Season's Greetings

December has arrived, the Christmas tree is up and lit, though further adornment will wait for now.  The lights on the eaves of the house are hung, the wreathes are up and a new laser based moving light show showers the front façade.  The lawn remains pleasantly green and complements the scene fairly well, only a fresh snow would be better.  That will need to wait for a much colder front to displace the 50 degree afternoons still hanging on in southern Maryland.  There are a few touches left for the outdoor display.  The polar bears, a mama and cub, are not yet done hibernating from their summer slumber.  Rather ironic when you think about when the bears would actually retreat to a cozy den.  The rack hung from the garage ceiling could only be home to a facsimile of a true bear. Beyond that only a couple fake Christmas trees, small ones, remain to be placed as sentinels on either side of the front door.  It’s a lovely landscape once illuminated.

You would think it easy to sink into the season based on these surroundings and those so similar all around the community.  The hustle and bustle has begun in earnest, though perhaps not as easy to see as when shopping required a trip to the local stores and malls.  The prevalence of shopping electronically from the warm comfort of your couch or desk makes it a bit harder to notice.  I suppose if you closely observed the package delivery services you would know that the full-on shopping blitz is well underway.  The Holiday parties are scheduled, tickets bought, and Secret Santa gifts purchased. There are even a few desks at work that have lights and ornaments hung around them.  Clearly the season is here, yet as clearly, the sentiment has not fully seeped into my soul.

A young girl, a daughter of a friend, put it so well the other day when we were talking.  She’s not a big fan of Christmas. Her comment to my question on why was simply stated; It’s so cliché. You could put other words on it as easily.  Commercial. Fabricated. Forced. That’s not the full story of course, but it’s the chapter most easily seen.  Ads run to encourage your spending on just the right present, probably expensive, to convey the depth of your feelings, your love, for the recipient.  Stores have been peddling Christmas for over a month already, perhaps longer.  This season is what gets many stores into the black for the year.  Black Friday, Cyber Monday are but two more notable days of the shopping spree.  Everyday from before Thanksgiving through Christmas eve is a good shopping day.  In our short discussion, it was noted that the same six or so Christmas songs play repeatedly.  This doesn’t seem to be too much of an exaggeration.  The Hallmark Channel has been playing a constant chorus of feel good  holiday movies along with the classics.  It does feel a bit cliché doesn’t it?  At least on the surface.

Maybe that’s okay.  Okay, provided we dig a little deeper and ask a few questions.  Why are we drawn to the barrage of Christmas movies that are nearly always predictable?  The good guys come out on top, the underdog is cheered along the road to making the upset win against all reasonable expectations.  The unlikely heroes become the norm in this season.  Love overcomes all the odds, the distance and time to complete the storybook romance and live happily ever after.  All so cliché.   But why are we drawn to this?  Why do we listen to these songs, watch the predictable film, and make purchases that overwhelm our finances? Why?  You know the answer.  It’s right there, isn’t it?

We want to dream.  We want this season that life really does have the underdog come out on top, that love wins no matter the odds.  We want real life to mirror what seems so natural in this holiday season.  We can’t help but desire a happy, healthy family and to make fond memories, follow traditions, and sit by the fire making smores. Who wouldn’t want love to concur all despite all that is thrown in its way?  We long for it, we yearn for it, and for this short season we want to believe it.

No matter your tradition, religion or background, it seems that this season causes us all to slow down enough to think about what we hold dear, what is important.  The themes of love, family, friendships and peace all abound.  It’s easy to get lost in the cliché, the trite, the ads and shopping, but let’s search a little deeper.  I wonder how we could take this season and our attitudes and get them to last a little longer.  I’m not talking about the shopping and the ‘same six songs’, but the search for the good and to applaud it. Can we continue to be generous throughout the year?  Can we search inward to understand what we truly want, things like time with friends and family, shared meals and polite conversation, adventure?  What stops us?

I’m stuck here, thinking about that last question.  What stop us?  What stops me?  What stops me from spending time with family and friends in a slow, deliberate and intentional way?  The answers that come to mind are not going to be shared here in black and white.  In some respects they’re too personal, and they are too telling.  Too telling of what truly prevents me, prevents us, from interacting the way we at least try to do during the holidays.  I imagine that my answers are not that different from yours, so as you think about it, I suspect you also will conclude the answers are hard to swallow.

I hope and pray that we all overcome our answers to that question. I hope we all come to the conclusion that those current answers are insufficient, they cannot stand, they must fall.  Those excuses need to be quenched, that darkness needs to be overcome with a light, with love.

The world needs it.  The world need us to change the patterns and ruts we are stuck in.  Put another way, we truly need each other.

I hope to let this season of generosity, of lights, and of love seep into this hardened soul, soften it and make it pliable and sensitive to the plight of those around me.  My prayer is that it seeps deep and resides within in a long lasting and durable way, and that compassion and generosity become the norm for us all.

I wish you all love, health and prosperity, through this season and the years to come.

Brian

105,120 Hours.

105,120 Hours.

How many of you are reaching for your phone to run the calculator and see what other unit of time might equate to a bit over 105 thousand hours?  It turns out that it’s another way to view 12 years time.  Twelve years might be a short period of time if you’re an anthropologist interested in what happened thousands of years, not thousands of hours, ago.  Twelve years might be an eternity if you’ve just turned two years old.  Yet twelve years is what has passed since my liver transplant took place back in the year 2005.  One hundred five thousand, one hundred twenty hours have expired since I took receipt of that precious gift provided by a wonderful man and his grieving family.

