Sometimes I just have to be me....a simple man

More than once over these years, I've written about the importance of "the journey". To me, the road one takes to their destination is far more important than the planting of the flag at the crest of the mountain. The journey is where you learn about yourself. You learn about your weaknesses and you learn about your strengths. You learn about what matters in your life, and you learn about what you can discard to lighten your load.

Each road we take whether it be the one less traveled or the long and winding one, we gather mementos to remind us of our visits along the way. We take mental snapshots and  store them in our hearts to help  remind us of the people we meet and the  places we visit.

Sometimes our journeys end much quicker than we ever expected, often without any warning, as we take our last step fully thinking we will have plenty of steps left for tomorrow and the next day.

Sometimes our travels are difficult and each step is a struggle as we drag that millstone we have created and placed  around our neck wondering "Why me, Lord?...Why have you made me be the one to carry the burden of mankind on my shoulders". That millstone is only as heavy as we choose to make it. We can remove it at anytime. We have the power to be whomever we choose to be. It's that gift we were given at the time of our birth. We have that freedom of choice.

So I choose to be me. I choose to be that simple man that finds happiness in just being able take in each day and embrace it for whatever is in front of me. To hear music when there is just sound or even lack of sound. To see visions in the clouds forming my own impressions from the simple puffs of whitened air. I choose to take all I have been given, both sadness and happiness, and find a way through my words to help soften one's life, possibly leaving signposts along a path that one has chosen to maybe brighten their day.

I was frightened as this new path of mine suddenly appeared. I was frightened of being alone. Being scared at night with just my loyal furry-boy beside me. And full of despair when the silence of an empty house echoed only my voice.

But it's just a journey. One I have taken many times before. From building a raft to float the Stillwater River to the ends of the world with my best friend, "The Jer".... to going off to college even before I had turned eighteen.....to enlisting in the Air Fore when this country was at War.....to raising kids....and, yes,  to planning the final arrangements of someone so dear to me.

So, I've packed my rucksack once again filled with memories of the past and subsistence for the future.. I have faith in God, I have faith in myself,  I have my health and I have family and friends who are willing to walk along with me as I get another chance to take in this glorious life I have been given.

 I no longer ask the question, "Why am I here?".....I had  been given that answer long ago, I guess I just  wasn't paying attention..... I'm here to be me, a simple man.

What do you mean the churches are closed....it's Good Friday???

Editor's Note: For over 15 years I have shared my life thru my postings on this blog. Most of the posts have been humorous, many have been informative and sadly, a few of them have been poignant.
With today's musings, and probably for the coming weeks, my messages will reflect on the dramatic changes that have occurred in my life in the recent weeks with the passing of my wife of 33 years. Rest assured the blogs will continue to be humorous and informative and again sometimes poignant but will now originate from much deeper in my soul, more cerebral in my thoughts yet always from my heart. I hope you continue to enjoy witnessing my life as much as I have enjoyed sharing it with all of you.



So here it is right around 3:00 PM on Good Friday....It's been an okay day with all things being considered. The morning had started off by joining a new group of friends at the Richardson 'Y' for a class of Silver Sneaker Exercises. Joining this group had been my first step in trying to begin socialization and regain some sense of being after suddenly losing my wife, Pattye, only weeks before.

The rest of the day I had scheduled to begin assembling a montage of photographs of Pattye that would be shown during a celebration of her Life on Saturday. Several times I had sat down at her computer to begin the slow process of cutting and pasting each image that would attempt to show her life to a group of family and friends that would gather at one of our favorite restaurants. Yet each time I sat down and opened her well organized history of pictures of vacations and holiday events, the tears would begin to flow and I would have to get up and leave the room.

I thought I had finally got past the deep, deep emotional loss, the gut-wrenching grieving, but here it was again.The memories of vacations and holidays tore open my heart. I felt I had to just leave the house.

For the past month, I have taken Cooper with me almost every time I left but I figured I was just going to go down to the local Dollar Tree and pick up some Easter cards for the grandkids who would be at the celebration the next day. But what happened next, will go down as one of the most profound days in my 70 years on this earth.

Instead of going to Dollar Tree, I found myself at The Heights Church, a well known and well attended Baptist Church not far from the house. I'm sitting in the parking lot with the engine running and tears rolling down my cheeks. This had been by far the worst day I had experienced, just when I thought I was getting past the hardest time in my life.


I thought to myself, "No, no...not a Baptist Church, Tom". Sure I was stereotyping the image of so many misinformed years of my thinking of them as a hard core group of Bible-thumping conservatives. Yet, here I was, ready to find solace on Good Friday at 3:00 PM, find solace for me a sinner as I needed peace from my pain.

My next thought was, "Okay, I'll Google a Catholic Church near me". The catholic church is where I began my penance for committing the sins of my youth. Although, I had left it many years ago, I always felt that I knew the traditions well enough and that with enough sincere prayer, I would be forgiven all of my trespasses. But then I thought, "Nah, I've been down that road before".

