I Shouldn't, But...

Oh, I do have opinions, and strong feelings, convictions and dogma. I have a son who teaches on a college campus. I have another son who is a U.S. Infantryman and National Guardsman. I have a granddaughter in a public school.

Because I’ve promised myself this blog would not take the easy path of political commentary, I’m only going to say this: I am sickened by the loss of lives in these senseless, unrelenting mass shootings. Can you imagine what the families of victims are feeling today? I can’t.

“They’s times when how you feel got to be kep’ to yourself.”

— John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

Spinning Backward

I DID SOMETHING THIS WEEK that I haven’t done for forty years, and it was surprisingly fun.

“We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.”

— T.S. Eliot

I’ve noticed something about me and my peers, when we get together and talk, we talk about what we used to do. Somehow, in these strolls down memory lane, we come off braver, stronger, smarter, more adventurous, athletic, and talented. Our exploits were grander, more romantic, more genuine, more enduring.

We tell stories about school, summers, cars, girls, jobs and such, that all start the same way: “Back when I was young…”

If you were to eavesdrop on one of these chats, you might hear something like this: Back when I was a kid, I hauled hay all day long…that was back when hay bales were heavy…before the Obama administration made the farmers grow all this genetically altered grass. We were lucky if we got paid ten bucks a day, which was enough for a tank of gas and money for a date. Thankfully, I was dating girls before Ralph Nader, the Clintons and Obama invented seat belts. That way, she could sit right next to me. We didn’t have air-bags either… we didn’t need them… and our dashboards where steel back then… see this scar?

Regardless of the alignment of our memories to actual reality, it’s still fun to recapture an occasional moment from our youth.

And this week I did just that—for the first time in a long, long time I bought a record! That’s right; a vinyl, 33 and a third, Long-play album! It was highly invigorating.

Thanks mostly to today’s neo-hippies, and young urban hipsters, and their marketplace of choice which includes stores like Urban Outfitters, record players and vinyl records are making a comeback (along with beards and beads and bellbottoms).

So, for once, when I told My Amazing-Missus, “Yes, I want to keep that, it may come back in style,” I was right! I dug out the box of my old records and it is an apt collection indeed. Sgt. Peppers, Rubber Soul, The White Album, Revolver, The Doors, The Kinks, The Beach Boys, Miles Davis, Blood, Sweat & Tears, Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Carol King, James Taylor, Crosby, Stills Nash & Young…

I even found my turntable. Unfortunately it’s gears are frozen up, it’s wires are frayed and its needle’s a little rusted; sort of like its owner’s.

In the next few days the FedEx guy will carefully (I hope) place a box containing my new record player on the front porch. So this weekend I’m hoping to set everything up, then maybe I’ll put on my headphones, light some incense, platter-up Iron Butterfly’s In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, and give it a spin.

I will live in the 60s again for a little bit, and then I will go to the Social Security website and sign up for Medicare, because I’m in MY 60s now, and I only have a month to get this done.

Then I will put The Beatles on the turntable and listen to “When I’m 64” and wish that it was 1964 again.

my first album purchase in many many years--the amazing Bill Evans.

I HAD A Dream

For which of you, intending to build a tower,
sitteth not down first, and counteth the cost,
whether he have sufficient to finish it? 

Lest haply, after he hath laid the foundation, and is not able to finish it,
all that behold it begin to mock him, 
Saying, This man began to build, and was not able to finish.  

—The Gospel of Luke 14:28-30 (KJV)

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SO--IF YOU'VE READ THIS BLOG MUCH, at all, you know of our dream to have an Airstream trailer. We thought we were so close. How close? Close enough that I even opened the polls, so to speak, here on About Pops, asking for help in choosing an interior color scheme.

Well, it’s a long, long story. But it comes down to this: I “sitteth not down, and counteth the cost” (thoroughly enough anyway). And now you are free to mock me saying, “This man began this adventure to have an Airstream, but to this point has not been able to git ‘er done.”