I usually try to take it all 1440 minutes at a time, or said in another way, day by day.  That’s most likely 57,600 seconds of time spent awake each day.  The different perspectives of time, in years, days, minutes and seconds bring a new vision to the depth and breath of the gift and the use thereof.  How many more experiences I have had the pleasure to be a part of, how many have my donor’s family missed.  It makes me wonder, ponder and yes be beyond grateful.  Yet too, perhaps a time or two to be guilty.

Has my use of those periods of time, both considered short and long depending on the particular day and way to consider them, been purposeful and meaningful?  Like everyone, I have to honestly say, “sometimes.”  There have been periods of time when it’s very clear I’m living on a second chance, and yet there are times when I forget about the sacrifice.  It’s not for a lack of gratitude, but rather out of acceptance and being caught up in the day to day.  I wonder if that’s not the way it ought to be?  There would seem to be little point to living with doubt and timidity, and yet when living in the moment your thoughts are one the experience of the immediate present not of how it is that you are able to be there.

Then there are days like today.  Those days of reflection and remembrance of the difficulties and struggles to some degree but more of the life lived.  It’s interesting too, that the liver story is not yet done, as even this past year had a good deal of working through things.  Even now we’re adjusting meds to try to obtain the right combination. However, it’s the times with family and friends, holidays, scenic drives, motorcycle rides, movies, meetings, concerts, trips, good food and so much more that come to mind telling a story of the blessings received.

I’m reminded today, as I hope you are as well, that the new day is not promised.  Life is unpredictable and maybe even more precious for that very fact, so each day’s 1440 minutes should be treasured. We each have a unique story. Isn’t there, though, a bigger story that we share collectively.  A greater story of being intertwined with each other.  I’m glad to have shared and merged my chapters and become a part of the tome written as a community.  I don’t know what I’d be, or where I’d be without Deborah, my family, church family, friends, colleagues and so many heath care professionals.

Here’s to you all, and to another 8,760 minutes until we recall it all again.  Have a good year everyone.  Love you all.

Peace,

Brian

Sans Colon

Today mark the 1 year anniversary of my colectomy surgery.  Where did the time go!  It doesn’t seem possible that it’s been a year sans colon.  It’s been quite the year.

You may recall my liver numbers went crazy for a while, starting right after the colon was out.  The two were only tangentially related.  My best bet is that while there may have been a narrowed opening from my liver to the intestine, there is (was) also an issue with how absorption without the colon effected my medicines.  We’re still tweaking the meds now in fact.

Since the liver issue was mostly resolved my overall health has been really good! Of course as I type this I’ve come down with the first cold of the season.  ☹  I did just get my blood counts checked yesterday and I still don’t need my usual medication.  The amazing thing is that I haven’t needed my medication to fight anemia since July!!!  That’s a new record!

I’m still adjusting to life with my new plastic plumbing and it’s not a life for the faint of heart.  There have been three very unpalatable, messy, nasty experiences where things went awry very quickly. If you could write the right script it might make a very dark comedy.  But as they say “shit happens”, and sometimes shit happens at all the wrong times and places.  You know,  like while at a doctors office, or getting up from a couch, or yes, even while driving down the highway!!!  Don’t panic, just don’t use your gross fingers to hold the wheel.  All those year of driving with the palm of your hand, and/or knees to keep a straight line are really paying off now!!!  😊 Yet if you look at all of this together, in 365 days I really only had 3 that were awful.  That means that 99% of time things are pretty darn good! The truth is also that 2 of those 3 issues were user error situations.  So, really, I could expect that on 1 day in three years should be “a mess.” 

I don’t like to brag, but my stoma (the little piece of intestine that protrudes out of your abdomen) is pretty big, around a good inch and a half long!  Most doctors say “It’s prolapsed” when they see it, meaning that it was not intended to be that big and it moved unintentionally outward.  Wrong.  My doc wanted a big stoma for one very good reason.  It’s easier to have a good seal around it and minimizes the chances of bad things (see above) from happening.  Some folks deal with leakage issues routinely.  I’m really lucky and things could be a lot worse!

The downside of having a large stoma is that it’s harder to hide.  Most people probably don’t notice it much.  I mean, who goes around looking at your waist?  None the less, it does bother me from time to time. Well, it might be fair to say it bothers me frequently, but hey everyone has something that tends to bother them, and overall I’m better off now. I don’t dwell on it, just take a deep breath and move on.

Thank you all for the support and love over the year. It's a comfort knowing how many are lifting you up, praying and offering encouragement.

With all that said, I think it’s time to embrace the latest “new normal” and celebrate the success of the surgery and the past year of improved health.  It just might be time to throw a party!  What do you all think?

Arsenal

The news of the horror of the sniper attack on a Las Vegas concert has surely been brought to your attention.  The world is now aware of the worst massacre by a single individual in our country. I struggle to comprehend the amount of carnage one person can rain down of our populace. How can it be that a lone gunman can kill 59 (and counting)  people and wounded over 500, in a matter of minutes.  It’s a tragic commentary on the level of arms that a single individual can attain.  It’s also the unfolding story, I believe, of the level of hate and/or mental illness that ravages all that it entangles.