Okay then, how about the Episcopal Church. That was my church where I began the second trek in trying to follow the Correct Path to Salvation. Sure enough I was only a few miles away and headed for Peace, again right when the anniversary of one of the Greatest Sacrifices known to man was occurring. I drove right past the Richardson "Y" where I had started my day and pulled up to the Episcopal Church. Not one car in the parking lot, not one. " I scream out loud, "It's Good Friday, what do you mean you'e closed!!!..This is insane."

Okay, just few hundred feet away is my next choice. A Methodist Church where my daughter, Kelly, had once worked in the Nursery. Perfect. I have a lot of friends who are Methodists, this should work.. Although by now, the tears have stopped, I still needed the soothing effects of a religious sanctuary. I pull into the parking lot and IT'S EMPTY!. No one. I cry out again, "IT'S GOOD FRIDAY. IT'S 3:00 PM AND YOU'RE CLOSED"


Have I lost touch with what is happening in the secular world?. Why in the world would churches be closed on Good Friday and at 3:00 PM which theologians have estimated to be the time of Christ's death. And churches wonder why their attendance is down.

OK, I'm going back to see the Baptists. My only thoughts of Baptists at the moment is that scene from the George Clooney movie, "Oh Brother, Where Art Thou" where the religious sect is having a mass baptism in the river. "Fine", I shout to myself once again, "I'll do whatever you want God, just give me some peace".

So back to The Heights Church I go. I sit quietly with a small group of people in an alcove wondering why there are the few people I see yet I saw hundreds of cars in the parking lot. I later would find out this was simply overflow from a packed Chapel, on Good Friday, at 3:00 PM.

I cry and cry and cry. Finally the tears stop and a stranger sits beside me to hear my story. I share it even including that "I don't know much about Baptists, but at least your doors were open"

I'm not sure where I will end up in my new life. I do know that I found some new friends when I was at my most vulnerable exposure. I know I am Blessed. I know I am here to tell my story and help others. I smile as I share my adventure today and I look so forward to sharing more.

I do know that my doors will always be open to anyone who needs my help.

A crime we probably have all committed...

Although I hate being wrong, I am always willing to admit my mistakes.....and I'm guessing all, or at least most of us, have committed this same offense. And the dastardly deed is the one called a "malapropism". Sound familiar? No?...Well I bet you have done it...and probably most often when you are singing to yourself in the shower, or driving or even humming a tune in your head.

A malapropism is defined as " the use of an incorrect word in place of a word with a similar sound, resulting in a nonsensical, sometimes humorous utterance."

Come on, you know what I am talking about....in singing it's when you use your own word in place of the correct lyric during a song and for the life of you, you can't remember the right word.

A memory from long ago, over 50 years ago, is when I heard one of my best friend's mom singing a song and she used her own words. "Link" Shank, as we affectionately called her, was the mother of P.J. and Deedy Shank back in Dayton, Ohio. A wonderful, vivacious and active woman, she was singing a tune one morning that I heard after P.J and I had arisen from a crazy Friday night exploit.

Her voice was singing "One ton tomato, it's just a one ton tomato...." and I thought, "huh".

Then as I heard the melody over and over, I realized she was singing:

Guantanamera, guajira guantanamera
Guantanamera, guajira guantanamera
Yo soy un hombre sincero
De don de crece la palma ...........


She was singing the song, Guantanamera, made famous by The Sandpipers in the '60s along with "Come Saturday Morning", and many others.


And what's crazy, now after all these years, I'll sing "one ton tomato" as well whenever the song comes to mind and then sheepishly look around to see if anyone has heard me.


We do it everyday I bet, well, at least those of us who sing. And I'm not too embarrassed to admit it. Actually, I'm going to be a little presumptuous and go so far to boldly think, "Hey maybe my lyrics are even better."


I hope none of these tunes get stuck in your head, but I'm sure you'll recognize them and I'm guessing you have committed the same malaprop. Oh, and in case you start singing the song, "Louie, Louie", be sure your grandkids aren't in the same room. Enjoy.




Jimi Hendrix’s “Purple Haze”: Excuse me while I kiss this guy. Nope. It’s Excuse me while I kiss the sky.

Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer”: Hold me closer, Tony Danza. Nope. It’s Hold me closer, tiny dancer.

Johnny Rivers’ “Secret Agent Man”: Secret Asian man. Nope. It’s Secret agent man.

Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Bad Moon Rising”: There’s a bathroom on the right. Nope. It’s There’s a bad moon on the rise.

Bob Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the Wind”: The ants are my friends, they’re blowin’ in the wind. Nope. It’s The answer, my friends, is blowin’ in the wind.

Johnny Nash’s “I Can See Clearly Now”: I can see clearly now Lorraine is gone. Nope. It’s I can see clearly now the rain is gone.

Starship’s “We Built This City”: We built this city from sausage rolls. Nope. It’s We built this city from rock ‘n’ roll.

ABBA’s “Dancing Queen”: See that girl, watch her scream, kicking the dancing queen. Nope. It’s See that girl, watch that scene, dig in the dancing queen.

