heart, closeness of loved ones and kindness of and to strangers. I wish you silent nights and peace on earth, simple pleasures and the time to truly enjoy them. I wish you a glow that starts deep within, and reaches out to all with whom you come in contact – spreading light and hope to any and all. Each of us makes a difference in the lives of some or many – and I pray that each of us will remember to live each day to its fullest and to never take this gift for granted.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you and all you hold dear – and a bright, happy and healthy New Year.

Reasons to be Thankful

2007-11-21T12:53:00.004-05:00

Its been a long time since I’ve visited this space, but Thanksgiving has always been an important time of the year to me – and, even though circumstances are far different this year, there is still and always much for which to be thankful.

There will be a large vacancy at the table this season – yet the absence of a physical presence does not also portend an absence of the spirit and the memory of all that has gone before.

In things small and large, happy and poignant, there will be moments to remember. In words said and in traditions continued, there will be memories. And in fleeting moments, it will seem that all is as its always been – and that is just as it should be.

Whether this Holiday finds you exploring long-honored traditions or those in their infancy, whether family and friends are near at hand or simply close in your heart, whether the sun shines on your day or clouds prevail, my wish is that your heart knows peace, that you remember and celebrate the things for which you are thankful – and that you let those who are important to you and who you love know exactly how much you care.

To my friends here old and new, to those who have visited frequently or just this once, I thank you. Your many words of kindness during a difficult time in my life have been and are very much appreciated and I am grateful to you all. And to those who brighten my life and my days – who listen and provide support and love to help me always see the sunshine on the horizon – thank you from my heart.

May each day of the year give you reason to be thankful. May each day of the year give you reason to smile.

Blue Skies

2007-04-24T15:08:00.000-04:00

A friend asked if I’d ever participated in any of the Journal-based photo challenges and I replied that I never thought my work was good enough to expose any more widely than I already have. But I took a look at the suggested sites again and found a topic I particularly liked in light of all the grey that’s descended in my life lately. The topic was ‘Blue Skies’ and the ‘assignment’ was to post a picture dominated by cloudless expanses of blue. You can find links to others who have posted entries here: Your Monday Photo Shoot: Blue Skies.

I’ve always liked the subject of this photo because its always made me smile. Another photographer also captured a less-than-flattering image of me in the process of taking this shot (lying flat on my back in a wet parking lot in order to get the perspective I wanted) - and that helps keep me humble in case I ever need it. To any and all who read this, I wish you blue skies - regardless of the weather.

My sincere thanks to all who took the time to read my last entry and for the wonderful, supportive comments you left. I intended it to be a celebration of the life dad led and the inspiration he has been to me - and not a maudlin lament of loss. I truly hope that you found it as uplifting to read as I found it cathartic to write. I know without doubt that he has received the rest he sought and so richly deserved. And that’s one of the reasons I chose this topic – because for him the skies will now always be blue.

A Tribute

2007-04-20T01:55:00.000-04:00

As you may or may not have noticed, I’ve been away from J-Land for quite some time. Not only have I not written in my own journal, but I have been remiss in reading those of others - and for that my own life has been all the less rich.

When I began this journal, I wanted it to not just be a record of my existence but a record of the small blessings we encounter in life yet do not take the time to appreciate. My feeling was that my life was not so remarkable that it needed recording, but that I had encountered frequent brushes with bits of wisdom and reminders of the beauty of the world that I wanted to keep and remember.

My journal has always been written to help me hold those moments, but when others began to read I found that perhaps those experiences could help others find their own small blessings as well. If you have taken something from these pages that has caused you to smile or to better appreciate wildflowers along the roadside, then that is all the more reward to me – and those who have then shared their own experiences have helped to enrich my life as well.

This entry will differ from some of what I’ve written in the past. It is again primarily a reminder for me and it is a celebration of sorts, although different from what you have read here previously. It is personal and I apologize if it brings back memories for anyone who, for whatever reason, wishes to keep them suppressed.

Last Friday, as I held his hand, my father very quietly slipped away from me and into the arms of God.

I’ve introduced my dad here before – the struggles with which he’s dealt with such grace and dignity, and all the things he’s taught me about inner strength and faith. And while I’ve cried enough tears in the last few days to fill a small pond, in the end I only celebrate the life he led and his release from the burdens and indignities that life has heaped upon his frail shoulders these past three-plus years.

There have been times in life when my faith has faltered. But all I have seen and felt in these past several days has again strengthened my belief that there is more to this life than we know or control.

When I visited his hospital room last Thursday, I could hear dad talking from all the way down the hall. When I turned the corner, I found him sitting in the chair beside his bed, oxygen mask in place, telling a long and detailed story to no one in particular. I took a seat across from him and listened carefully to understand what he was so insistently conveying and slowly the realization came that he was providing a litany – in exacting detail – of how he spent a typical day.

Carefully he explained how he used the pitcher of thickened milk to make his oatmeal, how he took small bites and swallowed carefully as the doctors had directed, how he was so careful to maintain his balance during those brief periods when he rose from the wheelchair and relied upon the walker. When he finally paused, I touched his hand and he looked toward me for the first time – so intent had been his presentation that he had not noticed my presence. I asked if he knew who I was and he replied ‘my one and only son’ – and then proceeded to explain all the routines I followed during my visits with him – the grocery shopping, pill sorting and jar opening that had become a part of our ritual. As he talked, the mask bounced about his face and I touched his hand again, quietly reminding him that it would stay in place and allow him to breathe easier if he didn’t talk so much. But he looked at me and said with a hint of a smile in his weary eyes ‘but you know that’s what I do’ – and he was right, for dad was never at a loss for words and no visit could ever be long enough.

Finally, he stopped and looked at me, and in a very serious voice asked me a question that was obviously troubling him. ‘When they ask my name, what do I tell them?’ Flustered, I asked him to repeat the question and he was more forceful in his reply. ‘When who asks your name?’ I asked. ‘The judge,’ he replied. Confused, I asked him if he knew his name, and he replied clearly and deliberately. Not understanding, but knowing it was important to him, I could only tell him ‘Then that’s the name you tell him’. After that, he fell into silence and the rest of the evening was peaceful.

In the morning, the nurses called and told me he was having a great deal of difficulty breathing. He was receiving 100% oxygen by mask and if his condition worsened the only available next step would be to place him on a ventilator – in violation of the terms of his Living Will. I knew his wishes clearly and we had discussed them many times, but my decision was complicated by the fact that he had pneumonia and the antibiotics had just started to work - and I didn’t know if a day or two of help might pull him through. I called his doctor and gathered more information, but then sought a place of silence and asked for guidance for perhaps the most important decision of my life.

And in a moment, the answer was clear. Already yesterday, dad knew. His faith was strong and sometimes literal – and the story I had heard the previous day was practice for when he stood at the Gate and needed to state his case that he had done all he could to help himself during this prolonged test of his faith. And when the Judge asked his name, he wanted to make sure that he got it exactly right. I let his DNR instructions stand and went to the hospital – knowing in my heart that when I left that day I would be a 52 year-old orphan.

We sat together most of the day and I held his hand - without acknowledgement, but squeezing tight regardless. For all his struggles in life, his passing was the kindest possible. He left so quietly and peacefully that I never really knew exactly when – and for that I will be eternally grateful.

So many times following his stroke he would ask me why he had been chosen for this particular burden. It was not asked in the context of ‘why me?’ – for it was obvious that he was really struggling with understanding what God was asking of him and what he was expected to do. And now in the quiet days after the uplifting visitation and service, I begin to understand that perhaps at least some of that task was to teach me grace and humor and faith in the face of adversity, to dig deep and keep going no matter the odds, to treasure life and all it holds despite the darkness of the clouds. Much of what you have read in these pages has stemmed from the appreciation of life that I have gained from his example – and I will only hope to make all of his struggles worthwhile by holding those lessons in my heart and remembering them always.

At his service, the following words were read. Although written thousands of years before and applicable also to countless who have passed before him, they ring true to the life he led and the man he was:

“I am now ready to be offered and the time of my departure is at hand. I have fought the good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.” II Timothy 4, 6-7.

As for me, my life remains blessed by friends and by people I love – and now also by a brand new angel who will now always rest upon my shoulder.

A Day to Remember

2007-01-18T14:11:00.000-05:00

I’ve always believed that life tends to balance itself out – sometimes over days, sometimes over a lifetime. I never correct anyone who falsely blames me for something I didn’t do unless its particularly egregious, because I know that there will also be times when I’ll get credit for something I had little or no control over. Sometimes its best just to smile and move on and let the natural order of things take care of itself.

Yesterday, nature created its own balance – and in record time. Tuesday was cold and blustery, leaving 8 inches of wet snow in the driveway by the time it was over. But yesterday more than balanced the scales – bright sunshine and clear blue skies framed the new-fallen snow, and there are few combinations in nature’s vista that can match that spectacle.

I had already decided to venture forth, camera in hand, to see what wonders I could record. But before I even had the chance to leave the house, nature served up a bounty of visual riches just outside the window.

It began asa blur of movement caught my eye, drawing me to three deer foraging in the woods only a few feet from the house. I watched as they nuzzled the foliage, gently brushing the snow away from the evergreens in search of a morsel to nibble upon – and leaving a white powdery moustache upon their fur in the process. Methodically they moved through the woods, oblivious to the cars passing on the road just down the hill, the morning sun casting painterly shadows - dappling their coats and the snowy ground around them with random shades of light and dark.

As they slowly moved down into the valley and away from the house, a woodpecker began noisily pounding away on the suet feeder and the chickadees and nuthatches began swarming the seed feeder nearby. I parked with my lens close to the window glass and waited to see what nature had in store for me.