To date I’ve been sympathetic to the desire of having arms to protect oneself and family, or hunt the lands for food.  These purposes are noble enough, though I know not all agree with the premise.  The law allows for these uses – defense and hunting, even the sport of marksmanship. There is a missing link though that rears it’s ugly head all the time.

Even those with cleared background checks have used weapons outside of the law.  This instance seems to be pointing in that direction as well.  The gunman, thus far, has little reported in the news regarding criminal behavior or suspected ill will towards society.  The terrible truth is that this gunman amassed a large arsenal and apparently “snapped.”

I'm not trying to single out a particular rifle and distinguish an "assault" vs "hunting" weapon, or get into the specifics of a single action vice a semi-auto system.  The specifics can be left to further debate.  My question is more straight forward.

How do we prevent this?  It seems more and more clear that there needs to be some limitations.  Limitations that many of my friends will not want to support.  I expect there to be debate.  I expect this to be hard for our country.  I also expect that those in favor of unlimited weaponry to discuss and provide solutions to prevent the terror that so easily was unleashed in such an incredibly short period of time by a well organized and determined individual.  ONE individual caused all of this horror.

What am I, what are you, what are we willing to do to stop this from ever happening again?  Or are you, like me, taking this in through a fog of Deja-vu that makes one wonder if we collectively will ever solve this problem, or just be willing to become comfortably numb to the carnage that is far too common and frequent in our new feeds?

Plein Air - It's a Wrap

It’s a wrap. It’s done, over, completed and finished – at least for this year.  Solomons Plein Air Festival provided another week of good times with great artists showcasing the beauty of Solomons Island and the surrounding area of lower Calvert County. The only things left of this special event are the memories that have been etched in our minds, the photographs taken, and hopefully some artwork hanging in new homes.  For me, fortunately, there are two new paintings, a lot of dust on my car from repeated trips through the Calvert Marina and some new artist friends.

There’s a lot to reflect on from the week.  This year was different from the previous two as new job responsibilities prevented full dedication to seeking out the artists.  I missed the opportunities, and maybe I’m more grateful for the time I did have to spend with my wife and old and new friends.

The week started off in a familiar setting with the artists being offered an evening cruise on  The Dee of St. Mary’s from the Calvert Marine Museum. This floating party with a real Skipjack operated under sail is a great way to kick off the week, as is the reception that follows.  There has been a tradition of The Blessing of the Brushes, where each artist picks a brush as a memento and a prayer is offered.  Rev. Dottie Yunger recited a poem which really is a blessing of the artists.  

This year she chose

for the artist at the start of day ~o’donohue

May morning be astir with the harvest of night;
Your mind quickening to the eros of a new question,  
Your eyes seduced by some unintended glimpse
That cut right through the surface to a source.

May this be a morning of innocent beginning,
When the gift within you slips clear
Of the sticky web of the personal
With its hurt and its hauntings,
And fixed fortress corners,

A Morning when you become a pure vessel
For what wants to ascend from silence,

May your imagination know
The grace of perfect danger,
To reach beyond imitation,
And the wheel of repetition,                                      
Deep into the call of all
The unfinished and unsolved
Until the veil of the unknown yields
And something original begins
To stir toward your senses
And grow stronger in your heart

In order to come to birth
In a clean line of form,
That claims from time
A rhythm not yet heard,
That calls space to
A different shape.                                                                

May it be its own force field
And dwell uniquely
Between the heart and the light

To surprise the hungry eye
By how deftly it fits
About its secret loss.

~John O’Donohue

There is a lot to reflect on as the adrenaline of covering the festival ebbs. There are two general facets that come into focus as I type here.  First is the camaraderie among the artists and the friendliness they exude. It’s clear that the Plein Air Clan is welcoming and close group. The smiles, handshakes, hugs and lots of banter all show the care they have for one another.  It’s almost a fraternity/sorority feel as they know what it’s like to bear your vision of life to the world.  They each understand what is at stake when you show a vulnerability in a world that is quick to judge and easy to dismiss those that dare to live in the public view.  Not only is their finished work on display, but in the case of Plein Air, they show the process from start to completion while John Q. Public watches, talks and critiques though his art is most likely solely in his imagination.  I appreciate this band of adventurers for their daring and so much more.

This brings me to the second and broader topic. What is it that the artist asks of their self and of us?  What is it that the artist does really?

My take is that artists are first observers, watchers, and inquisitors of the world. They take in a scene that we all pass by during our busy and often mindless days.  I mean that in terms of the daily grind taking its toll on our capacity to notice the details around us.  Our jobs, kids, spouses and friends, finances and health, addictions and obsessions blind us to the world in many ways.  The artist seems to know to be mindful. Mindful of the light, the shape, the drama, the subtlety, color and texture of the life all around us.

Once they take in their surroundings they process the sight into a vision, an imagination of what is before them.  They can show a cloudy day and penetrating wind by color of the skies and the lean of the branches in the tree.  They can show the drama of the surf crashing against the rocks in a way that makes you hear the roar. The pond of lily pads becomes a softer version of the real thing inviting a sense of calm to anyone that beholds the image.  There are countless ways how the painter portrays a new reality.  It might be bold and abstract, the color palette might be minimal with just the right splash of color.  The abstract look through an arson ravaged rooming house may take you back to thinking of what it might have been, yet to someone else it may be the forward look to the phoenix rising from the ashes of a crime.