Sir Mix-A-Lot’s “Baby Got Back”: I like big butts in a can of limes. Nope. It’s I like big butts and I cannot lie.

The Fifth Dimension’s “Aquarius”: This is the dawning of the Age of Asparagus. Nope. It’s This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius

Planned Obsolescence.....

Back in the mid-'80s when computers were just beginning to hit the marketplace for all of the masses, a new term or phrase was being resurrected called Planned Obsolescence. The concept actually started back in 1925 when the Phoebus Cartel was founded for the sole purpose of controlling global markets and the fixed longevity of the light bulb.

Okay, now stay with me here. I realize most of you never thought I was this smart, but when I put my head-brain to things, well, who knows what I end up with.

Simply the term planned obsolescence means "making things so they don't last any longer than what you wanted them to last" , ergo; light bulbs that burn out, cars that break down, paint that peels off and of course roads that fall apart.

The other day I was asking myself, "Self, why are the streets and roads full of potholes?" And then it dawned on me. "So, the Road Guys can make a fortune".

Listen, I don't have any problem with entrepreneurship, or making money or owning your own business. I've owned my own business for the last 30 years. But every dollar I have earned I have earned honestly. And, I'm not saying that planned obsolescence is dishonest....I guess I am saying we are fools for allowing it to happen.

I hate nothing more when I am purchasing  expensive items like appliances or computers or even new cars. The first word out of the salespersons mouth after you have agreed to buy it is "Do you want an extended warranty with that?" Hell no, I want it to last until I am ready to buy a new one or pass away typing my blogs.

I guess there is no stopping it now. We buy things and they end up in the trash because they quit working. That's what they were meant to do as far as the manufacturers are concerned.

Some of these thoughts have also been brought to the wonderin' lobe of my head brain partly I think with the passing of a great man, a great father, a great grandfather and a great minister. My father-in-law, Clark Williams, passed away Jan. 1st and he has been on my mind continuously.

As I often wonder about life and what my purpose is supposed to be on this earth, and as I get older, I now wonder about death. Why are we here and why do we have to go.

I guess it's pretty simple. The Great Manufacturer himself created the original Phoebus Cartel back in the beginning of time and it is His "planned obsolescence". He planned for us to be here for a certain amount of time and despite all of the drugs and surgeries, He is calling the shots, not us. He made us to last for whatever length of time that He decided, sometimes it hours or days or years and years but eventually we wear out. And no, you can't get an extended warranty.

Stuff......When is it time to reverse the flow

One of the unique distinctions of the "Baby Boomer" generation (for reference that's usually considered as people born between 1946 - 1964, but I am extending it even further to anyone born before 1946 who are at least on Facebook) and that distinction is our ability to gather "stuff".

It really didn't strike me as a generation thing until recently as Pattye has been charged with the responsibility of saving, disposing, delegating everything that belonged to her late aunt, Audrey. And now with the passing of her father, Clark Williams,  she along with her family members with be charged with sorting, saving, cataloging and trying to find a way to be sure everything is passed on or saved as well.

And then I started thinking, when is it time to start reversing the flow. When do I quit stopping at garage sales or "eyeballing" someone's trash laid out on the street for pickup. When do I quit accumulating and start divesting? Is it me, is it my generation or is it just wanting to collect "stuff" or probably more precisely junk. Yeah, right.. so much for the axiom "One man's treasure is another man's junk".

On my side of the balance sheet, I have years and years of stuff that I just couldn't pass up. Little storage cabinets that I found in an estate sale full of nuts and bolts left over from another man's junk. Rope, tools, cable, power tools, buckets, boards, coffee cans full of washers and more nuts and bolts. Poles, rods, funnels, motors, string, old paint, more paint, sandpaper etc., etc., etc. The list goes on and on.We are only able to pull one car into the garage because of all of the accumulated "stuff". And if I could, I would probably fill up the other side if I was left unharnessed to gather even more.

Our house is full, almost bursting at the seams and yet we have moved several times and have gone through "down-sizing".

Years ago, Pattye became interested in collecting all kinds of decorative chickens and roosters, which perhaps, she recalled,  came mostly from visits to her grandmothers home. Later she started a retail outlet selling chicken-themed "stuff" and now she tells me she has over 100 chicken things in just the kitchen alone!. See, it's not just me.

Well......the bell has sounded. It's time to reverse the flow.

Instead of "stuff" coming in, it's stuff going out. So be prepared. Except first I do want to check out this garage sale down the street because I did see a sign that said, "Tools".

Is it generational?. Was it because we were raised by parents who were born during the Depression and treasured "stuff" and taught us to place value in even the smallest of things? I just don't know.

I'm tired from even thinking about the upcoming Spring Cleaning that we have promised ourselves to do. I will be heartbroken to dispose of that mason jar full of nuts and bolts that I bought for just pennies. And that broken saw that I really needed to have or that box full of tape or all of those washers and nuts and bolts. Oh and the fence slats that I was going to make picture frames from. Oh, and those pieces of garden hose that...um, well, I was going to do something with them.

I need a nap.