Prince Demetrius and the Leaves of Loretto

It’s a few short minutes drive up the mountain from home, but I don’t go often enough. Prince Gallitzen State Park. Named in honor of Prince Demetrius Gallitzen, a Russian nobleman turned Roman Catholic missionary priest who founded the nearby town of Loretto, the park is home to Glendale Lake – a 1635 acre man-made lake. This state park is near PA Rts. 253 and 53 close to Pattton, Pa. This picture is very familiar to my friend you’ve met here before … a skilled photographer with an eye for the beauty around us.

This location is familiar to me. Our family went there early on in my life. A significantly larger group than today’s remainder met there for smotherings of hugs and non-judgmental gatherings back when divorces were less common and death seemed less familiar to me. A space where old and young kin folks talked, laughed, and played games around checkered tablecloths on splintered tables, and swarms of bees chased us little ones into the woods. Bees that, unfortunately, are as distant as the memories I have to this day.

My dear friend sometimes captures these memories of mine as I look at her pictures she posts. This one above is one of many from her collection labeled, “Glendale Roadtrip 2020”. Her gift is walking along our memory lanes with us without knowing she’s beside our footsteps.

There are times she strides alone, I suspect. She, like all of us, need those days when no company is desired. A picture taken during a solitary saunter can mean a lot when life requires self-reflection from a pond of either regret or satisfaction. Her roadtrip reasons are for her, alone, to settle into her personal picnic basket of emotional needs. She feeds her soul without the need to justify any fruitful endeavor to us. We’re just the fortunate viewers of her gift.

This photographic journey trip to a princely park is worth writing about because today’s breaths are better spent on leaves and a wonderful friend’s keen eye than election what-ifs and presidential prognostications. A small, quaint Loretto, Pa, leafy fall picturesque lake only a few minutes drive from the hustle of Altoona is soul settling – even if only looking at it on a Facebook page. A railroad city where empty buildings sit – in contrast to empty park benches quietly remembering a family’s reunion forty-five plus years ago – can never replace the images in my mind. A grandmother, with her arm around me, saying, “Look at the lake. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Why, yes it is … yes, it is.

Over the benches and through the leaves, we see the reflection. Black against blue is my favorite contrast in all her photographs. There are no people in this photograph like there are in my memories stirred up by looking through her album. Granted, you can’t see my mom with her frosted 70’s hairdo, or my now bald dad with a crew cut back then. My sister, brother, and I together throwing a football, frisbee, or half-deflated ball from the Murphy’s five-and-dime store is a memory once locked up, but free again. Uncles, aunts, cousins, … all mostly removed from my life now due to unpreventable reasons. Events the trees at Prince Gallitzin and Glendale have seen over and over, family by family, generation by generation.

Life moves at a remarkable pace. Quicker than I ever imagined years ago staring out over a lake years away from my first driver’s license or first date. This is where life is.

I don’t know where you are, nor do I know what ever happened to Prince Demetrius. A quick Google search would turn up the answer, but I like the mystery of not knowing. We shouldn’t want to know everything even if everything is accessible and at our fingertips.

The mystery of the leaves of Loretto included.

I do know I have my memories and a well-respected friend who helps me reach back to grab them every now and then with her pictures.

Life is a shared journey. A Roman Catholic missionary, local State Park, picture, friend, my past, and I – all on the bench beside a calm lake are we … bound together by that unbreakable understanding that life is one picture at a time. One day at a time. One virtual hand-hold together down memory lane.

Today is a good day.

Categorically, The Best

Today, in the middle of a not so busy day, I happened to glance down at my phone. There wasn’t much else going on inside – or outside – my fanciful food trailer. For once, no election blather screaming for my attention from this little Samsung phone in which I type. No Facebook screams heard silently escaping from the Left and Right wing political airplanes that have flooded the airwaves these past months…

… Just the news that Alex Trebek died.

I had only a minute or two to gather my thoughts and post the above comment. Now, I’m home and have a few quiet moments to sit. I had quiet moments three hours ago when the news was posted, but silent moments can be interrupted when sitting behind a register … waiting … and waiting … and …. waiting.