Each artist sculpts their special and unique view of life and asks us to slow down for a time to journey with them into the possible.  They show us how the world could look, perhaps how it should look.  Sometimes it’s the soft focus, like looking through a slightly frosted window, slowing our heart rate. It might be a colorful look at a face depicting shape and texture asking us to redefine our concept of beauty. A rusty car can be a centerpiece once again either depicting a classic design of years gone by, or the effects of aging on us all.

These intrepid souls of the brush, palette knife, squeegee, finger or q-tip go out in all weather, be it sweltering heat, blowing winds and at times cold and rain to capture that special moment.  I don’t think that they sleep much either. They dare us to rise before the sun, setup to capture the glow, hope and promise of a new day. The setting sun as well is a favorite time to paint in that golden hour of last light casting the final bit of warmth on the subjects of the eye.  Yet, darkness is not 

permission to retire from the pursuit of the next vision and re-imagination.  It merely means more dedication and equipment are required.  The dimly light scenes are painted under battery powered LED lamps, or maybe a small headlamp usually reserved for hikers and campers. These nocturne paintings have a whole new tone to them reminding us that though not lit by the sun, there is still a world to behold by those that venture out seeking more of life.

I love the week of Solomons Plein Air Festival. It’s a really busy week of shooting and posting, and I hope that it in some small way that adds to the event, or at the very least documents the talent represented in this collection of artists. I treasure the way the artists depict the world and how so many of them have shared conversation, and even more just how fun they can be while working on their projects. I count them all as friends, some quiet and reserved, a few quite amusing and several that are just plain fun. 

There is one other facet to address as I wind down. It was announced at the award ceremony that there was a new award this year. 

Joie de vivre, French for joyous living.  It could be the joy, or celebration of anything, such as conversation or a shared meal.  It's really about living everyday with a zest, a comprehensive reverie for life.  The award was sponsored by an artist that withdrew from the competition to care of their spouse who was recently diagnosed with cancer.  This award was presented to a particular artist within the competition that exuded a joy of life and painting. More that sharing who it is, I would rather ask each of us to consider how we each might take a bit more time to be mindful of the beauty and possibility around us.  How might we imagine our canvass, one the epitomizes hope, faith, generosity and kindness each day?  If you were to be diagnosed with or need to care for someone close with a serious illness, how would you exhibit joie de vivre?  Let us all go and shine that light as we just visioned it. 

I’ll be thinking of what to improve for next year, with several thoughts already brewing, and counting the days till I have the pleasure of hanging out with the Plein Air Committee, volunteers, artists and my lovely wife.  

Till we meet again my friends,

Peace,

Brian

Wolf Trapped

The drive to the Wolf Trap started off in the worst way possible.  Arriving home a little later from work than I had planned, Deb and I quickly departed only to come to a complete standstill less than 7 minutes into our drive.  Our poor little town sits on a peninsula and if something gets back up going north, it gets really bad as there are few options to get around the issues.  We basically have just two main roads to get from Lexington Park, MD up to DC.  This wasn’t looking good – at all!

Waze, the GPS enabled routing app came to the rescue.  We had to go maybe 50 yards to the traffic light to make a U turn and drive west to the only other option to head to DC.  It tuned out that Great Mills Road was nearly as bad, but we did get to Route 5 heading to Leonardtown.  An hour, yes a crazy long hour to get 15 miles from our house.  All the while Waze was telling us how much time we lost by displaying the latest projected arrival time out near Vienna, VA.  6:38 then 6:52, fortunately by traveling with a quite heavy right foot we arrived in the crowded entrance just before 7:00 PM.  With 30 minutes before the opening we walked the quarter mile up a hill to reach the park entrance and got in line for some fast food. Only the pork bar-b-que took a little longer so it was nearly quarter after before we had meals to choke down!  Talk about just in time engineering; it was just way to quick and not a great start to what would be a great evening.

Sting, yes, that old guy, former Police front-man, opened with one tune and called out his son Joe to join him.  Joe took over with several of his originals which I’ve never heard.  He’s a wider, heavier – though not heavy, version of Sting with similar, though smoother, vocals than his storied father. His folky sounds were fun, and included a song he created for his children.  Joe called out the warm up band – The Last Bandoleros.  Let me say this simply to start off.. they were awesome, though hard to describe.  I’ll have some links so you can hear them because they defy description.  Honestly, they this odd combination of The Beatles, some solid rock and a little Tex-Mex thrown in for good measure.  They have great 3 part harmonies, and any of 4 of the members could take on lead vocals among the 2 guitars, bass and drums.  Now for some added spice they have a squeeze-box player that could shred right along with the guitars.  They were showman too and were as entertaining to watch as to hear.

