Death and Tragedy....the two worst wake-up calls one can face

Sadly, today I share my heart with the passing of our fallen police officer in Richardson, Tx. this past week with the families and citizens of Westerville, Ohio,  who not only lost one, but two officers in the line of duty.

Tragedy in itself is enough to destroy a person's faith, but when accompanied with Death, the double blow may often result in a complete knockout of one's beliefs. The complete destruction of one's psyche as he or she tries to understand the whole purpose of this universe.

We live in a world of hate today, from both sides and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of you who continue to wave the red flags in each other's faces simply because of the political party they choose to belong to. I'm sick of the baiting of each other with bullshit stories in order to try and win your arguments.

I'm sick of the news people, the news editors, the news networks who will do anything, say anything to boost their ratings. As a matter of fact, for years I was a news junkie. I couldn't get enough of it. Now, I simply turn it off. I listen to music in the morning , during the day and evening. And no, I'm not burying my head in the sand, I'm simply turning off the lies, the deceit, the hate and the anger.

If you want to do something then contribute to your own well being. Contribute, not necessarily money, but of your time to bettering this world. Re-posting memes is not contributing. Can't you create your own thoughts? Meditate. Reflect. Exercise. Do something. Learn. Read. Write. Photography. Painting. Sing. Learn to play an instrument. Anything positive.

Ask anyone who is suffering from a terminal illness what they treasure most and it often will be "time".

People, your time is running out. Make the most of what you have left.

I have invested more time and energy in my latter years to right many of the wrongs I caused  in my younger life of destructive behavior and causing turmoil. I guess sometimes it takes certain people longer to grow up. So I'm asking you to take a reality check. Get your physical body in order. Get your mental body in order. Do the things that make a positive effect in this world, not the hate mongering. If you disagree with a person's point of view, then sit down with them and ask them to explain where they are coming from. Just don't call them fascists or bleeding hearts.

These tragedies are a wake up call. So please, wake the hell up and do something good.

And, as always, Peace, my brothers and sisters.

We are what we eat AND what we read....

There is an axiom, We are what we eat..." Well, I'm taking it one step further. "We are what we read"

I've always had a voracious appetite for learning. Now, that's not to be confused with having a hunger for going to school, although of course that's where we are supposed to learn. I've always wanted more and more when it has come to learning and a good portion of my education has come from books. Once again, not to be confused with school books but with novels, biographies, historical novels and of course magazines.

I know, I know..that some of you who have known me most of my life will jump at the conclusion, "I knew Tommy read those girly magazines" Well, that's partly true, but honestly I read them for the articles....I know, I know...but I really did.

Some of my favorite magazines growing up were Popular Mechanics, Popular Science and Popular Electronics. Sure I read comic books and Mad Magazine as well, but I really loved the Do It Yourself (DIY) magazines that put your mind into action as you began to create and build that hover car or time machine.

Fast forward 60 years later, and for the most part all of my reading is still pretty much the same categories, novels etc., but of course now you have to add the Internet. Despite the horrendous amount of misinformation, there is just a magnitude of good information. Things and facts and just plain stuff that we would have never been able to learn about years ago by going upstairs and looking at the expansive collection of Collier's Encyclopedias we had in our home. And going to the library to search out a simple fact often turned into an all day affair.

As most of us know, nowadays all of our online searches are recorded. Yep, oh sure you can delete your searching history from your laptop or tablet or phone, but the requests you made of Google are stored on their servers. Even the requests that I make of my wonderful yet frustrating new best friend and nemesis, Alexa, all of those requests plus the cussing and yelling at her are all stored. I don't care tho, people think I'm nuts anyway, so what's a few more pieces of facts do anyway, lock me away for even longer?

I did look at the last couple of months of searches I have had on Google specifically being "bookmarks" that I can return to. I'll let you all decide if I am normal or what. Maybe a little nerdy, I guess, but I must say the ability to seek out so much information is incredible.

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I think I'm getting tired-head.

Later

I had an early morning visitor from long ago...

We don't get many visitors anymore and certainly not early on a Sunday morning, but as I opened the door I saw an older gentleman that I hadn't seen in years and it almost brought tears to my eyes.

I was, to say the least, floored as I welcomed him in, saying "What in the world brings you to my house?" Where have you been all of these years?"

As I helped him off with his overcoat I saw that he didn't look much older than the last time I had seen him and that had to have been 40 or 50 years ago. I could smell a sweet aroma of some foreign spice or scent in the fabric of his coat that took my mind back to a time in my life, yet, I didn't know when it could have been.