A beautiful November day. Sunshine. A puzzler to me, however, my business is seasonal and event-centric which is why I don’t worry about slow sales days in the first week of the 11th month – an off season, non-event, no fuss trailer time-out. A customer here and there, nonetheless, does interrupt a stream of thought when attempting to write about such an iconic figure in American culture.

We watched his hair turn salty white over the years, didn’t we? We so much enjoyed the smart, intellectual banter between Alex and the probably smarter than us trio of folks who methodically pushed the plungers anticipating a daily double. We were rapt by Ken Jennings and his mastery of the board. as did the stoic, gentlemanly host of Jeopardy for 36 years since its reincarnation in 1984. Alex Trebek had that connection with players – those who lost and winners all.

None more fascinated and enthralled by the handsome Mr. Trebek than my grandmother who didn’t miss many shows in her retirement years. Grandma was already advanced in her graying head ahead of Alex when she quietly confirmed the answers already given by contestants. I don’t believe she missed many … all the while paying more attention to the crosswords or word searches already begun in the magazine on her lap. She was a pretty smart cookie and wonderfully honest, too. “Isn’t Alex just so handsome?”, she’d ask me with a not-so trivial twinkle in her eye. “Yes, Grandma, he is.”, was the only reply a grandson could give his sweet mom’s mom who, obviously, felt a deep admiration and connection toward a little man in the t.v. who was larger than life to her.

She was one of millions I have to assume. The connection with him doesn’t end with categories and players, either. When his diagnosis of pancreatic cancer nearly two years ago was announced, we saw thousands of Americans reach out with messages of support and kindness. Similarities of circumstances, “We’ve been there and are here for you” messages, and even “Stay Positives” from all over the world came flowing in like oceans of words on waves of kindness. He knew his fame was not trivial. He knew the thousands of handshakes at the end of each game and the dialogues with each player after the first commercial break meant something to us. He knew his once-in-a-while correction of a wrong answer to a right one made us appreciate his unique brilliance and humility. He knew we loved who he was – how he took us away for a 1/2 hour every day (or so) as we found time … or, every day for retired grandmothers.

I’m sure others have eulogized Mr. Trebek better or more fluently on this day of his passing. I’ve been beaten in trivia games by my dear mother relentlessly over the years, pounded in Pinochle by Grandma as well. They’re both gone … as is Alex on this day. Seems like a little bit of the magic in this world has left with all three no longer among us.

Nobody can replace them. Nobody. I guess all of us are irreplaceable and we are treasures in our own right. That’s the takeaway from today’s news. Only a few get to stand behind a podium for 36 years and be remarkable, iconic, deeply loved American gameshow host. Most of us sit quietly in a food trailer, behind a desk, in a tractor, nursing a patient, whatever our calling is … and enjoy our normal, non-trivial lives.

That’s the realization one comes to when glancing down at a phone for a few minutes – a small amount of time to think about the impact of one man’s 80-year life that was, categorically, the best for all of us.

Rest in peace, Alex Trebek. You will be missed.

Dave and 200 Pennies

Without doing any research, I have to assume Dave is one of the more common male names in America. Doug certainly is the most important 4-letter name starting with D that comes to my mind, of course. Dave is a close second. A second, just to be clear.

Being Vice-President in this non-farm 4-D category is nothing to be ashamed of if you’re Dave, Dale, or Dick. To be in the same category with a Doug – any Doug – is nothing short of wonderful. MacArthur, Flutie, Fairbanks, … the magic of Henning and I welcome you into our group. Open arms and happy smiles …

… and a moderate amount of humility at times.

Seems fitting, on the day when a new President has been declared by the A. P., I am writing about the self-sacrifice of one man. The giving of a gift from a heart of a man without any expectation of anything in return. The America – personified in one man – I knew was here, but haven’t seen for some time. Benevolence in one man with nothing, compared to another who, seemingly, had everything but chose to serve only himself while giving the appearance of compassion for others.

Let me introduce Dave.