Only moments later, I smiled widely – and knew the day was destined to be memorable. For there, framed perfectly in my lens, was a brilliant red cardinal – an eternal symbol that on the greyest days of winter there is always the promise of the color of summer to come. He lingered for but a moment, but time enough for me to capture his image.

Knowing that the best part of any show I could hope for from this vantage point had already come in the opening act, I packed the camera and headed out for the rest of the day – knowing, no matter what I might find, that nature had already more than repaid any debt from yesterday’s snow with a brilliant day to treasure and remember.

Hope is Born Again

2006-12-25T02:50:00.000-05:00

I wasn’t going to make a Christmas entry this year. I’ve been remiss in my Journal entries as it is and in many ways its been tough to capture the holiday spirit, so I’d decided to let things go and try to start fresh again in January.

This past year has been difficult on many levels, and while I enjoyed shopping for special ones in my life, most other aspects of holiday planning were much more chore than delight for the first time in almost as long as I can remember. So I went to dad’s tonight with more a sense of obligation than anticipation. The early part of the evening did nothing to dispel my mood – he was difficult and frustrating and I was reminded once again that my role is now so much more that of parent to him than child. And when we arrived at church for the candlelight service, it seemed the remainder of the evening would only hold more of the same.

But then the carols started and I found my voice, joining in the celebration of the season and allowing myself to be reminded once more of what Christmas is truly about. And a sense of hope – one missing for too long now – began to creep back in, a warm feeling that was instantly familiar and welcome once more.

Now please do not think that I do not know that my life is blessed – more than many if not most, and far more than I deserve. There are people in my life who love me, and without whose strength and support I would find it close to impossible to face some days – and for that I am and will be eternally grateful. Yet there have still been days of self-doubt and darkness, of questioning and of concern for what the future may hold that also take their toll sometimes.

Christmas is always a difficult time of year for me anyway – because it was my mother’s favorite holiday and because therefore most memories have a bittersweet tinge to them. But tonight the opposite was true. As the lights dimmed and the candles were lit in the quiet sanctuary, as Silent Night began softly and wafted through the congregation as if borne on the tip of each flickering light, gaining strength from each new flame, the darkness began to slip away. My voice wavered and the tears began to flow - and hope grew anew.

Late tonight, I walked in the quiet of the moonlight – and my heart was very full. There was a spring to my step and light in my soul – gifts beyond measure that helped me once again to savor each word shared with those important in my life, to treasure each small gift of kindness and to cherish each star in the sky.

I know that there will be more dark days – they are an inevitable part of life. But for tonight, hope is born again – as far away as in a distant manger, but also as close as the beating of my heart. And what better way to start another Christmas day?

To those in my life who give reason and purpose to my days – thank you. To friends and acquaintances – thank you. To anyone who may happen upon these words – thank you. No matter how you celebrate, may your holiday season bring hope to your own lives – and may each new candle lit bring fresh light to your soul. Merry Christmas!

Simple Thanks

2006-11-23T01:46:00.000-05:00

Its been almost two months since I’ve written here – and I have no idea whether anyone will read these words. But I have always written in this Journal what my heart directs me to say. Whether it is read or not is secondary, but I do hope that at least a few will see.

When I began this Journal, I had no expectations or plans for it. It was a way to record events in my life that I wished to remember – special places, people and events that touched my life and that I wanted to retain. But in ways that still amaze and impress me, others found me and read my words – some anonymously but, to my amazement and gratitude, several who took the time to leave a kind word or a note of encouragement.

And that’s the subject of this entry – in keeping with the day and in prelude to my favorite time of the year: Simple Thanks.

There are those who have read and commented here who live in places where today is but another Thursday in a long line of Thursdays, but it matters not whether you celebrate Thanksgiving today or not. Because Thanksgiving, like most holidays, is really just a codified time to allow us to stop and reflect, to remember the things and the blessings and the people in our lives who have touched us in a positive way – regardless of whether it was within the hour or decades ago.

Soto those of you I truly know – thank you. For those of you who have shared a thought or expressed a kindness – thank you. For those who may read but leave no footprints behind – thank you. You have all made this experience far richer for me than I could have dreamed, and for each and every one of you I am grateful.

And whether this is a holiday of note or just another Thursday to you, my wish is the same: may you share and appreciate time with those you hold dear, may you remember those who have gone before, may your smiles be many and may happiness fill your heart. Thank you.

Keeping the Glow Alive - Part 2

2006-09-29T01:53:00.000-04:00

(The picture above is not meant to impress. In fact, it’s a retread from a journal entry I made in early January. Its meant to invoke a feeling that I referenced in that entry – a feeling I experienced today.)

I had a particularly vexing day today. A home project I have been working on all week – one that I thought was finally complete when I went to bed last night – managed to find a way to take up my entire day today as well. Gone were the plans I had carefully laid, cast unceremoniously aside by the whims of the project that would not die.

As each additional step in the laborious process consumed twice and three times the amount of time I thought it should and the sun literally set on the rest of my plans, I finally reached the absolute final step.

There’s something about vacuuming that I loathe. Cleaning bathrooms, laundry, dusting - even windows – I don’t mind as much as dragging the old Kirby around the floors. Its not particularly difficult or time-consuming, but its my least favorite of household chores – and somehow it seemed fitting that the final step happened to be the thorough vacuuming of the Great Room carpet.

My mood was foul and each pass of the sweeper seemed a mockery of my skills and planning abilities. And then, as I stooped to lift the ember-resistant rug before the hearth, I saw it. It was peeking out from the corner of the bottom of the fireplace screen – a place I’ve seen dozens of times in the last months. But today was the day it chose to make its appearance – and I had to shut off the vacuum and simply smile.

Last January, as I waxed wistfully in this journal over the end of the Christmas season, I pondered whether we pack the spirit of that season away with the decorations – only bringing it back out for a limited time each year. I hoped that we would find ways in our hearts, once the normal rhythms of everyday life had returned, to keep the peace and the love of the season alive. I closed the entry by noting that pine needles have a way of turning up at unexpected times no matter how thorough our efforts to remove every one of them – and hoped that at unexpected times during the year we would find a pine needle, and let it take us back to the special peace of the season.

And that’s what I found today. At a time when I was feeling charitable toward few and anger at unspecified gremlins for wasting my day, a tiny, light green and brittle pine needle took me back to the tree and the light and the magic – and my day improved dramatically from there.

When YOU need it most – I wish you a pine needle of your own.

Dance of the squirrels

2006-09-15T03:28:00.000-04:00

I was running late this morning, trying to get out the door to dive into the day’s requirements. I walked into the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee to go, popped it into the microwave to get it good and piping hot and then turned around – and instantly smiled widely.

The deck wraps around the corner of the kitchen and a flurry of activity caught my eye through the sliding glass doors. Four young squirrels, filled with the carefree exuberance of youth, were scurrying madly up and down the White Oak that sits inches from the deck rail – and using it as a launching pad to hop to the deck and then back again. They chased each other up and down and around the tree, sometimes moving so fast that they literally ran over the top of each other in their eagerness to reach some imaginary and endlessly changing goal.

At about this time, the microwave sounded the end of its cycle – and I was faced with a decision: grab the coffee and run to the car to stay on schedule or let the pace of life wait a bit while I retrieved the camera and tried to record the frenetic activity of those new to this life and eager to explore all it has to offer. In a heartbeat, I set the coffee down and ran for the camera.

For the next 15 or so minutes, I sat on the deck and quietly enjoyed the tireless play of these athletic creatures - capturing what images I could in the split seconds that they were anything less than a light brown blur. Of hundreds of missed shots, a few – amazingly – caught a moment in time to illustrate the glorious spectacle they played out for me, and two of those images are shared with you here.

When they finally scampered up the tree for good, I set the camera aside, grabbed the coffee cup and hurried out the door. Would I encounter a more harried pace and additional traffic for my dalliance with nature? Yes. If I had the choice to make again, would I do anything differently? Not on your life.

Life constantly presents us with choices – some large, but most small and seemingly insignificant. And at the end of the day, the choices we make in each of these instances makes the difference between living our lives and having a life. Sometimes we simply must budget our time according to the schedules of others and the rhythms of the day, but oftentimes we are not really quite as busy as we tell ourselves we are. In those moments, when you are faced with a choice to adhere to the timetable or to stop and watch the squirrels I hope that you stop and let some carefree joy delight your eye and fill your soul – for your day and your life will be just a little bit brighter if you do.

On an unrelated, but very pleasant note: Greg Kiser, a professional photographer in North Carolina has chosen to do a spotlight article on your humble correspondent in his Journal Photo Trek Take a few moments to visit if you can – and check out the truly wonderful photographs that Greg posts there and on his web site. Sincere thanks to Greg for his encouraging words and his generosity of spirit – THANK YOU!

Nature's Circus Comes to Town

2006-08-31T14:22:00.000-04:00

(The image above is but one small aspect of the story to follow, but try if you will to let your mind fill the rest of the picture. And if it does, I dare you not to smile!)

As I lay in half slumber this morning, not yet fully awake yet no longer asleep, I became aware of an angry droning sound originating just outside the bedroom window. As my mind slowly focused, it appeared that a swarm of hornets had somehow settled upon the front porch – and my curiosity was such that it was enough to draw me from the warm bed toward the cool air of early morning flowing through the window.

I slowly crept forward and crouched low before the bow window so as not to disturb whatever was making such a racket. Upon first glance, there was nothing particularly out of the ordinary. There were three tiny, immature brown birds with the general shape and beak configuration of nuthatches sitting in the burning bush just outside the window and a pair of titmice nearby – yet the noise continued unabated.

But as I watched, those three tiny birds began to busily hop from branch to ground to porch to brick arch and back again – mouths wide open as they moved in rapid and apparently random fashion. And from this trio of less-than-fist-sized wonders all of that noise was originating.