"Vell, To'mas", he said in his deep European accent and broken English speech, "You don't come visit me, so I decide to come visit you."

"But what brings you to Richardson and how on earth did you find me.", I asked with a confused look on my face. "And, how come you haven't aged?"

And then stupidly I said, "You know, actually I thought you were dead. People had even told me you were dead." He smiled and said, "Do I look dead?"

As I offered him a cup of coffee, he shrugged it off and did ask if he might have some tea. As I ransacked through the cupboard looking for some Lipton's or any old teabags, I was having flashbacks and was simply puzzled with when I had seem him last.

As I returned to the living room with his cup of tea he said, "Tommyboy, I have always been around, it's just that you never bother to look for me. Vhat is wrong, have I offended you. Have I made you mad at me?"

I couldn't think of anything that I would have done to ever have upset this kindly gentleman and I would never be mad at him. He looked at me with compassion and yet interested in what my answer would be.

And then he said in the distinctive accent once again, with a cliche' that sometimes makes people chuckle, "How you doin?"

By then Cooper had smelled of him and after a few pats on his head, Cooper laid down at the man's feet which was odd. Cooper normally is running back and forth whenever a stranger comes by, not aggressively but more wanting to play.

I tried to collect my thoughts and replied, "Well, I'm doing pretty good, We have a nice home here in Richardson. The kids are all grown now. We have a bunch of grandkids. I'm writing a lot. I doing a lot of projects. I guess everything is fine."

He looked at me as if I didn't answer his question.

"Tommyboy, but how you doin?" and this time he places his hands over his heart as if to imply, how am I on the inside.

And then it dawned on me. I didn't answer his question. I just gave him a summary of my life.

I said, "Well, maybe my soul is a little empty. Maybe it's been way too long since I have visited you. Maybe I need to spend more time with you."

He then politely said, "Vell, if you can't make it by my house, I'm on da fancy Internet thing and you can visit me dere." And then he smiled a smile that brought me back more than 60 years. A smile that brought me peace.

I got up to freshen his cup of tea and when I returned he was no longer sitting there. His overcoat was gone. Nothing. Not a trace. I was dumbfounded, but then I smelled that sweet fragrance one more time. That sweet smell of incense that reminded me of a time of innocence. Maybe it has been too long. Maybe when your friends come calling and looking for you, it's time that you should be looking for them.

Shalom

The Player Piano

I've never considered the fact that I came from a musical family. I've always thought of the Kender boys as more of the athletic type, the fix it kind of guys, the racing kind of kids who had go-karts, Cushman motor scooters and Whizzer motorbikes and all of us having a sports car. Yet looking back, there was always some kind of music going on in the house.

My oldest brother, Dave, had a great Slingerland drum set with the separate top hat and tom-tom. He not only played for the Chaminade Marching Band and Orchestra but was a member of the renowned Dayton Blackhawks Precision Drum and Bugle Corp. Ricky played the trumpet for a few years but never pursued it much after that except maybe getting it out on New Year's Eve and blaring it at midnight.

....And I, for some unknown reason, chose the clarinet, or perhaps it was chosen for me. I stayed with it until my bottom adult teeth started coming in and it hurt like heck to bend my bottom lip back while blowing on the reed. At least that's the excuse I was using, when it was in fact all I seemed to be able to get out of the ole "licorice stick", as Mom called it, was squeaks and noises that even made the dog yelp. I think I enjoyed taking the thing apart and cleaning it and lubricating the cork- filled connections more than playing it. Or even better was being allowed to venture downtown on the electric bus to Hauer's Music store by myself for that weekly lesson. If nothing else, my music teacher did compliment me on keeping it polished and working properly.

But there was another musical instrument that brings back some wonderful memories on this Sunday morning as I reminisce. It was the wonderful player piano that stood almost majestic down in our basement in Dayton, Ohio, placed back against a wall surrounded by the clothes washing machine and dryer, the sanitary tubs and the furnace. Collecting dust, but still always there even if it meant just a quick version of "chopsticks" when passing by.

Mom would infrequently play a song or two, usually when she thought she was alone. But on occasion as I wandered through the house without anyone knowing I was there, I could hear her tunes. She played mostly ragtime but now and then a love song. There wasn't much time for a mother of three boys to have time to herself as one could imagine. But the moments she did find time brought back memories to her that I could see in her face.