Dave is close to homeless. Whether or not he chooses to be this way, I’m not sure. His situation requires the social safety nets we, as a compassionate society, must provide. Those, like Dave, stricken with misfortune – either economic, emotional, or mental – must be cared for by us. Some in our community (associates and friends) tried to help and, understandably, have been frustrated by Dave’s cognitive unease, laziness, or incomprehension of his actual situation. So, we find our local community folks watching him go about town on his bike, collecting cans, sitting on a bench fake-playing a little Casio keyboard, or shuffling by on a cold winter’s day. This is his normal. Day. After. Day.

His day … intermixed among my busy, go-about days of money-making ventures. A maze of where-to-goes and what-to-do’s, not giving a single thought about anyone else with four letters in their name starting with a D – notably, anyone else who has no warm meal waiting for them at home or a soft sofa to sit on while watching commercials laden with products they may want to buy.

My life compared to a younger, less fortunate man’s life? Almost none. No gray area where our lives did intersect, really cross. I’ve known Dave a while. Being a “street vendor” in town, I was a convenient stop-by here and there for him. A chat every few weeks at his discretion – when he had something to say and then he was on his unshaven, over-dressed, way. Never a nuisance and always respectful, he respectfully begged for my attention, never money, and earned my respect.

All this to say, one day last week Dave paid for my $2 iced tea at breakfast without my knowledge. Whether it was all coins or dollars, I do not know. I wasn’t hungry that morning, so that’s all I ordered. I don’t know what Dave had in mind that morning if I would have ordered my normal breakfast. And you know what? It doesn’t matter. The 200 pennies he sacrificed on my behalf was worth more than breakfast at the White House with any President.

I chose sacrificed on purpose. Ten minutes later, outside the very familiar window under which I sat, I saw Dave shuffle by – clear plastic bag in tow.

At that moment, I became a clear Vice-President of the 4-D name club. Dave showed buckets full of humility, grace, and compassion, with a simple $2 nod toward a guy who sees him as invisible most of the time.

I don’t know why Dave did it. I’m not asking him. To do so would take away the marvelous magic I want him to have. No assumptions are going to come forth from my fingers at this moment.

I wanted to acknowledge one simple act of generosity. To man who thought he had a life of important things, a gift given from one person who has a small amount of things to give in life can make a lot of cents all of a sudden.

To Dave and his 200 pennies: I thank you.

Lady, Luck and Me

This is a lady on Lady.

I had the pleasure of seeing them trot by at a local event last Saturday night. It was a late night corn maze and there wasn’t much business to be placed inside freshly purchased buns, unfortunately. Blame it on rescheduled trick-or-treat plans, cold weather, or Covid fatigue … any number of possibilities … it was simply a slow night. A really. Slow. Night.

Local isn’t really honest. Bedford county is 35 minutes due south from Blair, my home county, and more rural. I set up in a field of worn grass next to a wooded, rather scary, tree-bone graveyard off a well traveled route between two small towns. The folks were banjo friendly in a Nicholson kind of banjo-picking way. Nice, but looked at my hot dawg, northern self like I just stepped off a yankee canoe.

Charles, the folkman in charge of the entire event, was kindly nice and welcoming, however. His gentle demeanor didn’t represent a gruff, wheat stick between the teeth personality as he led my efforts to set up and prepare for the crowds anticipated arrival (not). In fairness – even with over 20 years’ experience running the corn maze and haunted woods – he couldn’t know the effect of Covid or rescheduled trick-or-treat night in the surrounding communities. With that, it was a grueling 4 hours in the cold with little to show except food waste, spent propane, mud in worn tires, and a late night of travel back to a more familiar Blair county.

There was a positive. Meeting the lady … and Lady. In my horse petting haste, I neglected to harness the rider’s name: the lady on Lady. The lady was a very nice person who filled my ears with wonderful information as I ran my cold hands over Lady’s still head a little above her nostrils. This looked to be the only place where she didn’t have a costume part draped over her. Bless her heart. She stood still in silence. Only the white, warm steam rose from the end of her exhales. There was no other movement except my hand – which she seemed to enjoy.

