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I didn’t know SFC Daniel Lightner. Feel like I should, though because I pass by this lovely, small, intimate park nine months out of the year on my way to work. Patriot Park is dedicated to his ultimate sacrifice.

The road around this park is a one-way roundabout with a few off roads to surrounding neighborhoods. In the middle of the park is a gazebo where I seldom see anyone taking advantage of the respite opportunity… including me. If truth be told, during the years I’ve hastily driven by, I never knew this knoll was dedicated to young Mr. Lightner. Shame on me. Really, this is on me for never stopping. My hometown and I never knew. I’m sorry, Daniel.

Ironic that this roundabout is one-way because today I found another way forward. A small way, but another, different way.

We see so many “one ways” in our lives. It’s almost always us – our responsibility … not our parents, teachers, spouse, friends, situations, jobs, kids, finances, politics, etc.. it’s how we see the road we’re on. How easy it is to look back and respond negatively to something, or someone, else as an answer to the challenges in our lives. Look, I do know things happen. I’m not pushing the unexpected aside. Those are the detours. It’s how we “see” that new road I’m writing about.

What struck me today is the one-way road Daniel didn’t know he was on when deployed. He didn’t know there would be a small park one day dedicated to his sacrifice … a park with a one-way road circling the same.

What’s unique, however, is our ability to walk around this park in any direction we want. We are not limited to only the one-way road. We can take our shoes off, feel the grass in our toes, walk a few paces to the east, stop, sit, and reflect. Maybe think about Daniel. Think about his one-way trip back home not knowing. Not knowing he made a man stop for a few minutes – fouteen years later – to think about his life.

And, possibly, help others think about the many different ways roads may be travelled.

That’s a true patriot, SFC Daniel Lightner. Rest in peace, my friend.

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I had the pleasure of working today with this guy. To give you some context, here is my business …

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I’ve owned a mobile food business since 2005, “Doug’s Dawgs”, which affords me the opportunity to work side-by-side with vendors, artists, …. and magicians. Like, David Wayne. Fascinating. Magical.

I was steady today. He didn’t have much opportunity to show off his talent, however. The crowd wasn’t formed in his favor … more leaning my way. That said, in my down time I had the time to talk with David.

To start, he knows the early -lesser known – history of Houdini, is past President of the National Society of Magicians (I may not remember the exact society name), lives in Chambersburg, and does 100 shows a year. In addition, he is a retired salesman, married a long time, and, most importantly, has inner joy when performing his craft.

You wouldn’t know my great uncle was a professional magician – “Geinger, the Magician”. Also, you wouldn’t know I dabbled as well … mostly card sleight-of-hands because of my pianist background … the cards felt soooo good in my hands. Double-lifts, Svengali decks, etc. All this to say David and I hit it off right away. Unfortunately, but necessarily so, I had to wait on customers. Otherwise, the four hours would have been spent talking David Copperfield, Mark Wilson, Dunninger’s, Houdini, and …. magic without interruption.

I woke up this morning expecting un-magical things to happen. A normal day in the heat, behind a grill, turning over my “nth+” hot dawg, smiling at my “nth+” customer, tearing down my business for the “nth+” time…

And then there was this spiritually levitating event – one which made the minutes disappear … the universe picked the right card for me today. I turned it over. It was David.

I have a feeling it knew the trick all along.

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My grammarly-leaning friends will quickly notice the error(s) within the quote inserted in my picture above. And, by no coincidence, in the sentence I just wrote prior to this one. Both end with the dreaded prepositions “from” and “above”. Oh, no!! I did it again!!… My most sincere apologies. I’m sure I will be forgiven. That’s what friends do, right? Normal ones, anyway. Good, wholesome, be-there-in-a-pinch-for-you friends.

I want to write about the step above friends. The ones who surprise us with amazing insight, show us our errors through our gifts – not our faults, and ignite our hopes. They are the one-among-the-many.

Where do they come from?