Turns out, when I finally did sit down to count the cost of the Airstream model I had been coveting; let’s just say reality setteth in. The weight of the cost was not just in dollars; however, I did grossly underestimate the sum thereof. Along with things like doc fees, freight charges, taxes, extension mirrors, weight distribution hitch, anti-sway bars, hoses, blocks, chemicals… ad nauseum; there is also the cost of stress, anguish and uncertainty. Suddenly my visions of sitting under the awning of this silver beauty alongside a rushing stream on a cool morning, enjoying a cup of coffee, was overtaken by visions of a sitting alongside I-70 just outside of St. Louis on a 109 degree August day with a flat trailer tire, and being so broke I would have to work until I was 80, having nightmares of Dave Ramsay warning of careless spending.

Emotions are mixed. On the one hand, the horrific images of a holding tank disaster are gone, as are the potential panic attacks of pulling an aluminum carcass down the highway through the onslaught of a sudden Oklahoma hail storm. Unfortunately, also gone are those dreams of adventure on the open road I had imagined for us in our silver streak with the salsa interior.

Really though, deep down, I know the adventures will continue. They will just be different. You see, my Amazing-Missus and I are best friends. We were married eight years before our first child was born. (We didn’t want anyone to speculate that we “had” to get married [wink-wink]). So, living life together isn’t new to us. We’ll be fine.

“Surely there comes a time when counting the cost and paying the price aren’t things to think about any more. All that matters is value - the ultimate value of what one does.”

— James Hilton

That's The Story of My Life

In my day job, from time to time, I interview prospective employees. Usually they’ve submitted a résumé: you know that bulleted list of stuff like education, work experience, etc. I seldom even look at their résumé. I don’t want to know the list. I want to know their story. Maybe that résumé includes some plot points of their story; maybe not.

If you ask someone to tell you about themselves, they do not say, “Bullet #1, I was born in Walla Walla, Washington in 1969. Bullet #2, graduated Walla Walla High School… They tell you a story.

“When people tell others about themselves, they kind of have to do it in a narrative way—that’s just how humans communicate. But when people think about their lives to themselves, is it always in a narrative way, with a plot that leads from one point to another? There’s an old adage that everyone has a book inside of them.” --from The Atlantic

Think about your narrative, the story of your life, the setting, the characters, the plot and the twists in the tale. Some chapters may be comedy, some undoubtedly are tragic.

Is your story like a book that starts, “Once Upon A Time…”, or is it more like a series of short stories lined up on a shelf, somewhat connected but each could stand on its own?

Here’s something scary cool. We are the characters in other people’s stories. The crazy uncle, the teacher who cared, the loving spouse, the creepy boyfriend, the spoiling grandmother, the doctor bearing bad news…

It seems like on every coffee table, in every barber shop and doctor’s office in my first coming-of-age I remember seeing a copy of Reader’s Digest. One of the features of the magazine was called, “My Most Unforgettable Character.” People submitted storis about the real “characters” of their lives.

Thinking back, who are your most unforgettable characters.

For most of my growing up years we lived next door to my Uncle Bob and Aunt Betty and their four kids. They were wonderful people to live next door to. Our families did everything together; everything except go to church. We were Baptist, they were not. Church and the characters there have always been a huge part of my story. While I loved all of that, I was so glad to learn from my Aunt Betty that you could go to dances, and that boys and girls could swim in the same pool at the same time and you would still go to heaven.

I am fully aware now that for our Grand-Girls there is a character in their story that they call “Pops.” It is a role I cherish and I want to get it right. I’m not expecting to get any awards, but if I did, I would want one of those they give to people in “a supporting role.” I want to bring a little adventure to their stories along with a some comedy and maybe mystery. But mainly I want  to be one of the characters that was there for them, with unconditional love, encouragement and adoration.

If that happens, then my story can end: “and he lived happily ever-after.”