I was told she was a quarter horse. From what I can gather, American Quarter Horses get their name by being quick sprinters – in races of a quarter mile or less. It is one of the most popular breeds in the country and I can see why. I believe we had more of a connection between us than I had with some of the kind kin folk in those parts. Lady didn’t talk much. Heck, she didn’t talk at all. I asked her twice, “Are you a wonderful horse, Lady?”, and she nodded her head in agreement … twice – both times I asked. Don’t tell me we didn’t make a love connection, ’cause we did!

I’m not lonely. Don’t look at this the wrong way. Very seldom do I get to be around large animals, let alone really nice ones, OR ones I have time to pet while freezing my petunias off. Those of you around horses all day long won’t find this encounter of mine wonderful. I get it. For the same reason, I wouldn’t find your writing about an encounter with the most magnificent hot dawg exciting. It’s all what we’ve done, who is with us, perhaps, and possibly what large animal is involved that makes for an interesting life to one vs. another.

The lady’s outfit was interesting to me … especially the way she posed for my picture. It had a middle-eastern flare. Play around with this picture, adding the Abbasid Palace in the background, and it would make for a wonderful picture (although, with apologies to the culture, I’m not sure women are allowed to ride horses). The combination kept my eyes busy most of the evening because there wasn’t much else to do. Lady and the lady rode gently by every 20 minutes or so and I enjoyed every minute of it.

Lady belongs to Charles. He owns four horses. The lady is kind enough to saddle up and ride Lady during these corn maze and haunted woods events to entertain the crowds. Crowds, evidently, that show up only on the nights I’m not there.

That said, some really nice folks did arrive. I can’t say there weren’t. Those who did stop to buy a hamburger, or two, discussed pleasantries with me as I suffered my way around a steamy grill. Charles bought three – yes, three – sausage sandwiches that totaled up to most of my sales. Stuffed in among these slid a few dawg sales and maybe ten sodas. Not a very good night by any standard.

Doesn’t matter much because I try to always find a good nugget … something to stabilize the bad.

And, out of the stable came Lady. She was a few minutes within a few hours. This time became a sliver of my life. A cold guy petting a warm, friendly horse. Not much, by some standards, I humbly admit, but in the midst of a crazy later-mid life, I’ll take what I can get.

We should spend more time looking for these smaller moments that matter. The big ones just aren’t often enough and are fleeting, anyway. I believe “Lady luck” reigned me in Saturday night … if only for a little bit. Worth the drive down south over the county line. I’m not much for banjo playing, however, I may get a hankerin’ for some more soon. Lady may need some Doug affirmations again.

Vote or Veto

“VOTE on/by Tuesday. If not, you’ve switched your constitutionally guaranteed vows…to a VETO of everything fought and died for over time.”

Something as simple as voting. It’s no more complicated as taking the E and L out of vowel to make another word sounding almost the same.

The process, however, could be a bit more involved, according to what I see on the news. You know. I know.

When I write “vote”, it means to pull a lever, fill in a bubble, or turn a knobby-thingy. The getting there is not included in my letters or words, nor is distancing, masking, ballot mailing, USPS rules, chads (is this a thing anymore?), drop boxes, signature matching, etc … I’m simply picturing you standing or sitting at a booth exercising your constitutionally guaranteed right. Period.

As of this date, November 1st, record-breaking numbers of Americans have pre-voted. I’m waiting until Tuesday because I like to do it in person, alone, in a booth. The ladies who greet me are pleasant and know me by name. I get free stuff (pamphlets) distanced safely – even before Covid – handed to me prior to entering the polling door. I like that. Humans taking a pro-active stance in the process. Sometimes there are mints on a table. I get to sign in. Most times I’ll see a neighbor, or two … or three.

I will not – ever – veto my vote. Especially now, when the vows are so easily switched.

You shouldn’t either. Do the best you can to vote. Please.