They called Sting and Joe out for their last song, which was fun.  Then Sting took on the show after a short intermission.  There was no disappointment there at all.  There were a number of the Police era favorites including Roxane, Spirits in a Material World and Every Little Thing She Does is Magic. He did If I Ever Lose My Faith in You in which there is a line in that says ” You could say I'd lost my belief in our politicians.” The DC regional crowd whooped and hollered hearing that one. They also did the Bowie classic Ashes to Ashes where Sting and Joe shared the lead. There were other Sting classics too, like Fields of Gold, Englishman in NY and Dessert Rose.  The other thing you noticed is that the Last Bandoleros were all up on stage with Joe singing backup, and the squeeze-box player came out on specific songs to add to the songs Sting was performing.  The fun they were having was so evident, that alone was enough to make you smile. Just a great time.. until.

As background at Wolf Trap you have two options. The first is to get lawn tickets and take your chances with the weather.  The second is to have tickets for seating within the Filene Performing Arts Center, or in other words the actual building that has the stage at the bottom.  The Center is an amazing structure and has elevated sections like any other theater, while the bottom of the building it open with columns so stage is visible from the lawn.  Our seats were in a section of the upper tier or Loge. 

The other thing you notice at Wolf Trap is the variety of societal cross-section.  You can just tell there are social elite among the crowd of joe public.  It’s cool like that with one potential problem, and hence my “until comment earlier.

In the Loge, everyone is seated in a pretty steep section so the row below you is enough lower, like a stadium, so you can usually see clearly over the people in front of you.  This works well enough that everyone enjoys the show.  That is until a lower row stands up because the alcohol and song selection demand it. There were three people in the lowest part of our section that stood when Roxanne was started.  I could tell the older gentlemen, in the row below us was really annoyed since he, nor anyone higher up and in back of them (including me) could see the stage.  So if this happens you need to decide if you too want to stand and if the people in back of you might too be upset.  There was at least one other upper section where everyone was standing, while most of the arena was sitting.  I’m sure for many of the performances there protocol and decorum dictate that you remain seated.  There was one empty seat at the end of the row in front of me and the older gent slid down a few seats and was temporarily treated with a view once again.  That didn’t last long though as the 4^th person in the front stood to join in the fun a few songs later.. It gets a little better.

As one song ended and the volume of the music decreased, a guy two row above me yells “PLEASE SIT DOWN.”  The expected response was quick, the folks turned around, looked up and mumbled “no” and continued to stand.  A woman one row up behind us also add  “they can stand if that’s how they enjoy the show.”  Oh, did I mention that she too was standing. Though was on the very end of the row and wasn’t really impeding any others’ view.  The fortunate ending occurred just a song later with the close of the set.  We exited and caught some of the encore on our walk out to beat most of the traffic on the way out.

Before we call this adventure done here are some links to the Last Bandoleros.  The first one gives you an idea of how they sound with Sting.  This one has Joe in the background and Sting’s guitarists (a father and son) are also on stage in the case. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FqFunKp24u8

The next one shows off their harmonies and pseudo Beatles, maybe even The Monkeys vibe. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Xgo5JfbXaM&list=RD4Xgo5JfbXaM&t=61

Then they can change it up to a Spanish sounding ballad.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0iL6H4nJKXo

Hope you enjoyed them.

It was a great night.

Peace,

Brian

Like There's No Tomorrow

It was a beautiful, albeit sad, occasion. The funeral home resided in an old mansion in Langhorne, PA probably dating back to the late 1800s. The viewing was well attended by family and friends, many recalling the memories preserved on the numerous photos placed around the large rooms.  The emotions were familiar to anyone who has attended any similar event.  The mixture of smiles, tears, laughter and solemnity were exactly as you would expect in this situation.  There were differences that stood out as well though.

The numerous Flyers jerseys worn by friends matched that of the one being celebrated and mourned. How fitting, to be yourself on the last day the gathered will see your body, and how spectacular to have a bunch of friends that would join in honoring you and one of your passions.  The passions were well noted in the extraordinary number of photos.  They bore witness in the journey from childhood to wedded couple to father. There were scenes from gymnastics in high school, to fishing and hunting in some later years. There were pictures of riding motorcycles and the wedding and vacations with the whole family at the shore.  The memories were not limited to two-dimensional objects though either.  The old 50 something coupe he loved stood watch from the driveway.  Perhaps the obvious needs to be shared as well.

The love of the man, and by the man, was obvious.  There were just a couple people that verbalized what he meant to them, but the teary red eyes were shared by more than a few.  There were the common phrases overheard again and again, along the lines of – “it’s been too long, it’s good too see you, though I’m sorry it’s under such circumstances.”  The sincerity was as heartfelt as the handshakes and hugs that accompanies the words.

The challenge for us all is to admit to that our lives are lived in seasons.  We drift together and apart for so many valid reasons often without intention and certainly without malice.  Jobs change, our addresses change, simply put, times and circumstances change.  It’s a good and beautiful thing to reconnect.  It’s honest and loving to recognize that you miss your old friends, and it’s glorious to know that our love for one another can bring us all back together even if it might just be for a day.

How many of us walk away from these life celebrations and wonder; Have I made a difference in people’s lives in a way that I too may have a group to gather in my memory? If, like me, you’ve asked that question then what comes next? What’s our call to action, what is it that we are going to do that has purpose and meaning?  What might I change, do more of, do better and, maybe as important, not do, to have a lasting impact on my family, friends, community and the world?