My childhood friend, "The Jer", and I would mess around with the piano while exploring through the house. One of us would get down on our knees and hand push the pedals while the other faux-played the keys at they went up and down as the roller turned the music through each song. It was magical to simply watch the piano play so many different songs all done by some genius way of poking tiny little holes in paper as it went from start to finish. And, I guess, it is time to confess, and I'll blame it on "The Jer", we would poke a few extra holes in the paper ourselves, not to be destructive, but I think we thought we were creating our own music.

The player piano was sold off during an estate sale held after my Dad had passed away and Mom had moved to Assisted Living. I'm not sure who owns it today or if it even exists.

I wish I even knew how it came into our family and even more importantly how in the world they ever got in down in the basement. David said Dad had to knock out a part of the just recently knotty-pined finished wall that he installed.

I do have a roll of music though that my sister-in-law sent to me after the piano was sold. I had forgotten about it, but touching it now brings back a wonderful time in my life that I now love sharing. The roll is called "Chapel Chimes" and ironically it came from a place called the Leyhe Piano Company in Dallas, Texas. That connection gives me chills as well. The label say it is a Library Roll and you could rent it for 15 days for 5 cents, or purchase it.

Perhaps today, if you have a special treasure in your home take it out and share it's history with a family member, maybe a child or grandchild, niece or nephew. Tell them how it played a part in your life and what it means to you today.

And now I hear my note to exit this memory. It's been a fine one.

Add one more item to my bucket list...

After years and years of assisting in the Emergency Room to the Operating Room with such wonderful medical staff like Dr. Ben Casey, Dr. Marcus Welby, Dr. James Kildare, and Drs. John Carter and David Morgenstern, it never dawned on me to think about it.

And after rolling around in the back of a racing ambulance with the crew from Emergency! like Richard Mantooth and Julie London and now with Gabby Dawson and Silvie Brett from Chicago Fire as I helped perform emergency tracheotomies and do chest tube thingys and inflate lungs with soda straws, I never stopped to think about it.

And the many times I have been in the wilderness and had to amputate legs with a Swiss Army knife and cauterize the wounds with a glowing red Bowie knife I placed in the fires to sear the blood vessels, I just didn't realize it.

And the babies I have delivered as moms went into labor and we drove as fast as we could to the hospital, I just took things for granted.

After all of this time of listening to other people's hearts with the imaginary stethoscope I had around my neck as I sat glued to the TV set....I just now realized that I have never heard my own heart beat. Nope, not once.

I guess I didn't get the Doctors Kit for Christmas like other kids. Usually my toys were mechanical in nature. Things like erector sets or Lincoln logs that would be strewn around my room instead of things like the Human Body or the Human Head-Brain.

My heart has been with me even before I was born. It was the first thing months before while in the womb of what would become Tommy Kender. It started beating and it has never stopped once. And yet, I have never heard it's sound.

Let me do the math for you. I'll be 70 this year and let's say that on average the heart beats 80 times a minute and (I Googled it) there are 525,960 minutes in a year.......PEOPLE, THAT IS 2,945,376,000 times that my heart will have beat by the time my birthday rolls around!!! I don't even know what you call that number...I guess a gazillion...And yet, I HAVE NEVER ACTUALLY HEARD IT BEAT ONE TIME....Amazing, huh.

I have choked it with smoke, drowned it with booze, clogged it with fat and yet it continues. I go to bed and it beats and I wake up and it is still beating and I have never heard it. Yeah, I know some of you wisenheimers out there are sayin', "Tommy, that's because you don't really have a heart". Well, that may be. I guess it's like if there is no one around  to hear a tree fall is there really a sound.

My heart has been BROKEN and RAISED UP and DUG DEEP INTO. It's been CROSSED and PROMISED. It's been OPENED and LISTENED TO at least with my mind. But I have never once heard it beat.

So, just maybe, I might stop at CVS today and buy a cheap stethoscope and see just what the heck it sounds like....then again maybe I might just keep that mystery alive.

I'm now thinking, what an incredible experience that when one's "time" comes,  that as you were laying in bed with family around you, you could be listening to your heart beat and then, but not with the piercing noise of some machine warning that your heart had stopped....but simply your could hear your final beat and then the "sound of silence".

Anyway, I'll let you all know what I hear, if in fact I hear anything.

Just another one of those thoughts that wake me up in the middle of the night.

Adieu