I watched in fascination as they fluttered and bounced from perch to perch, uttering their most unpleasant cries continually. What their mission was I can only imagine, but it seemed that their cacophonous ruckus had woken more than just me. For as I looked, it appeared that all of nature had suddenly descended upon my vista:

A chipmunk jumped upon the woodpile and began loudly proclaiming himself its king as he perched upon hind legs and began the continuous clucking sound that requires such force that it shakes his entire small frame with each outburst. In the woods to the right, I could see two squirrels chasing each other noisily and effortlessly as they zipped from branch to branch and tree to tree. Further in the distance, the red-tailed hawk’s piercing cry echoed over the treetops.

There were silent visitors as well. As the eye became more keen and the clutter of life dropped away and allowed the eye to truly see, the lazy path of the bumblebee came into sharp focus. To its left, a butterfly gracefully fluttered from marigold to marigold – resting and preening for a moment and gathering the morning sun upon her wide-spread wings before moving further into the yard. A flash of bright green zipped by and then materialized as a hummingbird, hovering as if frozen in time by the feeder – and then gone again in an instant. And below the feeder, the tiny toad who lives in the impatiens bed crept back to the safety of his home.

And then, in what seemed the blink of an eye, there was silence - and all the activity, all the commotion, all the glorious clatter was gone. There was no movement save for the lazy dance of the leaves in a gentle breeze, no sound but the low rumble of cars from the road behind the house, and an occasional solitary cry from a distant chickadee.

The show had packed its tent and moved on – but it would be back, in endlessly changing configurations. And what a show it had been.

Sailing

2006-08-11T02:34:00.000-04:00

(The photo above is from a recent Tall Ships festival. There are more images from that event and some other miscellaneous sailing images in the album in the right column).

For someone who doesn’t swim well and who has never owned a boat or known someone well who has, its interesting that - as I look back on life - some of the memories that stand out the strongest are all linked to being out on the water.

Moonlight shimmering in a silver path over gentle seas to the exact spot on the ship’s rail where I stand. Awakening in my blanket on a cool teak deck to see a billowing white sail catching the breeze directly above my head – the ship’s cat nestled snugly at my feet. Quiet moments in contemplation as pungent salt air fills my lungs and cleanses my soul. Watching from the balcony as green forest along the banks slowly transforms into the breathtaking dunes of the high desert. Hoisting the sails at sunset as the ethereal sound of bagpipes signal both departure and hope for the new dawn.

Each memory – some now more than 20 years past – deeply engrained to the point where I can taste the remnants of a tang upon my lips if I close my eyes long and tight enough.

Sometimes when life seeks to overwhelm, those are my favorite memories to evoke – for rarely have I felt as free and easy as when the sea breeze is in my face. As I write this, I am there once again, hoping for that same healing strength to descend once more.

We all need that special place to which to escape now and then. I sincerely hope that yours is as pleasant as mine.

Words to live by

2006-07-30T01:58:00.000-04:00

The pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are permitted to remain children all our lives. - Albert Einstein, physicist, Nobel laureate (1879-1955)

Personal Fireworks

2006-07-10T14:55:00.000-04:00

As any of you who have stopped here before are aware, I usually try to build my entries around one of my photos or to take one to match the topic. In this particular instance, however, I was unable to capture the image. No combination of shutter speed, aperture and sensor sensitivity could duplicate what the eye so readily sees, so I will simply try to paint the picture in words – in hopes that your mind’s eye will see the beauty and feel the awe, as imagination creates what the camera cannot.

My last entry touched on the topic of celebrations and included pictures of fireworks from the Fourth. Those photos were actually taken during a local community celebration the weekend before, so that on the night of the Holiday I was home. As the sky darkened at the end of the day, the air became alive with the sound of celebratory explosions from surrounding towns and I wandered onto the deck to absorb the joyous cacophony.

At first, my attention was drawn above the treeline, as the sky lit randomly from the distant explosions – much as lightning will illuminate the clouds from great distance. But as my eyes adjusted, my vision shifted to the valley below – and a sight that is my recurring favorite memory of summer since moving here, and which will always conjure awe and joy in my soul no matter how many times I am blessed to witness it.

The air was still and warm as the night became alive before me. For in the trees and all around me – some near enough to touch, some far away – glowed hundreds, seemingly thousands, of fireflies. Their tiny lanterns beamed for an instant, always replaced by the glow of another in a new location – and my mind linked the tiny lights before me with the explosions reporting in the air to create a July Fourth spectacle for my eyes and ears alone.

Minutes passed and the thunderous echoes slowed and died as grand finales faded, yet the light show before and around me continued in mute silence – to my mind becoming all the more beautiful and poignant. Sometimes the sheer spectacle of an event is so overwhelming that the combination of sight and sound and feel crowds out the ability to think – and when the sounds slowly dissolved into the silence of a summer night, the light itself and the quiet wonder of nature it represented was permitted its opportunity to permeate and become fixed to the soul. Mesmerized, I not only saw, but felt each pulse of light – and the celebration moved from the external to deep within.

I neither know nor care the duration of my experience, but I know that my heart was at peace when I returned inside – a personal gift beyond price. Whether it originates in a smile from a stranger, the laughter of a child, the comforting hand of a friend – or the simple glow of a firefly – I hope that same peace fills your heart, soon and often.

Celebrations

2006-07-01T00:31:00.000-04:00

(More fireworks pics in the album in the right column)

It seems the Spring and early Summer carry the majority of the year’s celebrations. Beginning with Easter and following almost every two weeks like clockwork, there seems always a reason to celebrate: Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, Father’s Day and now Independence Day – with Flag Day thrown in for good measure. While some of the dates are fixed in history, perhaps it’s the changing of the seasons and the return to ‘outdoor times’ for much of the nation that provides the timing of some of the major ‘non-official’ holidays. But regardless of the reason, an opportunity to gather with friends and those we love is still a gift to be cherished and enjoyed to the fullest.

But between these scheduled occasions, we should always be on the lookout for smaller, more personal reasons to celebrate – and to take the time to give them the recognition they deserve as well. A new job, a passed exam, good news from the doctor all deserve to be recognized – if not perhaps with a gathering and a feast, then at least with a toast and a smile or a moment taken to write or call.

And then there are the celebrations of a more personal nature – the kind that can pass us by completely if we do not take the time to see and feel and appreciate. The laughter of children in the park, an unexpected call from an old friend, a beautiful blue sky, a glimpse of a newborn fawn taking its first tentative steps, a remembered moment that touches the heart. When we are busy, these moments can pass us by in an instant – and we, caught up in the latest crisis or drama or scheduled activity, can continue blissfully and hurriedly on our way, none the wiser.

But life is made up of countless such moments – so many more than those celebrations rigidly fixed on the calendar. And the more of them we allow to pass us by, the poorer our lives become – small bit by small bit.

So gather together in these coming days. Have picnics and share fireworks and squeeze your loved ones tightly to you. But before - and after – take a moment to slow down every once in awhile. Don’t just run from the house to the car to the store and back, but smell the freshly mown grass, hear the individual sounds of chirping birds, delight in the exuberance of youth where you encounter it, look up at the sky. These are celebrations we all can find – no matter location or circumstance – and each small celebration will ultimately shape who we are and the face we present to the world. How many times will you celebrate today?

Lessons and Blessings

2006-06-19T01:26:00.000-04:00

In my very first entry in this Journal I wrote something to the effect that I have been blessed in many ways – including some that many might not consider blessings. At the time, I left it at that and alluded to a possible future entry to explain. Perhaps Father’s Day lends itself to such an occasion.

The gentleman appearing at the top of this entry is my dad. He will be 85 this year and I think you can see the life and light in his eyes from this photo taken on his birthday last year.

What isn’t evident from the picture or his demeanor was that the picture was taken at a nursing home and it was his first full day there, following hospital rehab for injuries from a fall at his home. It was his third time in the nursing facility for rehab since his stroke almost three years ago.

Dad was always an impatient man. He moved quickly and expected everyone else to keep up with him. He had the energy of 6 younger men it seemed – mowing his own lawn or shoveling his own snow – and that of two or three neighbors for good measure – golfing at least twice a week and driving anywhere and everywhere. And then his stroke took away the use of most of his left leg and hand, slurred his speech and affected his ability to swallow – and now all of the things that came so easily and quickly take painfully long periods of time to accomplish, and then imperfectly.

To watch this proud man become dependent on others for the basics in life has been painful, and to watch him grow weaker over time yet still fight to live in his own home (with assistance) has torn at my heart on so many levels and in a thousand different ways. I watch him grow weary of life, and - sometimes - I grow weary for him and with him.

But this message is about blessings – and that is what I consider my dad and every moment we have left to share. Each day, this strong, quiet man teaches me lessons about life and patience. He fights not to give in to his limitations, yet demonstrates a sense of grace in handling them. The frustration shows sometimes, but he rarely complains – and each night he says his prayers and asks more for help to others in need than anything for himself. I know there are quiet times when he wishes this burden will be taken from him, but his grip is still strong and purposeful, there is still a look of steel on his face when he needs to dig deep to do something most of us would take for granted – and there is still that light in his eyes.

Our parents continue to teach us long after we’ve grown. The lessons themselves and the method of instruction may change, but we should always be wise enough to stop and listen – for we still and will always have much to learn, and the teachers, and the blessings of what they teach, will not always be physically with us.

Life from life

2006-06-09T13:58:00.000-04:00

Last fall I wrote here of the loss of a different kind of friend – the tree outside my bedroom window that always helped me greet each new day. She is now split and stacked and protected from the elements under the deck, seasoning so that she can warm me one final time this coming season.