There Are Bones About It

This wonderful boney poker game is on display in a local neighbor’s yard. I’ve driven by at least ten times but haven’t been able to stop. Due to cars behind me occupied by drivers with impatience coursing through their veins, opportunities to take this picture have been rare – save one. Today was the day. I grabbed carpe diem by the ankles of its Latin legs and tackled it to the pavement.

What fascinates me the most here is a passerby – whether by car or foot – cannot, by any means, determine the gender or political leanings of either the four players or the dealer. Yes, THIS is my take-a-way from the hard work and imagination of a neighbor I don’t know. No player uncomfortably seated or unhappily handed has the slightest poker tell as to his/her liberal, conservative, Democrat, Republican, Independent, or Don’t Give a Sh*t agenda.

This isn’t a normal Halloween season. Every opinion, FB post, family meal, and/or spooky social commentary is sitting around a political or Covid table. Make no bones about it. Even I can’t drive by fabulous femurs without first figuring a way through this maze of viral thoughts and political posturings.

It’s where we are. It’s the hand we’ve, strangely enough, dealt to ourselves.

Today is October 31st and the t.v. in front of my 7 a.m. eyes is broadcasting prognosticating pretty polling predictions that may – or may not – come true next Tuesday. I’m weary from the deluge of information. Steve Kornacki, analyst usually seen on MSNBC, is quite fascinating. He presents state-by-state stats, digs into data, and creates charts I used to find artistic, colorful, and pleasing. Being Saturday morning, I don’t expect to see him until Monday … a few days into a new month, past this Halloween day, and in the midst of a barrage of election, bad-to-the-bone, 24-7 broadcasting.

This isn’t to fault them. I guess we need to be informed voters. But, how much is too much? If you don’t know Mr. Trump or Mr. Biden’s life and times by now, right? We need to know results over coffee on the 4th. That’s all we require at this point from our media. Who won … and who lost. Turning on my smart phone or the t.v. next Wednesday at, say, 7:12 a.m. – exactly 4 days from now – to see a President Trump or Biden – would be just fine by me.

… and it isn’t just the President-to-be.

It’s all in the cards we’ve been dealt and are holding – and, by extension, have allowed our representatives to play our hands. We voted in the senators who will lose, or retain, their seats, because of performance. The down-ballots are important, too. There are more than a handful of Republican senators who are in marginal to major danger of losing their seats because of their proximity to President Trump’s policies and personality. Thinking the ace-high flushes they held last year would be gold, they called a bet against the straight flushes held by their opponents …. and are in trouble. Jamie Harrison has a great chance against Lindsey Graham in S.C. He had a 17% chance in March and, now, is in a statistical tie with a guy who needs to go. According to Cook Political Report, a nonpartisan newsletter that tracks election forecasts, ” … other Republican senators who could lose their seats to Democrats after Election Day are: Arizona’s Martha McSally, Colorado’s Cory Gardner, Georgia’s Kelly Loeffler and David Perdue, Iowa’s Joni Ernst, Maine’s Susan Collins, Montana’s Steve Daines, and North Carolina’s Thom Tillis.”

These are scary times that surpass even the gallows of the eeriest of medieval Halloweens. A once-in-a-century health crisis with a national case record of 99,000 just yesterday. We are not carving our pandemic pumpkins properly. They’re ugly. Everything is a mess.

Apparently the mail is messed up with (R) judges changing the rules while ballots have already been sent under a previously agreed upon, publicly posted, set of guidelines. Some states are allowing ballots to be counted after Nov. 3rd, some aren’t. All this gleaned from the news I’m frustrated with, anyway.

Today we walk through the last day of the 10th month of 2020. Three years, two-hundred, eighty-four days into the Trump presidency and here we are – holding the hand we dealt to ourselves. This is either to our fault or merit. I’ll let that decision up to you. I have election-weary.

After I vote in person, I’ll be changing my party affiliation. Make no bones about it. I haven’t changed who I am at all. What’s changed is who I choose to represent me going forward. There are no perfect systems or people, but there are expectations that can be strived for and I want those I vote for to at least try to get there on my (and our collective) behalf instead of feeding their own self-interests.