Deb was reading aloud a book on retirement on our drive home.  It was rather ironic that the premise of the book is that having a purpose after retirement is at least as important as the funding that you have in place for your retirement. Isn’t that really the same thing as the set of questions above?  The book talks about how people are often stuck in a routine of their job or career and as a result lose sight of who they truly are.  We tend to identify ourselves by our occupation, and it’s one of the first questions asked of someone we meet.  “What do you do for a living?”  After years of working we tend to identify ourselves by our job choice.  “I’m an electrician.”  “I’m a nurse.”   Yet, that’s just one aspect of who we are.  The book dares us to redefine ourselves for retirement.  While I still need to sort what the full answer to that is for me, in part it will be “I’m a wandering explorer, photographer and blogger wanting to highlight and share the beauty around me.”  I want to be best imperfect partner I can be to my wife. I want to be the compassionate and loyal and enjoy a great meal and good conversation with my friends, old and new alike.

My prayer is that what ever season of life you might be in, or are starting, on this day.  Whether it be a day of celebration, a time of grieving or perhaps a mixture of both, let us remember -

to be kind and forgiving,

recognize the wonder of life,

see the beauty in the world and

love like there’s no tomorrow. 

Peace & Love to you all,

Brian

Measure of a Man

The world looks upon the usual characteristics to size up the measure of a man

The most obvious traits as seen from afar are the first to be scrutinized:

His physical size and strength, his looks. Next might be his wealth,

 his  belongings.  What does  he   drive, where does   he live?

You need to be closer to learn more. You need to be near

to understand  his wit and his  charm or his  intelligence

There is a smaller group of people that can draw nearer

 still, colleagues and friends will come to learn more.

They, over time, will notice his kindness, his loyalty

Fewer still  may see the  true soul of a man - his

 compassion and tenderness. The world makes

 snap judgements from a great distance

 away, believing they can distinguish

 the   great  from the   ordinary, but

it’s a flawed view. It’s only those

 that are closest that see him

 for   who  his truly  is, the

success, not the riches,

 nor  looks,  nor  wit,

 nor charm and not

 even   physical

 strength,   but

real   success

 is measured

 in   this:

His

Love

                                                                       Love is Foundational 

Love Small - and Often

Events of all kinds can motivate us, quite literally that can move us.  The good, the bad and the tragic times we witness and endure cause us to reflect on who we are, what we believe and how we will react.  It’s been the rapid degrading of my cousin Alan’s health that has had me reflecting and reacting lately.  I’ve written about it several times already.  Tonight’s story continues in the theme of love and kindness.

Seeing the compassionate care of Alan by family and nurses alike has caused me to remember similar treatment I’ve received. The most recent experience dates back to December of 2016 and continued into March (I think.) when my liver acted up and I need to visit VCU – the hospital in Richmond, VA where I had my liver transplant back in 2005.

There were several people that made my repeated treatments with the Interventional Radiology (IR) group  over the period of months much more bearable.  From Derrek in Registration to the Nurse Practitioner Beverly and two nurses – Amy and Jasmine, they shared the qualities of being skilled and compassionate.  I’ll refer to them as  “my team.”

VCU has a Daisy Award where patients can write a short note to nominate people, usually nurses, that extend extra effort and care.  I submitted a note nominating my team, but not being sure that it would be awarded , I gave each team member a card directly my last visits. It was a small thing just so they knew how much their compassion, smiles and hand holding meant to me.

Reflecting on Alan made me think of my team.  Life is too short and too often the world is seen to be too ugly – at least if you watch the news.  This shouldn’t be the case and it dawns on me that it might take just a short note or simple thank you to make someone’s day.  I wanted to write another short note to my team letting them know that I still remember their kindness today.  The problem was that I didn’t know their last names to address a card.  I searched the VCU website and still couldn’t locate them.

I ended up calling the IR desk this morning to find out how to send a card.  Wouldn’t you know that Amy happened to answer the phone.  Here’s the crazy part, I learned that Amy had just yesterday been talking about me.  She’s getting a Daisy award, and as best she can tell it is likely based on the note I wrote so long ago.  After explaining why I called and getting a name and address so I could mail my card, we had a short conversation.  I learned that she framed the card I had given her and it resides in her home office.  She said on hard days she returns home and that quick card I wrote reminds her of why she continues to be a nurse.

It didn’t take a lot of effort to write the note and submit  it for consideration for the Daisy Award, nor did it take much time to write a short card.  Yet it warms my heart that that miniscule gesture has had a lasting impact, just as my team has had a lasting impact on me.

The other day I wrote:  Pray hard. Play hard. Love Harder.

Perhaps it turns out that it’s not loving harder that’s needed, but it’s really,  Love in small ways. And those small ways are really huge after all.  So when you trek through life’s events, whether they be gentle, subtle, major or tragic, take time to reflect.  Even more, take time, just a small amount of time, to react in a small loving way.  A little note can be a huge pick me up.  A kind word could make someone’s day.

I may have known this to some degree.  I have to say, though, that It’s been my observation of the love of Alan’s family and friends as well as witnessing the compassion of his nurses, that has strengthened my belief in the power of small gestures.

Rest easy Alan, rest easy.

To the rest of us I say; Love Small – and often.