In her place last fall, I planted a new tree – small and spindly by comparison to be sure, but a reminder of she who once stood so proudly and a reminder that life goes on despite loss. I rushed against the changing seasons to prepare the site, chose her carefully and planted her straight and tall in the sloping ground. I fed her roots to help them unfurl and grasp her new home firmly, provided a stake to which she was lovingly secured to fortify her against the January winds and driving snow – and then watched anxiously during days of bitter cold and howling wind in hopes I’d done enough to help her start her new life safely.

As the days grew longer and the temperatures more mild, I checked every day for signs of life – gauging what I’d been told of her growth patterns against those of other trees in the yard. And then one day, in the soft glimmer of a cool morning sun, I saw an unmistakable bud and – the closer I looked – more and more of them. In the unseasonably warm Spring, the buds grew quickly – filling every branch with burgeoning life that grew larger and stronger with each day.

One morning, the air was filled with a rich, sweet fragrance. Fuchsia blossoms that had delicately sprung forth overnight quivered in the breeze - and a bumble bee already busied himself, drawing sweet nectar from the tiny trumpets even as they began to open. Birds chirped in approval nearby – perhaps planning a few years down the road when these same branches would be strong and sheltering enough to protect the births and first tentative flights of their great-grandchildren.

Now the blossoms are gone – replaced by shining, healthy leaves that reach eagerly toward the sky, seeking the nourishment of the sun and capturing the gentle rain for her roots to drink. I visit her almost daily, both to ensure that she is appropriately nourished and to proudly watch her grow.

On the roadway behind the house and down the hill, the hustle and bustle of life and commerce continues - unabated and uninterested by this quiet microcosm of all that is good and right and full of light and new life – and all too soon it comes time to go back inside and deal with the issues of the day. But each morning from now on, the space once occupied by my beloved friend will not seem quite so empty anymore, for she who now stands in her place will draw strength from the same soil and carry on her legacy - and the world will seem a little brighter place as a result.

Lighter than air

2006-06-05T02:15:00.000-04:00

My last few entries have been a bit on the heavy side (some might say ‘preachy’, although you’re all too kind to say so), so I thought I’d lighten things up a bit with this entry and simply share a few photos from a hot air balloon festival I attended the weekend before last. Some additional pics from the event are located in the album posted in the right column.

As your week begins, I hope your spirits soar in gentle breezes, that clouds are few and that sunshine brightens your days……

A time to reflect

2006-05-26T15:19:00.000-04:00

Memorial Day approaches – a holiday left relatively unsullied by commercialism and which still holds much of its original intent. And amidst the picnics and family gatherings and working in the garden I hope you’ll take a moment to remember those who have served and who still serve this great country – and no matter your politics, offer your thanks in your own way for the freedoms they secured and help to preserve for us all.

But also at this time of reflection, I like to take the time to look at life and upon the journey so far.

I love the picture above. Its far from one of my best and I hope one day to capture that image the way I see it in my mind’s eye, but it speaks to me in many ways and – if you’ll permit – I’ll share a few of those with you.

The view is at the entrance to a National Park, less than 10 minutes from home. It doesn’t take one’s breath away or make one feel infinitesimally small in the scheme of the universe like the Grand Canyon or Yosemite, but it is filled with nature and life and small pleasures at every turn and I love to visit and walk and learn and ponder. And my favorite time of day to visit is when the light is right to cast this reflection.

To me, reflections are a metaphor for life – a yin and a yang, what is and what might be, the real and the imagined. Sometimes the reflection is almost an exact mirror image of the reality, and virtually indistinguishable from it – re-affirming where we are and where we want to be. Other times the reflection is slightly off-focus – a hazy dream that helps us to see and feel and imagine in a new and different way. Sometimes the reflection is blurred almost to the point of being unrecognizable, perhaps reminding us of where we’ve lost our way and when a course correction may be in order. And most disconcerting is when we confuse the reflection for the reality – and find that we are traveling a path that is upside down and backwards from what we intended.

None of the above viewpoints is really better or worse than the others. Some make us feel good while others make us question – but all can make us think. And when we think, we learn – and when we learn, we grow.

The next time you see a reflection – be it a graceful arch duplicated in shimmering water or a mirror’s honest view of the face you present to the world – take a look at what that reflection tells you about yourself and your life, where you are and where you wish to be – and then, perhaps, dare to plan the course ahead.

A different sort of Mother's Day

2006-05-22T01:00:00.000-04:00

I realize that this entry is less then timely, but I had not intended to write about a day where I felt no right to intrude. Instead, I offered silent thoughts and prayers and thanks to the spirits of my mother and grandmother and sent private wishes to friends.

But this past week, my path has been crossed by the celebration of new life too many times to ignore - and there must have been a reason that my camera was nearby in each instance.

It began early in the week. It had been raining for what seemed an eternity and my mood and my outlook matched the cool and unrelenting grey of the sky. Everything I touched seemed to crumble in my hands and I was feeling incapable of accomplishing anything positive. And then I looked up and glanced out the window. Not ten feet away – on the fringe of the treeline that separates my small slice of heaven from civilization -was a new mother deer, resting upon the cool grass and watching over her two baby fawns. They could not have been two days old – perhaps born on Mother’s Day itself - tiny and wobbly on the spindliest of legs, portions of their fur a bit matted, perhaps still from birth.

In quiet awe, I watched from the window as she tended to them endlessly, fretting over tiny details and always casting a watchful eye when one tried to stumble about, tentatively exploring this strange and wonderful new world. Be it love or instinct or a combination of the two, she was as doting a young mother as any being released from the hospital that day with her own bundle of new life cradled safely in her arms.

Next came the opportunity to watch the preparation for life, as a quiet and patient – but ever watchful – mother robin sat proudly upon her nest, awaiting the new adventure soon to begin. I sat quietly, carefully observing as she positioned and repositioned herself just so in order to warm and protect what will soon be her young. Each quick movement or unusual sound caught her attention, and it was evident that she wished to fly from her perch to safety in the nearby woods on many occasions. But the instinct was strong and she stayed her ground in each case, knowing that young lives depended upon her warmth in order for them to enter this world.

Finally, as the week drew near its close came the final indelible image – and the decision to add this entry. I was near the mouth of a major river channel, where powerful pleasure craft jockeyed for position with 1000 foot long ore carriers to be the first to reach open water - tall buildings and massive lift bridges framing the scene. Yet over the drone of the massive ship’s engines and even over the soul-rattling sound of the ship’s air horn and the bridge’s warning bells could be heard a much smaller but insistent sound that forced one to turn and observe. Over the crest and then down a small grassy hill near the edge of the water came a no-nonsense Canada Goose, herding three small goslings. Noisily, she called and scolded and prodded her seemingly reluctant offspring to stay together and continue moving in the direction she had set – and obediently and a bit dazedly they complied. Along the narrow walkway they proceeded – and all the people in her path wordlessly parted and cleared the way. As the sidewalk faded to gravel and then to rocks leading down to the water, she led her babies in – and a small crowd gathered silently to watch this tiny family make its way to its next destination, mom leading fearlessly - her head held high.

In all the world,there is no love quite so pure as a mother’s love. Albeit belatedly: to all who have blessed this world with children - tended them, taught them, nurtured them and loved them, thank you - and God bless you.

Something Strange (and Wonderful)

2006-05-15T15:19:00.000-04:00

(This concludes a series of entries described in ‘Something I’ve Made’, which appears below. For those who have slogged through this overload of verbiage over these past several days, thank you for your endurance and your patience).

If you’ve read previous entries in this series, you will know that I’ve played fast and loose with the ‘rules’ of this particular assignment – and today I’ll break perhaps the most fundamental of those rules, for the ‘picture’ to illustrate this final tale will solely be a recollection of my own mind’s eye – and an attempt to re-create those images for you using only words.

Some of you who have known me for awhile may remember the story I am about to relate. Some of the words may even be familiar, for I freely admit to plagiarizing my own old outgoing correspondence to craft this entry, but rather than post a humorous image of something odd found around the house, I’m choosing to tell you about a night when nature and imagination and the occasional gift to see things beyond the mundane came together to create a set of experiences which will remain with me for the rest of my days. So then – the tale of the winter fireflies:

In January of 2005, I celebrated a ‘significant’ birthday. Rather than have an ordinary party, I decided that the best way to celebrate life to date and to contemplate life yet to come was to rent a cabin at a nearby State Park for a weekend and then invite my closest friends to share the weekend with me. To my surprise and delight, each found a way around his busy schedule and life’s demands to join me. It was not the first time many of us had shared a weekend adventure, but I will always be grateful to them for taking that time to celebrate with me.

One of the traditions when my friends and I get together for a weekend away has always been a midnight walk. These take place regardless of time of year or weather - and experiences shared and discussions held during these times have cemented some of my deepest friendships.   There's something about being alone in nature, usually far away from everything and very late at night, which helps one focus, cast the worries of the world aside, drop pretenses and egos and simply speak the words of the heart.

That Saturday night was very crisp and cold. The moon was only a day or two past full and cast paths of silver light throughout the barren trees and across the virgin snow. Three of us set out and walked for about a half hour, talking about how lives have changed in the years we have known each other but that friendships - real friendships - endure.

After a time, the others grew tired and cold and returned to the cabin, but there was something calling me to linger awhile in the pristine beauty of the moment. I took a different trail and emerged back on the main road, feeling exhilarated but still seeing and hearing nothing out of the ordinary. Then I turned a corner - and suddenly knew what I was there to see.

Now I am blessed to live on a property that brings nature literally to my doorstep. In the warm nights of summertime, I love to turn off all the interior and exterior lights and sit on the deck, peering down into the valley below. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, the night becomes alive with the glow of fireflies - thousands of brilliant, momentary flashes of light in a silent natural fireworks show.

But this night, I was stunned to have that same experience in the cold and dead of frigid winter! As I walked along that road, the woods became alive with tiny winking lights wherever I looked. My jaw dropped as I tried to comprehend what I was seeing - and in awe of the stunning beauty of the scene.