The easy answer is a physical location. Across town, another city, state, or county is always possible. The “smart”, so obviously comedic reply is “a mother’s womb” (waka waka). I’m more interested in the philosophical question……really. Who…or what sends an awesome friend or two to us?… Where DO they come from?

I’ve experienced great friends in the past. Still do to this day. They fascinate me. I value them more than almost anything else. I feel no discomfort telling them … truth is what truth is…

I do ask questions, though. I always will. It is hard for me to just accept. I ask the “why?”….

I am built to ask “why?”

….or, in this case “from where?” ( see, grammar sticklers?…I do know!!)

Why do I ask, “from where does a great friend come?”. Because, recently I had a conversation with a great friend. Through that, I found part of me I never knew existed. That’s why.

Short answer to “from where?”……”I don’t know”. Probably will never find the answer. I doubt in the search, if you would care to join me, we would never as well. It’s a mysterious place. All I can figure is fate has a hand in guiding the right one-among-the-many into our lives. That extra special great friend -who helps us see our better self no matter what – comes from the imagination of the unknown. And with someone so special by our side, we can overcome …

…no matter what we come up against (oh, man…I did it again!)

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I have a friend, Scott, who operates a Kettle Korn concession stand. I’ve known Scott a long time – mainly through another hobby of mine. He is the manager of a bowling center where I first met him years ago. Full circle…. neither he nor I were “concessionaires” at that time, but now we are. Two men. Two foodies. Two decent bowlers (I have 5 perfect “300” games …. he has a ridiculously high amount more)…but I digress.

His Kettle Korn is awesome. His bowling skills are awesome….and he’s a really cool guy.

Anyway, where is all this going? If you read my blogs or FB posts with any regularity, you’ll find my brain to be deeply engaged in philosophizing, or pandering to the pun world. There never seems to be a middle ground. This blog may be my break through!

Imagine that? A “normal” conversation with you, my own self….and all the extra voices in my head.

So, back to Kettle Korn. It’s standard fare at a fair. Easily priced and almost always available – but not always good. Scott’s is, however. I’ve had others….and then there’s his. The difference? His kettle has years of seasoning baked in…age, experience, wear, stories,…Each popped kernel is flavored from the past.

….and that’s the lesson for today. Nothing deep.

Each day of our lives is a kernel popped from a well seasoned, aged, experienced kettle. It’s simply that simple.

Thanks, Scott.

Have a group of friends I’m thankful to be around a few evenings a week. We sit around odd shaped tables, eat goofy food, toodle around with funny looking things called chips, laugh, strategize (or, think we do anyway), and simply enjoy one another.

This cluster ranges in age from mid 20’s to early 90’s…..yes, I typed “early 90’s”!!…All body shapes and sizes are represented. All different skill levels, humor tolerances, appetites for deep conversations, piss-off-abilities, chip stack adeptnesses are represented as well. Overall, a fine cross section of the American experience.

And that’s why I love to play the game: Texas Hold-em.

Two in the hole, one burn, three flop, one burn, turn, one burn, river,…interspersed with calls, bets, chip stacks, pot odds, implied odds, raises, folds, reads, frustrations, joys, downs, ups, ……

Within this group, I do have a few really good friends. They are special. They are why – after working hours in the heat … on my feet – I make the effort to show up. It’s not the chips, free food, 52-assorted inanimate cards, or possible straight flush…it’s knowing my good friends will be there to pick on me a bit, support my hectic life, and let me ride the crazy train a little with them.

Most play the Texas Hold-em game. I play Texas gold-en because, to me, life can only be the game we decide it to be….and that game can’t be played alone.

How freakin’ boring would THAT be! Now, shuffle up and deal.

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If there was a path to return back to us, our moms would not take it. We wish it was so, as they are gone from us, but they want us to have the memories.

Memories make us stronger day to day. It wasn’t their choice to leave. Absence is hard.

Memories soften the hardness. Our moms, Bonnie and Bev, keep us strong through the struggle of missing them; therefore, a return to us breaks that eternal bond we will forever have.

They know that. A path back we will take to return to them some day….