When I do eventually leave this earth and sit my boney self around a poker table with my friends, I want to leave this place better than the way I left it. I can’t do this alone. Any national policy worth dreaming up requires help from a person in politics and the news to help circulate the message. Can’t coat this fact with any less sugar than that.

For today, Halloween 2020, masks are more important than ever. Sugared candy IS important for socially distanced kiddos if you can somehow swing it for them. Wash your hands frequently in person (and from the news the next few days) … the former is for the safety of your neighbors and the latter for your peace of mind.

If we play our cards well, all this can turn the tables around. There are bones sitting about that require a sane, but fun, game of who has what. We make our bets on the future and hope for the best based upon what we know now. That’s all we can do.

You’re doing good and I’m glad you’re sitting here with me. Flesh and all. Happy halloween.

The Fall of (a) Man

It almost happened this morning. Dew not try this at home, I say. The hustle of time combined with an early morning mist – atop the carpet of leaves covering my porch steps – was a slippery soul waiting for my arrival. Fortunately, a past experience grabbed a hurried back collar by the neck of time. I was lucky.

A few years back, not so much. I’m still creaking along with a dislocated/injured disc from flapping down on these same steps. A sunny, less wet day … yet in the same uncontrolled, fast-paced, inattentive manner I approached the descent … and missed. Thinking all was fine (male trait), I went on my way. A bit sore, but hoping the pain would subside – which it sort-of did after a few days, I lived my life quite contently believing a quasi-sore back was just age. Male being male, right?

Uhm, not so much. After months + years of this, I had tests done … and … well, I have the bad news, bad back, issues to this day. Still living with it and that is what saved me from sure slippery this morning. Alarm bells rang, mindful memories magnified, and I stopped momentarily to think through the situation. “Wet leaves + Steps + Doug in a hurry = Hospital” … An equation nobody needs to figure out right now.

All this to say that picture above is the pile at the bottom of the stairs. A pile I most likely would have landed in had a tumble occurred only a few short hours ago. Certainly a Genesis-ical chapter to define rest of my life had it happened. The fall of this man in a season of unsure events and unpredictable happenings … for possibly all of us as well as I think through the past 10 months of 2020.

Welcome to the near end of 2020 – an end we are looking forward to as a group of 325 million loving, caring, crying, compassionate people. We’ve tripped over societal problems, stomped on issues long since ignored, slid on slippery slopes of ignorance and bigotry, stood on patriotism and pride, walked happily in the steps of heroes, and tred lightly through a pandemic’s science and political maze of unknowns … all the while, we survived and, sadly, at the time of this writing, 225,212 Americans have not.

I am not taking any sides here. I am, however, looking forward to the end of a political fall season guaranteed not to end on November 3rd. It’s been a side-stepping, two-step dance of ridiculousness the past few months. Our feet are calloused and legs pretty sore from carrying both liberal and conservative crosses across party plank floors … over and over on idealistic shoulders. The most decisive thing about November 4th? … it will be the day after November 3rd. The fall of 2020.

I didn’t go down this morning so, hopefully, the ten weeks remaining will be upbeat and pleasant. I’ll vote … and wait. I’ll keep masking, social distancing, and washing my hands all the time as recommended by the CDC. You dew what you dew, ok?

Take steps to be the best you you can be – and don’t take the steps ahead that are dangerous. I need you to be here for all of us. It’s a challenging time to be alive. One life, like yours, is too valuable to leave to chance, so watch your step.

I did. Leaves (0) + Doug (1) = One happy day. Now, that’s math I can live with.

A Bear, Tim, and Harry

As the joke goes: A bear walks into a bar, places his arms on the counter, and says, “I’d like to …….. order a beer.” The bartender asks, “Why the long paws?”

This is a pun-unpleasantry I’ve read over and over during my years delving into books and magazines attracting my fancy. I love word play.

Granted, there are jokes – like this one – so over-used and worn I’d rather they never be spoken out loud again. Alas, however, I will most likely see it reappear in printed form, or, orally – both irritatingly so. Human nature dictates it. Bad jokes don’t die.