Slowly came the realization that moisture on the limbs of the trees and bushes had turned to intricate crystals of ice and, as I walked, the moon's reflection off each caused the eye to see only flashes of light. I stopped - and half the 'fireflies' froze in place.   It was as if the world had stopped, that time stood still and that I alone had witnessed this cosmic event, there in the silence of the forest. I took a step or two and the fireflies winked on and off again. Stopped - and again felt suspended in time and space.   For at least half an hour, I continued in this wonderland of light and magic until finally the lights of the cabins ahead dimmed the glow of this gift of nature.

By the time I returned to the cabin, the others had retired for the evening. I sat by the small gas fireplace for an hour, lost in thought and replaying the scene in my head – absorbing again and again the lesson that there is beauty all around us in this world, if only we take the time to let it find us.

Something received as a gift

2006-05-08T18:33:00.000-04:00

(This continues a series of entries explained below in ‘Something I’ve Made’. Please bear with me – its almost over!)

**** Suicidal robin update: fingers, toes and eyes crossed as I write this, but the covering has been off the windows for a week now and our feathered friend has not returned to rejoin the battle. Let’s all hope he’s found a less-injurious pastime – and thank you for your best wishes on his behalf! ****

Selecting the subject of this entry was a difficult choice to make. Over the years – and also very recently – I’ve received gifts that have touched me and will always be remembered. All had something in common – there was thought put into the gift, it was unique and tailored to something important to me – and it was obvious that it came from the heart and found a way to capture friendship or affection in a very special way. Its also funny in that none of the gifts that sprung to mind for inclusion here were particularly expensive – but their value to me will always be priceless.

Several years ago, I underwent a career crisis of sorts. I was the facility manager of a large research center for a major company – a highly visible location along an interstate highway that we had always taken pride in maintaining to peak degree. Despite inevitable annual budget cuts, I always asked my staff for ways to remove the hidden costs and not just to take the easy way out. They knew that I would always start from the standpoint that people were our best and brightest resource and that jobs would always be protected to the greatest extent possible – and perhaps as a result they always forwarded ideas that were cutting edge, creative and effective.

Then one day, my boss retired – and was replaced by a man from another part of the world who had built his reputation as a ruthless cost cutter. My fears were confirmed in one of our first meetings, when I was told my operating budget – already pared by almost 33% over the previous few years – would be cut by another arbitrary 25%, simply as a ‘statement’. When I protested, I was immediately offered solutions that would decimate my staff and almost immediately place the building in a steady state of decline.

Several weeks before this, I had received a call from someone within the company I’d known for many years – offering me an opportunity to join his staff and build an entirely new department. At the time I was happy in my role and turned him down, but after that meeting and a night to think it over I called him back and asked if the offer still stood. When it did, I swallowed hard and accepted, then informed my new boss that I had saved him the amount of my salary and benefits by accepting another position at the headquarters facility. He barely looked up – and I knew that I’d made the right decision.

Some might say that I bailed out on those who counted on me, but the reality was that the person in my job was about to begin overseeing a dismantling of everything I’d worked to build and I simply didn’t have the heart to do that – and my departure and the resulting savings ultimately saved a few of their jobs.

I had hosted a small get-together at the house for my direct staff and had held a farewell breakfast for the entire department in order to express my thanks to each and all who had made things such a pleasure for me over so many years - and thought that would be the extent of my goodbyes. But on my final day, one of my supervisors came in and told me that there was a problem in the cafeteria and that I was needed immediately. When I arrived upstairs, the room was filled with balloons and virtually everyone in the facility – and I’ll freely admit to a lump in my throat and a tear in the corner of my eye.

As part of the festivities, I was presented with the gift depicted above. If you have read my entries here, you know that I am a fan of baseball. But I also have made a hobby of collecting autographs of players – always on an official Major League ball. So instead of a simple card, I was presented with this wonderful memento – one which still graces a place of honor on my shelf today. The center ball is signed by my staff. The other two contain signatures of people I knew and liked, worked with or even feuded with over the years – but all of which took the time to place their signature in blue ink on something they knew would touch me, then and now.

So many times – especially in the cold world of corporate life – people come and go from our lives with hardly a note of passing. I always tried to treat each person with respect as an individual even when there were business differences between us – and many times felt that those efforts were either unnoticed or unappreciated as everyone scurried to the next meeting or assignment. But when it came time to say goodbye, the defensive shields lowered and the light inside emerged – and all the work and all the effort seemed all the more worthwhile.

Sometimes we have the chance to say goodbye, and to use that occasion to reveal to someone what we feel for them in our hearts. But many times, that occasion never arrives - and a chapter closes with all the words unsaid. That day reinforced for me the need to take the time to let those we like – and those we love – know how we feel, for we never know when that opportunity will be gone.

Something with a pig on it (!)

2006-05-04T15:59:00.000-04:00

(This continues a series of entries explained below in ‘Something I’ve Made’)

I never thought it would come to this in a public forum, but I will simply state for any eyes which care to read that I am not a pig person. I don’t dislike them, but I’ve never had an affinity for them either - so put me solidly in the category of pig-neutral or pig-ambivalent, whichever you prefer.

For this reason, my searches for something on-topic proved fruitless and I was moments away from running to the local grocery and buying a pound of bacon to photograph when something clicked in my head and I remembered a t-shirt stored well in the back of the closet. As you can see from the date, its been there for awhile and, as you can also see, its been worn very infrequently, if ever.

I was invited to this party by a friend who was an acquaintance of the founders. Legend has it that this event was founded in the late 70s by a group of students at I believe the University of Pittsburgh. They made it an annual event and continued the tradition well past graduation and through marriages and families. By the time I was invited, it was a three day festival, held at one of the organizer’s family cabins along the Allegheny River in Pennsylvania. And for those who wonder, ICAC stands for ‘Iron City Athletic Club’, Iron City being the (cheap) beer of choice of the founders while still on a student’s income and Athletic Club having no discernable relevance whatsoever, from anything I saw.

But this entry – like most things in life - isn’t about the resolution of the quest, its about the journey itself. As I combed my memory banks for anything that might be in my possession that contained an image of a pig, my thoughts took me back to my youth – and then to my father’s attic to explore the artifacts from that era which might still exist.

There I found old story books, instantly familiar for their well-worn pages – and the remembered feelings and sights and smells of my mother and grandmother as they read to me. There were no images of pigs, but I no longer cared as I allowed the simple comforts of youth to descend upon me for a few precious moments on the cool attic floor.

Next I found some of my mother’s own childhood books – two ‘Big Little’ books to be accurate. One was a Li’l Abner tale, the other Little Miss Muffet – still no pigs, but wonderful, warm images of my mother as a carefree and happy little girl to fill my senses for a time.

Finally, I found the box of ‘Disneykins’ from my youth. These were small plastic figures, usually sold in sets of cartoon characters and children’s stories. Although jumbled together, each piece – despite the fragility of its construction – was intact, cared-for and appreciated even when my hands were considerably smaller and perhaps less cautious than today. There was the Yogi Bear series, the Flintstones, Captain Hook and Peter Pan, Mickey and Daffy and Donald – but no Porky to be found. But by then – eyes closed now - I was again seated at my grandmother’s kitchen table, carefully grouping and displaying my little plastic treasures and crafting adventures for them – and the lack of a pig was the furthest thing from my mind.

I came back down from the attic empty handed – but with a head spinning in sweet memories and warm remembrances, and a heart full of people I can no longer touch but who will always be with me. Pig or no pig, it was a wonderful day.

Something Unique

2006-05-03T15:40:00.000-04:00

(This continues a series of entries explained below in ‘Something I’ve Made’. If you read that first installment, you’ll know I’m jumping around a bit in the order of the assignment - but rules are made to be broken after all….)

I would have liked this entry to be about a pair of cast metal ewers that sit proudly by the fireplace in my Great Room. They are heavy and solid yet delicate in their fine detail, and they have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember – first gracing my parent’s home and now my own. But unfortunately, I know so little about them that their story cannot be told – and all those who could tell it took it with them when they departed this earth. I know that they were hand-crafted by a relative - a great or perhaps even great-great Grandfather if I recall correctly - but the circumstances of their creation are now lost to the ages and there is no proud family history of great forgers or decorative iron-workers upon which to fall back, so they will need to remain ‘only’ a delight to the eye and a physical link to a relative who shall remain forever faceless and nameless despite the beauty of this physical reminder of his existence.

But instead my subject will be a relic of an industrial past that was at least partially intertwined with my own life and working career for many years. I’ll tell you a little more about my working life in the entry revolving around a ‘gift received’ in a day or two, but suffice to say that the very effective doorstop pictured above is a link to a simpler time when ingenuity solved many challenges at low cost, and time was not so much of the essence as it always seems today.

This is a miniature version of a ‘ball mill’ - used to grind paint pigment to a uniform size. Coarse granules of colored pigments were placed in this vessel, along with a number of the ceramic balls and other shaped objects pictured here. The lid was clamped down tightly and the mill was placed on a set of mechanically-driven rollers that spun for hours and hours – slowly letting the ceramics grind the pigment to a size acceptable for use in making quality paints and other coatings for any variety of industrial and consumer uses.

This was a research-sized mill – the baby brother of massive tanks that were used in actual production for many years in the first half of the last century. I found it one day in a heaping pile of trash stacked outside an old storage room at work. While it obviously no longer served a useful purpose, it was a part of the history of the industry and I couldn’t see simply relegating it to a landfill.

I consulted with some of the ‘old-timers’ and listened to their stories of howthese were used and – even better – what work life and life in general were like in those times, and then cleaned my new-found treasure up and put it to alternative but still productive use as a combination doorstop / conversation starter in my office. For as long as it resided there, it always seemed to bring a small sense of peace and a reminder of simpler times – and that gift alone made its rescue and salvage well worth the effort.