Echoes of Love

It’s another day, and one that finds me feeling more upbeat than yesterday. There is still a good deal of contemplation going on in my cranial cavity.  Thoughts of my parting words echo “ Love harder.. harder… arder… rder …"  growing fainter as the sound propagates through my gray matter.  What does that mean?  You probably have a sense of it without giving it much consideration.  There is a feeling or more likely a range of definitions that you automatically understand. Tonight though, let’s walk along a path to describe it more clearly.

Much like last evening I want to immediately take two distinct paths.  The first is the emotions that are tied up in the two word phrase while the second is the action.  Love harder.  Love in this instance is clearly a verb.  The implied subject is YOU, US, WE, ALL, EVERYONE!  Let’s start off with the emotion though.

The English language is far too rudimentary in the treatment of “love.”  Love in other languages, notably the old Greek, Latin and others, has multiple words to describe the many facets of love. Love can be the usual sensual attraction one might feel for another.  Yet, not every use of the word pertains to sexual desire.  There is a sense of love where it’s a self-sacrificial form of giving, epitomized in the Christian faith as the love of Christ for the world in his surrender to a horrible death.  It’s considered a God-centered love.  Those might be two extremes of the term, but are not the only distinctions.

There is a familial love as how a parent and child relate to one another.  I’ll easily tell my parents or brother, and cousin  “love you” with a different meaning, at least nuanced, from when I say the same words to my wife.  There can be another slight difference as well, in saying those words in response to someone that did something special for you that you appreciate.  The only example I can think of right now is when I’ve made a comment and I hear those words in response from my daughter-inlaw.

Those emotions, feelings and sentiments are not actions though.  “Love harder” conveys a directive, a mandate.  It’s a phrase that wants to change the way we act, the way we behave. And importantly it’s a phrase that asks us to act in a more loving way.  Like the variety of emotions the use of the word love has as a noun, there are as many varieties of the action – of the verb.

It’s been said that love is a choice, a decision, and I believe that to be true.  We are given countless opportunities to decide to act either rudely or with grace.  We can be grumpy or kind. We can choose to be giving or stingy. We can act in kindness or with malice.  It all comes down to what we decide.  Oh, this is not an easy thing. Simple perhaps, but not easy. Far too often, I can feel my ire rising and too quickly answer an unhelpful  customer service rep with less than a friendly reply.  Honestly, at times I can be down right harsh – and feel it was fully justified!  That’s the opposite of Loving Harder.  I have a lot of work to do my friends.  For as lovely as I know you all to be, I imagine we all could love a little harder – at least occasionally.

How easy is it to say there isn’t enough time to visit with a friend or family member?  How difficult do we find it to drop our plans to lend a hand at an inopportune time?  What cost will we bear to help a stranger? Isn’t it uplifting to hear of a story where a complete stranger was moved to donate a kidney to someone in dire need?  Isn’t it lovely to see a police office pay for groceries instead of arresting a person that is flat broke and is trying to feed a family?  But let us ask this, why did it come to the point where there was nowhere for that unfortunate soul to go to find a meal or meals?  Years ago I would watch the house makeover show for some deserving family.  It was amazing to see the before and after and what it meant for the family’s living conditions, yet I also realize there are surely many other similar families in need that go on working hard to “get by.”  Fate is fickle indeed.  There are posts on social media now and again where a waitress receives a large “tip” to pay off many bills, or maybe get through a semester of college.  All truly extraordinary.  Yet it seems there is always another case that has a similar story and need.

I wonder if we all gave just a little more – time, knowledge, funds, a should to cry on, advice,   - how would it impact the world.  In other words, if we acted on the caring we feel – the love we feel – I believe we would all be better off for it.  Both the giver and receiver alike benefit, because in the process of giving and receiving we’ll learn we are far more alike than different.

So “love harder”, as it echoes and recedes, means to me that we all start to care for each  other just a little more, and we act on that caring.  We all know hardships of some kind, and we all know what it’s like to have a someone jump in with a lending hand.

Love harder.

Love Harder

“Time After Time” is a TV adaptation of the novel and movie of the same name.  The premise is that HG Wells has built a time machine.  The time machine is used by Jack the Ripper to escape a manhunt, and HG follows him hours later to the future in NYC.  There is a good plot line, which I won’t ruin, but I’ll key in on one point.  The story shows HG sobbing at the news shown on the TV.  The power that the human race hold to wage war and destruction is awe inspiring in the worst way, and all HG can do is cry at the lack of wisdom he had thought the human race would surely have found “in the future.”  He was hoping that the future would be closer to a utopia than his time of 1893 in London.

I have a lot on my mind and there are two distinct paths I can take this little flock of words.  One regards the ills of the world, but as seen in the clip I’m recalling, there is plenty on each day’s daily news to keep that rabbit hole open for, well for ever.

What crosses my mind right now, though, is that there are many advances since 1893 that are incomprehensible for someone from that time to grasp. Mechanized machinery of every kind, from cars as we know them to airplanes and rocket ships would astound, and really still should. More than that though look at science and all we as humans have learned.  On the positive side exploration of biology has led to miraculous advances in the medical field.

If born in 1893 I would be dead a minimum of 3 times over, and I suspect that’s probably one or even two orders of magnitude too low. I look at being given a blood transfusion at a couple weeks old, receiving a liver transplant, surviving emergency surgery and the removal of my colon and being here to talk about it.  That doesn’t even address the countless medications that alone or in combination with the surgeries and procedures worked to cure me of something or other.  Genetic therapies are being realized now and the techniques and abilities to repair the body are nothing short of remarkable.