I can explain why this joke has been unbearably attached to my brain lately. Writing has been on pause lately and it’s as irritating to me as hearing a grizzled mammal swing open a tavern door – not that I even know what that sounds like. I don’t drink or frequent watering holes let alone hang out with alcoholic bears that talk.

Life is busy. That’s my excuse and I don’t appreciate it sometimes. Gosh, that sounds so ungrateful, doesn’t it? I’m healthy – save a few mid-fifty issues – and shouldn’t be complaining. My business is hectic with go-here’s and do that’s at odd hours with expenses due a few days before incomes. My legs beg for reclination time above my torso instead of continuously supporting a creaky, cranky back. This is 19/7 with 5 hours melted in for sleep.

At this very moment, I’m sitting in my wind-sheltered van waiting for customers to visit a welcoming food cart. It’s 55-degrees outside. Inside, I’m drinking a peach iced tea … hoping to wash down the rather kind ham and cheese hoagie I hastily purchased from the grocery store earlier. That was my noon breakfast. Life in the food truck fast-lane.

Yesterday was 70-degrees and sunny. Up is down with the weather in late October here in western-Pa. The small crack I must leave open in the door allows a cool breeze to flow in while there’s no sun to be found. Such a contrast from yesterday and the day before when we had even better weather. Close to 80-degrees and incredible skies. The day started out with this:

A soupy mess. I took this picture that morning hoping to write of the fog settling in my brain. A mist of quasi-frustration continuing into today …. a day when I actually have the time to write.

Those of us who love to write, but get off schedule because of life’s more important have to’s, eventually find time to put words down. We have to. Silence can stay silent only so long.

During my few minutes here, I’ve waited on two customers. Folks I didn’t see out of my peripheral vision for a few seconds as a result of this very breaking of my silence. They were very understanding. I blamed my inattention on you, my readers. I had to. It’s because of you – and my days long absence from this wonderful space – awareness was not paid.

… and, of course, that is mild sarcasm topped with a spoonful of thankfulness. No matter the circumstances in life, I am grateful. Yes, busy-ness is so closely tied to business. Life is to be lived out and outlived. We need to get every drop of yum extracted from the years we have.

My 7th grade Geography teacher said it best: “More than the years of your life … is the life in your years”. I don’t know if he came up with that or not, but it stuck. Mr. Hooper … what a guy.

A bear walks into a bar with his friend Tim, the termite. Tim asks “Is the Bar Tender?”. Tim has a friend, Harry the horse. The bartender asks Harry, “Why the long face?” ….Want me to continue?

I can’t. I just can’t. Maybe next time. For now, we’ll hit the pause button. Until we meet again.

Letters and Emojis

As one who spends some of his time typing words into the internet space, I’m going to state an unpopular opinion: We’re spending too much time here.

Why do I say that? Just today I need to clear up an issue with a great friend … and can’t via text. As I write this very minute, the problem at hand is unresolved. It’s not a matter of life or death, rather, a personal uncomfortableness – an unease – I can’t resolve without personal connectivity … a phone call or something other than 1’s and 0’s over the w-w-web.

Secondarily, I expressed an opinion on Facebook two days ago. That should be an “enough said” sentence, but after 100 comments and counting, I must continue.

It concerned the vacancy left by RBG’s death and the political fallout since – specifically, ACB’s nomination to the aforementioned seat. You’d think I typed in the worst offensive words possible about everyone’s mothers based upon the comments dripping underneath my eloquently phrased opinion. Again, no real conversation – just texts back and forth with veiled insults and an occasional “fact” in quotes, questioning sources, attaching descriptive connectors to humans in public office, and scripting personal narratives to public internet spaces.

Beings being 2-dimensional. I’m not enjoying any of it right now. Resolutions are really difficult at the end of two solitary thumbs when one has to wait moments – possibly hours – for a response (with no guarantee of one even coming).