Something I've Made

2006-05-01T16:20:00.000-04:00

The next few entries in this Journal will be a bit different from most you’ve seen before. As always, they will be my words and photos, but the idea for the entries has originated from an outside source. My friend Nikki - Bedazzled - has ‘tagged’ me and several others to play a game that combines photos with the stories behind them – all of which are to be posted in that person’s Journal for all to see, ridicule and comment upon (okay, part of that was editorializing on my part to prepare you for what you will ultimately see and read here).

The assignment appeared simple at the outset – until it came time to select the actual subjects, of course. Here are the photos / stories I’ve been asked to provide:

Something I’ve made

Something I’ve received as a gift

Something strange

Something with a pig on/in it (of all things)

Something unique

Now there’s a reason why the word ‘Rambling’ appears in the title of this Journal – because I am a man of many words (although master of few). And in order for me to tell the stories behind these pictures, it will take more space than a single entry – or the patience of any reader – would safely permit. So I will begin this quest with ‘Something I’ve Made’ and attempt to follow with additional postings each day or so until the job is complete - or until too many of you cry ‘uncle’……

When gifts and talents were handed out on the day I was born, I was fortunate enough to be blessed with a few. What I was not blessed with, however, was the ability to draw or craft or otherwise use my hands to create things of beauty or meaning. When I ‘make’ something, it is for a purpose – something to complete a utilitarian task and usually something specialized (or crazy) enough that it couldn’t be purchased outright. Many of my ‘creations’, therefore, are Goldbergian in nature, not meant to impress but simply to meet a real or perceived need.

I freely admit that the above does not look like much – and indeed it was one of my less-fanciful projects - but its purpose was rather unique and offers a bit of insight into what makes me tick, so I have chosen it to fulfill this portion of the ‘assignment’.

My home is ranch style, with a full basement that is unfinished. Upon move-in, when it came time to settle on a location for the all-important cat box, the most logical location appeared to be under the stairs – a small, enclosed space that was both accessible and out-of-the way at the same time. Pippin – thankfully - appeared to approve and the location became his.

Now I know that the quality of cats’ eyesight, especially in low light, is legendary - but I still felt bad that the poor little guy would have to make his way down the stairs and use the box in near total darkness after sundown and I just felt he deserved better than that. So off to the home improvement store I went, with a vague idea of what I wanted but no plan further than that.

I came home with the contraption you see pictured here – designed to illuminate driveways or backyards whenever a car drove in or someone walked through, by sensing motion and turning on the light for a prescribed time period before re-setting. I found a nearby electrical line and tapped-in, mounting the unit such that anyone passing nearby would activate the sensor and provide about five minutes of light to this small area. I programmed the sensitivity at its lowest setting in hopes that even a stealthy grey feline would activate it and then waited to see if this crazy idea would work. Soon thereafter, Pippin appeared, entered the enclosed space and viola! the light came on. In typical feline indifference, he never displayed any reaction to this small addition – and in my heart I know it was probably never necessary at all - but he was a special part of my life and I hope that somehow he knew that itmeant I cared.

If you’ve read elsewhere in this Journal, you know that Pippin passed away of natural causes last summer – and that hardly a day goes by when there isn’t something that reminds me of him and brings a smile. This past January, the light bulb in this fixture finally burnt-out. Even though it serves no purpose now (if it ever did), I replaced it – in simple reminder of a friend no longer physically present, but always alive in my heart.

A Rite of Spring

2006-04-28T11:05:00.000-04:00

When most people think of organized team sports anymore, they can't help but think of millionaire players and greedy owners and drug scandals and overpriced everything – from the cost of seats to $40 t-shirts (we won’t even mention $5 hot dogs and $10 beers). But the games were not always this way – and especially baseball

Baseball is by far my favorite sport, because when you take the time to learn and watch it, baseball is actually a gigantic game of chess. Chess played by large men who spit and scratch too much, of course, but chess nonetheless . There is a kind of poetry to all the subtle maneuvers constantly taking place throughout the field – all amidst a deceiving leisurely-ness without the disruption of a clock - that appeals to my soul more than any game with more apparent ‘action’.

Because of this, I’ve spent a fair amount of time learning about the game and its history – reading of the men who played it for the joy of the sport rather than the lavish lifestyle and out-sized paychecks. One of those men was Raymond Chapman, a talented and very popular man who played shortstop for the Cleveland Indians from 1912 to 1920.

'Chappie' had it all – he was a natural leader with an even more natural smile, excellent athletic ability, nearing the peak of his career with an exciting and talented team, a beautiful new bride at home - and his first child on the way. And then one day in August of 1920 he dug into the batter’s box in New York and faced a pitcher named Carl Mays.

This was before the days of batting helmets and body armor - and pitchers, especially Mays, were not shy about throwing inside. Chapman squared to bunt and Mays threw a pitch that sailed directly toward his head - hitting him squarely in the left temple…….

Ray Chapman died the following day – the only Major Leaguer ever killed by a pitched ball.

The team, the city, and fans of baseball everywhere were in mourning for the loss of this popular young player. Mays was vilified and left baseball soon thereafter despite lack of any evidence that the pitch was intentional. School children throughout Cleveland collected pennies and nickels – and donated them so that Chappie would have a fitting headstone on his grave – the stone pictured at the top of this entry. The Indians faltered, but re-grouped near the end of the season and celebrated Ray Chapman’s life in the best way they knew how – they captured the World Series title that same fall, dedicating it to his memory.

For more years than I can count, on or about Opening Day of each baseball season - as winter recedes and life blooms anew - I make my way to this gravesite. Like many others, I leave a small talisman behind as a tribute to the past and a prayer for the future. Some years the sky is grey and threatening. Some years its blue and crystal clear. But with baseball, as in life, this time of year always brings hope and renewal – and I like to imagine that somewhere, on a sunny field of emerald turf and carefully-groomed soil, a youthful Ray Chapman still slickly fields ground balls, his smile wide and his laughter clear in the cool, crisp air of eternal Spring.

Helping Nature Along.....

2006-04-22T01:43:00.000-04:00

Living in a wooded setting provides more blessings than one can count – but can also bring experiences unimagined by those who live surrounded by more concrete than trees. Some of those experiences bring instant smiles, others tug at the heartstrings – and then there is the case of the suicidal robin……

The picture above is a view of the front of my home, which is unlikely to win any house beautiful awards at present. No, there is no remodeling project going on, nor have I tried to take steps to bolster a case for a lower tax appraisal on the property.

About a week ago, I was awakened just after dawn by the sound of something hitting the bedroom window, hard. It was a sharp thudding sound, enough to cause me to sit bolt upright in bed and attempt to make sense of it as sleep still clouded my thoughts. There was no immediate follow-up, so I lay back down and closed my eyes. Shortly thereafter, however, it was there again – followed quickly in succession by three or four more. I rolled over and grabbed my glasses – just in time to see a male robin literally flinging his body with abandon against the bedroom window repeatedly. Sometimes he would hit more with his feet and scratch at the glass for a few moments as he hovered in the air; other times he would simply take a flying start and crash chest first against the glass.

I watched in amazement for a time and then, as quickly as he had started, he disappeared.

Later in the morning, however, I glanced out the kitchen window and saw him back. From this side view I could better gauge the force with which he would hit the glass, drop to the porch floor long enough to regroup and then launch himself again. Occasionally he would rest by sitting quietly on the ledge at the corner of the window, intently peering inside for long periods of time and appearing docile and unperturbed by what he saw – only to then again renew his assault only moments later.

Fearing that he would ultimately hurt himself, I tried to alter his view by cracking the window open a bit and changing the angle, hoping that he was seeing his own reflection and that the different perspective would take the ‘target’ away. When that didn’t work, I tried closing the blinds, followed by re-opening them and leaving a light on in the room. None of these solutions worked, however, and the process repeated for several days – always beginning just after dawn and repeating for periods throughout the day until early evening.

Worried for the bird’s health (and the state of my window), I ventured out onto the porch – after first assuring myself that he was nowhere in sight – and found the general area in less-than-attractive condition. In addition to hundreds of small greasy marks on the glass, the ledge and the porch floor appeared as you might expect them to after a bird had spent significant time encamped in the vicinity. So I got the hose and the Windex and searched the garage for a sheet of plastic that had once served as a drop cloth from some long-ago painting project. I affixed the plastic so that it covered the entire window, secured it top and bottom and stood back to admire my ‘handiwork’. It was ugly as sin but serviceable – and I hoped it would solve the problem.

For three days, there was no sign of him or any telltale marks of his presence when I was not around to watch. I congratulated myself on my ingenuity and on saving this poor tortured creature from his own delusions. The view through the bedroom window was ruined for now, but I suspected that I only needed a few days to change his behavior and that soon all would be right with nature and the world once more. Until yesterday morning – when the by now all-too-familiar thud awakened me again, but this time from the bathroom window NEXT to the covered bedroom window!

This bird was resourceful if misguided, but I wasn’t going to let more time pass before taking further action, so I crafted a covering of newspaper this time and have placed that over this second window in hopes he’ll finally get the message and either find a more productive and less-painful way to spend his days – or at least find someone else’s windows to help fulfill his masochistic tendencies.

For now, I appear to have the upper hand – but in the back of my mind I envision every window in the entire house wrapped in some sort of covering before this particular drama reaches its natural conclusion. I ask your prayers for this poor silly creature – and if anyone knows the number of a good avian psychologist, I’ll take that too!

Keeping the Glow Alive

2006-01-07T02:24:00.000-05:00

And in an instant, it was over.

Weeks of planning and shopping and decorating and wrapping pass in a blur of activity – smiles, carols, faces of friends old and new, laughter and good cheer. And then silence – and a return to ‘life’ as we each define it.