Yet as I sit here comfortably on my couch there are those whose lives are ebbing despite all the advantages of modern medicine.  My cousin is among them.  I always expected to be the first of my generation in our family to go, but it doesn’t seem that fate has that in mind. I don’t know what to make of this fact.

Most of you know by now that this is the point in the story where I find the sliver of silver lining.  While there are some things I’ve witnessed and learned in the past few weeks that give every reason to smile, every reason to remark at the strength of wives and family caring for the dying, I sit here feeling a little lost.  Lost for words. Lost for meaning. It’s unclear if this melancholy is a result of contemplating the finite life we all have, or the imminent loss of my cousin, or the recent loss of a friend to COPD. Is it knowing there are families that need to regroup in the aftermath? Is it specifically the warmth my cousin and his family have graced me with even though we’ve spent precious little time together over the years? Honestly, it’s probably all of that and more that I have yet to understand or recognize.

The fact remains though, right now, this minute, I sit in a restlessness unquenched by news of the profane, inane or extraordinary.  I appreciated the solar eclipse today, but as friend put it, an orb of rock blocked the view of a ball of gas for a couple minutes.  Time didn't stop. Much of the daily grind feels as it’s described, just a monotonous grind. The real beauty of connection, of real discussion, conversation, friendship and love, the visible wonder of the world, the compassion that is shown by so many on a daily basis is but a fraction it seems of the day to day existence. Life is short.

Pray hard.

Play hard.

Love harder.  

Sentinel

It’s quarter to five and I’m sitting here at work unable to accomplish much of anything really.  A letter that I want to write hides inside the overgrown jungle of partial thoughts. The old Kansas song Dust In the Wind echoes faintly in my mind while newer tunes from London Grammar, Paolo Nutini and Tom Odell vie for attention.  There is a faint hum of an air handling system that resides in the closet of my office, but otherwise the only the truly audible sound is the click clack of my typing.

There are other distractions and work available yet there is little interest in them right now.  The struggle to grasp the purpose, meaning and fruitfulness of life gnaws at me. It’s simultaneously time to celebrate a birthday, a death, a coming wedding and pending death.  I’m excited to call my mom tonight and wish her a big happy birthday and pray she has a great day.  Meanwhile my friend Bill, a Vietnam Vet, passed last night after his last battle.  A battle fought long and hard against COPD.  COPD is another one of those insidious diseases that little by little wear at you, eventually your lungs unable to supply enough oxygen to your body. 

A dear friend is getting ready to be wed this weekend and I am thrilled to see her happy, and excited for the future.  Deb and I have the honor of being involved in the wedding and it will be lovely.  Yet my excitement, right now at least, is tempered.  For only a couple hours ago my cousin Alan’s battle with cancer is nearer its conclusion.  His pain was no longer manageable and he has been placed on a conscious sedation.  He can hear, but basically he’s asleep and won’t be able to respond.  It’s a sad reality that he is not long for this world.  The consolation is that his pain is gone.

I wish I knew how to reconcile all of these emotions.  I had hoped to find words of meaning and value to share with my cousin’s family and likewise with my friend’s family.  There just doesn’t seem to be a vocabulary that is sufficient for the task.  There is no way to communicate the empathy that I long to share.  The best image that I can conjure is that of a silent sentinel.  One that stands guard, stands with them in the quiet darkness, and continues to stand there until the light of fond remembrances emerge.  For they surely will.

Both Alan and Bill, though they knew each other not, shared a passion for life and for motorized art as well.  Alan’s first car was a wreck of a machine that most would have sent to the wrecking yard.  He pounded out dents, of which there were many on every panel of that machine, applied bondo and shaped, sanded and painted until it was a pretty decent machine, far, far better than anyone would have expected from such a sorry initial state.  That passion continued and grew over the years. I’m not sure of all the motorcycles and cars in the garage over the years.  But it should come as no surprise  that even his golf cart was tricked out with a raised suspension and custom paint.  Bill too liked his hot rods and motorcycles.  From Goldwings to Camaros and Dodge Charges, he loved his machines.  And again for both, the even stronger passion was for their families.  It was just plain evident, it was a palpable, noticeable love that you couldn’t help but see.

My sadness followed by wonderful memories feels like being in an ocean swell falling down the face for a time yet picked up the next incoming wave. There doesn’t seem much to do other than accept the ride for what it is – a part of life. The ocean seems a fitting metaphor in many ways.  How often do we visit the beach to find “our happy place” by taking in the calm lapping waves, or maybe a bit rougher time of a roaring break good for surfing?  Yet seeing a truly angry confused sea will cause trepidation, awe and maybe even fright.  There are a variety of moods offered up by that body of water, just as there are by the reality and remembrances that our minds wrestle to understand.

I’m sure my melancholy will ebb, and my excitement will grow for the other events that occur today or this weekend.  For now, though, I’m going to surf the plunging break of sadness and rise to the next fond memory before starting it over again.  This is not an intentional planned adventure but rather a random wandering brought on by the shifting sands of mood, and musical choices.  I still haven’t found the words to share, but perhaps the feelings and sentiment tied up in this note will point the way and illuminate the path.