Where are we now? Trying to interpret 26 letters and a bunch of emojis now is like looking through a dimly lit lantern’s glow at a wall of hieroglyphics … symbols we can’t really get a handle on. It’s a cave of our own doing. That’s where we find ourselves. A simple 👋 now can’t mean “hi”, anymore, without questioning the motive … is it sarcastic? Does it require a 👋 in return? I don’t know anymore without, at a minimum, looking the waver in the eye. At best, seeing them in person.

Look, I know the technology wave carried us into this cave. It was unavoidable, I guess. So many good things have happened because blips and beeps carry information across thousands of miles in nanoseconds. Lives are saved everyday with medical advances. Kids are learning more – by fifth grade – than I knew when I slid across the stage picking up my diploma. Access to information is … un-freakin-google-believable.

Still, all that can’t replace a person on the other end of a breathable space. Someone to help resolve a rather minor issue we need when that problem pokes itself out from the normalness that is life. A normal we really can’t be, by the way, spending almost all our time face down in a text. This isn’t the way life was intended to be.

You and me. Eye to eye is the absolute best. If not, at least voice to voice. For personal relationships and problem resolutions, it’s a deaf echo chamber cave of emojis and letters. As a way of communicating a momentary frustration in a blog on a cold, rainy Friday in October? Absolutely!

As to problem #1, I’m sure this little hiccup in my life will begin to work itself out once the iron of time plugs in and begins to iron out the wrinkles. The 3-D books I’ve read and really smart people in my life I’ve listened to guarantee it.

The now is now, however, and for what it’s worth, I do feel a bit better venting – even if it’s just letters and emojis.

Concern #2: The whole Facebook thing will do what it does and life moves forward for everyone involved. That space made Mark Z. a bazillionaire – which is more money than I’ll ever see. His money and notoriety slip him in a envelope and send him off to destinations unknown to me.

And so it goes. My opinion remains the same. We spend too much time. Here. Call me sometime and we’ll talk it over. I’d love to hear your opinion.

It’s Just Joel

I have a friend. He’s a rainy day kinda guy who finds his way around my days that are gloomy and need a poke – a dash of “You’re not that special”, or “Get away from me with your stupid humor”. You know, the kind of friend who likes me enough to be there when I need him and dislikes me enough to listen to my bad jokes. He constantly needles me with words of repute, but has a sparkle of respect in his eyes for my strange life. He’s my friend … just Joel.

This man, a few years my junior, is an expert craftsman. I’ve seen his woodworking skills in action and in 2-D pictures. Here’s an example:

See, this is one small sample from many I could show. There are rolling pins, flower pots, tree planters, containers, boxes, etc … all wonderfully caressed from his hands. As a pianist who creates from my hands, I can appreciate anyone who molds magnificence from nothing – as he does. There are few within my circle of knowing who can do this level of craftsmanship.

And why stop there? Recently, popping up on Facebook are pictorial fancies from the very phone he carries in his wood-dusted pockets. Seemingly, he could be the long lost, unknown sibling to my dear lady friend I’ve written about recently. She is wonderfully structured around flora and nature, he is naturally wondering about structures. This fascination comes through his eyes to ours as follows:

Rails, power, and invisible steps. Three out of many pictures finding their way in front of my eyes almost every day on my Facebook page – from a friend.

I don’t walk among those who explore. Joel and my other special camera friend saunter around sticks and stones looking for nature’s beauty and long lost structures that’ve rekindled their beauty in age-worn rust and rickets. This is not my thing. My duty is to sit back and enjoy their enjoyment in sharing their love of same … and then, in turn, pass that love on to you.

The same love I know Joel has when he says, “Please stop!” to me as I slip into a very eloquent joke, or long, detailed story of how my day is going. That’s how he rolls. If at any point he leans in with dutiful intent and queries, “Please tell me, Doug. How are you today?”, I will pause, get up from my seat, head out the door, and then go for a long, long walk … exploring in the deep woods, looking for the alien ship that carried the E.T. that took over Joel’s soul.

On my way back, however, I’ll be sure to find that perfect piece of lumber. I need him to make me a new piano bench – which I’m sure he’ll do. He’s that good of a friend. He’s just Joel.