The living room is back to normal – the lighting merely functional and no longer magical, the corner where the little tree so proudly stood now seemingly more barren than it has ever been. The chess set again sits unpresupposingly where the light of a shining ‘star’ once drew the eye to the small tableau of simple people in humbling circumstances celebrating an extraordinary event. Aunt Julia’s decorative clock takes the place where the small plastic church of my youth glowed quietly from within.

Yet, too many times it seems we wrap up the peace of the season along with the decorations – packed away to be joyously unearthed in another 11 months. Is that wonder in a child’s eyes – or the childlike sparkle in the eyes of one who has far fewer Christmases ahead than behind – so precious that it must be reserved for once a year? Is the shining hope and the feeling of peace in our hearts too much to carry with us into daily life? I hope not – for the world will only grow colder as a result.

Bills and stress and jobs and countless problems large and small all make demands upon our time. With great effort, we put them aside for a few days to feel that childlike wonder descend upon us once again – but all too soon they encroach once more.

For that reason, I always try to leave a few lingering reminders of Christmas behind - to permit easy and unexpected flashbacks later in the year. A few pine needles will always find their way under the couch or remain hidden in the curtains – and they always seem to mysteriously appear at a time when a reminder of the shimmering tree and all the memories it evokes are most sorely needed. The wreath remains on the front door at least until April – or until a pair of nesting sparrows or wrens or nuthatches decides it would make a wonderful place to start a family. The tree itself becomes a part of the landscape, grouped with its cousins of Christmases past to provide shelter and warmth to small creatures as they need – and always in view of the windows so that a casual glance can raise a knowing smile.

Keeping the feeling of Christmas alive is difficult work – but always worth the effort. The next time life feels overwhelming to you, I hope you find a pine needle – and allow your heart to experience the sounds and the smells and the light and the hope once again.

Christmas Blessings

2005-12-23T00:42:00.000-05:00

Christmas is a time of contrasts in many ways. In the northern climes, one travels regularly from warmth to sometimes bitter cold and back again. There is commotion all around it seems - frantic rushing to prepare, holiday greetings shared, the raucous laughter of loved ones gathered together. But in the end - when all the presents are opened, all are tucked in bed, the lights turned low except for the glow of the tree and the last flickering embers in the hearth - there is silence.

Many of my happiest memories of Christmas revolve around those times - when all the work and preparation and effort have come to a successful conclusion and the world closes down to soft music in the background, a candle or two burning low, the tree ablaze in twinkling lights - and the signature Christmas glow of contentment and unbridled hope for the future.

My eyes will fall on the nativity, recalling the hymns sung fervently earlier in the evening, and I will allow the profundity of that simple scene to put things in perspective and remind me once again of the purpose of the season. The candlelit, a capella 'Silent Night' that ends our church service every year will play again in my head - and I will shed another bittersweet tear, recalling how that moment always touched my mother so deeply and how she so dearly loved this season.

But its not a moment of sadness at all. Its a time of fond memories, blessings recounted, warmth that spans generations and time and astral planes - a moment to share in the heart with all those who's physical presence can no longer be shared. I will be alone in the room, but surrounded by those I love and have loved.

After a time, I will quietly move to the closet, bundle up warmly, and then venture forth for a walk in the crisp night air. This year, there will be snow and - if the skies are clear - some moonlight to mark my path. My eyes will search the heavens, and rest upon that same star of legend and lore that has guided countless souls before me to their destination - and perhaps to their destiny. I will listen to the night and attempt to garner all it has to teach - and through it all, I will offer countless quiet prayers of thanks for all the blessings bestowed upon me, chief among them the people who touch my life, who offer their hand in support, who buoy me with their smiles, who fill my heart, who give me reason and hope.

To all who may read this, I wish a season of blessings and smiles, joy and hope, peace and happiness, health and love - and perhaps a quiet moment alone with your thoughts to contemplate and appreciate them all. Merry Christmas. Happy Holidays.

Rob

The Warmth of a Winter Sun

2005-12-13T16:02:00.000-05:00

For the past several days, its been grey and cold. Every time the driveway has been cleared of snow, a new batch has arrived, and the roadways have – at times – been less than welcoming.

But late last night, as the last of the snow fell silently to the ground, the clouds began to part – and a brilliant patch of moonlight bathed the blanket of white with a radiance so pure as to bring tears to one’s eyes. The silence of winter made the moment even more captivating. For a moment, the world had stopped - frozen in time – pristine and beautiful and unspoiled.

With the dawn came blue sky and bright sunshine, casting shadows and highlighting the tracks of animals large and small, marking their journeys through and around the property, feet and sometimes only inches from the door.

On days like this, the soul is easy, the heart is full, the eye is delighted – and all the hustle and bustle of holiday preparations seems easier and brighter and so much more purposeful. It’s a day when smiles come easily and people – no matter how rushed – take the time to share one with friends and strangers alike.

Many have chosen to flee this climate, seeking warmth and sun year-round – where 50 feels cold and a passing cloud makes the evening news. There is much to be said for such predictability – and during times when its hard to remember what the tips of the fingers actually feel like, such locations do sometimes sing the enticing song of the Sirens – but there is also nothing there to compare with a day such as this. No Caribbean sky is as blue as that which contrasts with new-fallen snow. No palm tree is as graceful as the fir which sheds its coat of white as the sun warms its branches. No beach can provide the same tingle to the skin as the bracing nature of frigid air combined with the warmth of a winter sun.

It's a day that makes one feel alive and vital – happy and grateful to know such a day. It’s a day that makes one feel warm from the inside out - which is always the best way to be warm.

Memories and Smiles

2005-12-08T00:49:00.000-05:00

This is not the entry I planned to make today. Perhaps that will come at another time for it’s a message I’d still like to share, but for now here’s a little snippet of my life:

I decorated the house today. The outside decorations were done a few weeks ago before the temperatures dropped and the snow fell, but today it was time for the interior to take on a semblance of the holiday.

Christmas is my favorite time of the year and I cherish all the memories and traditions it holds for me. That does not translate into lavish decoration, however – only things that have meaning to me, despite their understated appearance. Each year, I search for the smallest real tree I can find. In this era of bigger is better, finding a tree in the 4 to 5 foot range is many times a challenge, but this year I found a scotch pine that called my name – measuring a whopping 56” from trunk to tiptop. It was off to the side and already in a stand – probably to demonstrate that, despite its crooked trunk, it could still stand straight and proudly. While others wrestled mightily to secure nine and ten foot monsters to the roofs of their SUVs, I quietly slipped my little treasure into my trunk - and closed the lid.

It sat outside since Monday to let its branches settle, but today was the day to bring it inside. It fit the stand easily and – as advertised – stood straight and tall. I fed it some water and watched as it thirstily drank, then brought up the lights and the other decorations from the basement and set to work:

As always, first came the nativity set – displayed in a prominent location and away from any secular trappings of the season. The star was lit and I stood for a moment in silence to remember once more why we celebrate this holiday in the first place.

Then it was time for the music to play – loud enough so that I can simply immerse myself in the moment – and the rest of the work began. The stockings were hung, the votive village was placed carefully on the mantle, candles set in place, the small plastic lightup church from my childhood placed on the desk – battered and taped from years of use, but always able to bring a smile to my face. I carefully wound the key to the music box inside and heard its clear rendition of O Come All Ye Faithful for probably the thousandth time, but still as touching as the first.

Finally, it was time for the tree itself – placed on a small table to give it height but not to overwhelm the room, and allow for presents to be placed easily beneath. As always, I placed and lit the star first, and then began unrolling the strands of lights.

Now almost all of my memories of Christmas are fond, but it does tear at my heart to remember those with whom I can no longer celebrate – most notably my mother and grandmother, those who always seemed to know how to make the day the most special it could be. But this year, an unexpected twinge arrived as I uncoiled the first set of lights. For the past 16 Christmases, that first strand of lights would suddenly attract a grey blur. It would appear silently and without warning, take the furthest-most bulb gently in its teeth and run, stopping abruptly as I held the other end of the strand, then rolling over and playfully batting at the lights and my hand as I came near.

His name was Pippin. He was all grey with beautiful green eyes. His coat was sleek and he had an attitude, but he was also about the sweetest cat I’d ever known. Every Christmas, he was as much a part of the decorating as the tree and the lights themselves. Things took longer and a strand or two of lights were destroyed over the years from a bit too much exuberant play, but he was as much a holiday memory and tradition as any I’ve described here.

This past summer, he passed away – and rests under a tree in the yard I can see every day from the sunroom window. Hardly a day passes when I don’t still see a shadow in the corner of my eye, hear a sound and assume its him making his way through the house on some imaginary adventure, feel him against my feet at the end of the bed. But still it hit me hard when there was no one to pounce on the lights this year – and I sat silently on the floor by the tree for many minutes before I could invoke the holiday spirit again.

When the lights were all on the tree, I took the boxes of decorations back to the basement. But before I came back upstairs, I searched through the box once more and retrieved a tiny red stocking I’d originally decided not to place this year. It had come with a small gift from a friend exactly16years ago – and it had immediately found its place on the mantle as Pippin’s stocking. I brought it upstairs, hung it on its familiar hook – and suddenly it felt like Christmas again.

A Time To Say Thanks

2005-11-23T23:14:00.000-05:00

Those of you who know me already know that Thanksgiving has always been a special day for me. You may find it surprising that its not really because of family traditions or specific memories, but simply because the purity of this holiday has been largely unsullied. It provides an opportunity to look back upon our lives, the people and events and experiences that have shaped us and, if we take the time to do so, to pause in quiet reflection and offer sincere thanks for everyone and everything that has blessed us during our journey thus far.

Its sad that Thanksgiving is now so largely overwhelmed by the retail glare of the December holiday - in the eyes of commerce at least, merely a placeholder between Halloween and Christmas - yet traditions do continue on a personal level for so many, and it is the hope those traditions bring that I pray resound within you and yours.

We are all so busy - and the nature of the day itself sometimes brings so much hustle and bustle to cook and prepare and travel and juggle priorities - that its easy to go through the motions, eat the turkey, watch the football games and then fall asleep on the couch or drag ourselves to the next 'obligation'.

But my wish for you on this day is that you take the time to find a place of quiet solitude and close your eyes. Let the events of your life - and especially the people - unfold before you in a diorama that is uniquely yours. Look inside the actual events tothose moments you shared with people who really influenced and changed your life. In many cases, you may find it was not a specific occurrence at all but a longtime association that built the memory. In others, it will be the pure flash of blue light that occurred when suddenly the scales fell from your eyes and you saw something clearly for the first time - and became a better person for it.

There will be moments of pain during this time of reflection, but I encourage you not to dwell on those feelings - for pain is a great teacher in and of itself and even those who hurt us can sometimes help us to learn and to grow even if that was never their intent. Pain from loss of those closest to us is also inevitable - but the bitter is also always sweet for the memories and the love it invokes even as we mourn the physical presence that will not return. Instead, focus on the happy memories large and small and the feeling that person still evokes within you whenever you visit them in your soul.

This has not been the brightest year of my own life - yet I find myself with a multitude of things and people for which to be thankful. Some are longtime and permanent. Some are new, but as or more special than any I have held close to my heart for as long as I can remember. Some things for which I am thankful might surprise you, because to the casual observer they might seem painful or difficult. But the aspects of those events I summon in my heart are the aspects that taught me, that helped me to grow or that allowed me to savor an ongoing relationship with my father which will not be with me forever - and which needs to be celebrated and appreciated every day no mater what.

I wish these quiet moments and purity of reflection to each of you. But then I ask you to take things one step further and to take the time to contact those people for whom you are thankful and who are still with you - to tell THEM how much they mean to you and how much they've helped you become who you are. Don't hide your thanks - share them with those you hold in your heart. Thank you is such a simple thing to say, yet most of us never take the time to truly stop and recognize those important to us. Take the time and you may well be surprised at the kind responses you receive in return as well.

Finally, I ask you to take today's moments of thankfulness and to let them influence your lives in a positive manner EVERY day - to take small breaks from the commotion of daily life and to look for the blessings around you. If times are good, this will come easily. If times are currently less so, I guarantee that you will still find more blessings in your life than you can imagine - and the more you count, the more you will find.

Happy Thanksgiving - today and each day. And THANK YOU for reading!

An Altered Perspective; A Wider View

2005-11-09T00:25:00.000-05:00

Sometimes life teaches us lessons in ways we never expect. And sometimes if we take what we learn too literally, we may not receive the full value of the lesson at all. So many times as we careen through the corridors of daily existence our focus is so much on the task at hand that we don’t see the life lessons displayed before us – and if we do not sometimes take the time to step back and truly absorb what is around us, our lives are the poorer for the blinders we wear.

A few years back, the company for which I worked brought in a safety trainer in an effort to reduce the number of minor vehicle accidents in our fleet of cars for salespeople. I’ll share the instructor’s lesson with you here – try it the next time you drive and I think you’ll see it’s a simple and effective way to improve your awareness and overall safety (and I won’t even charge you $300 an hour!) – but also please take the time to read this entry to the end.

When we drive, we tend to focus – even fixate – on the vehicle in front of us. We may think this is not necessarily a bad thing because we are alert to any sudden changes and will hopefully have time to react should an unexpected avoidance maneuver be required. But the instructor asked everyone to look beyond what stared us in the face and to work to absorb the bigger picture.

He took a person at random and asked her to sit in a chair at the front of the room. Then he asked her to stare into one of the corners of the room, near the ceiling. When she did, he moved his hand partially into her field of vision. Her eyes instinctively moved to follow his hand. He then asked her what she saw and she replied that she saw his hand. He asked if she also still saw the corner of the room and she truthfully replied ‘no’, because her gaze was fixated upon the closer object. Then he asked her to shift her vision back to the corner of the room and not to allow her gaze to come back to his hand. As she did, he began moving his hand back and forth slightly within her field of vision. He then asked her what she saw and she replied that she saw the corner of the room, but still saw his hand moving near her.

The lesson here is that if we set our gaze at a far point down the road, we can see stopped traffic, a tight curve or other obstacles well in advance and have time to react to them – while still being able to see if the brake lights of the car in front of us come on in time for us to stop suddenly if necessary. Conversely, if we focus simply on the vehicle in front we lose the big picture perspective and need to rely solely on our reflexes and constant attention to keep us safe.

It takes a little training to shift your gaze to the horizon – and it takes many internal reminders before this skill becomes second nature. But the fender-bender accident rate for the people who took this course dropped over 30% in the first year after the class was held and frequent reminders were issued.

Now there are many things I’d ultimately like to convey in this journal, but driving tips really wasn’t at the top of the list - so I’ll ask you now to take this lesson and really learn from it. While this simple shift in thinking works well in the context in which it was taught, it is also a metaphor and a lesson in how to live our lives. Sometimes we get so caught up in the day-to-day routines that we focus only on the next task. Worse, when life turns in negative directions, our vision is almost always consumed by the challenge before us and we lose the perspective of the larger whole. And it is exactly at those times that we need to stop and raise our eyes to the horizon, still seeing the task at hand, but keeping our vision fixed on the new dawn in front of us - and not on the clouds directly overhead. Easy to do? Not at all. Effective in helping us cope with the down cycles of life? You bet – try it for yourself and see.

And while you’re at it, the next time you’re taught something - take the time to think of that lesson in a larger context as well. Clear your head for a moment and look tothe horizon - you may well be surprised at what you’ve really learned…….

Embracing Change

2005-10-17T00:41:00.000-04:00

You smell it in the air - a tang that was not there only a week or so ago. The breeze is a little sharper, the nights more crisp and perhaps a bit more clear. The chirp of the crickets diminishes by almost imperceptible degrees each night - portending the silence to come.

The sound of acorns randomly bouncing off the deck adds a staccato beat to life - and the movements of creatures large and small outside the window appear more furtive, more purposeful.

The earth prepares for slumber in a thousand small ways - and all who call her home make their own preparations as well.

I walk amidst the turning trees and absorb the changes all around me. My heart laments the passing warmth of days, but welcomes the cool refreshment of the nights to come, the quiet contentment of a crackling fire, the imminent blaze of nature's color all around us - the anticipation of the quiet awe of the first unblemished snow.

Life changes around us every day. If we try to hold to the past and the now, we miss what the future holds or at least fail to appreciate it. All too soon, our own time of endless slumber will arrive - we do ourselves and all in our lives a disservice if we do not accept and embrace each change until then.

A Passing

2005-10-12T13:48:00.000-04:00

I lost an old friend yesterday. She wasn't a person, but she was important in my life in a special way.

I am blessed to live surrounded by nature's beauty. My home is nestled into a ring of wooded acreage. Although close to people and the services that help make everyday life bearable, it is possible to feel and believe that one is alone with one's thoughts and the beauty of God's creation. The curtains are never closed for there is no one near enough to look in and I choose never to place a barrier between me and the ever-changing wonders just outside the windows.

One of those wonders has always been a lovely Hickory tree outside the bedroom window. Each morning, she would be the first thing I would see as sleep fell from my eyes and the world came into focus. I found that when I traveled I missed her calming presence - and I always looked forward to the moment when she would greet me the morning I returned.

She was a sturdy tree, blooming a bit later than most but stubbornly holding her leaves almost a full month after those of others had burst into color, faded and fallen gently to the earth. But her tenacity was also her downfall, for when early ice or snow fell heavily, her branches, still laden with leaves, would sometimes buckle under the weight - and I would watch helplessly as major limbs were torn from her sides.

Twice over the years her shape was altered in such manner, and each time I would treat her wounds and learn to love the new face she presented to the world.

This past Spring, however, she endured the worst indignity to her proud form yet. I tried to tell myself that she would survive, but something inside me made me treasure her presence each morning a little more. As Winter now undeniably approaches, I sighed in the realization that she would not survive another harsh season - and yesterday I bit my lip and lovingly brought her down to earth.

This morning, the dawn came as it relentlessly does. But something was missing when I cast my first glance through the window. Where she always stood was what appeared to me a gaping void, although others would never notice her absence. There was a small emptiness inside me, but I pictured her in my mind - as I know I always will, no matter how long I live, or where.

Soon, however, she will warm me once more - and something tells me her heat will be just a little more intense, her flames just a little brighter than any of the rest.

Hello

2005-10-12T13:12:00.000-04:00

I am a man blessed in many ways. I have people in my life who love me despite my many flaws. I have friends who have stood the test of time and those who may not yet have the longevity of years, but who add value to my life and smiles to my heart. I have health and the blessing that with age also comes a kind of wisdom. I am blessed to be able to see the beauty in simple things and the best in people - and to appreciate both and never take them for granted. I am also blessed in ways that may not normally be considered blessings, but we will talk of them at another time.

As this document grows and breathes and takes on a life of its own, I will hope to share bits of life with you - simple truths, lessons learned, life in its raw power, sheer emotion, cacophony of voices and messages and opinions, and perhaps an example or two of the indomitable nature of the human spirit as it unfolds before me, demonstrated by family, friends, even strangers.

This will not be a mere chronicle of events - the mundane details of my existence are best left unshared (unless of course you're looking for a sure cure for insomnia). Rather, I hope to share with you stories of this life's journey - and hope that perhaps my experiences, thoughts and words may strike a chord in your life from time-to-time as well.

Let's see where this takes us - let the journey begin......