Should I or should I not???

With my new-found religion, I sure don't want to jeopardize the grounds I've gained by doing something stupid and falling away to the Dark Side. Dang. It's kinda like me hangin' around in a bar and people worrying that I might take a drink after over 20 years of sobriety. I do hang around a bar/restaurant across the street which is where I walk Cooper every evening and I stop to talk to my friends there. The bar is doggy friendly and Cooper likes being fed french fries as well but I don't even consider havin' a drink other than water.. So that sure ain't gonna happen just like I'm not going to worship false idols either.

But wow, did I come across something crazy-like today that I am having a hard time wrapping my head-brain around it.

As many of you know my home is on the market and has been for a couple of months now and even though I have had  a contract that fell through at the last minute, I continue to have showings and feel very positive about getting it sold. And although I haven't finalized any plans on where I will go if in fact I leave here, the idea of living permanently on a sailboat is still very intriguing and even the idea of travelling the country in a RV certainly has its merits. Regardless, I can't do anything until the house sells other than visit with friends.

But today, my cuz, Janice, who lives in Beavercreek, Ohio and whom I have a deep fondness for and have always enjoyed her company as a child and now thoroughly enjoy her friendship and companionship as an adult put me on to something that might just get this whole  process moving.

Okay, I want everyone to raise their hand who have ever heard of burying a statue of St. Joseph in the front yard of the house you are trying to sell and you HAVE TO BURY IT UPSIDE DOWN!!! in order to make it work. Now, some of you may have heard it has to be St. Francis or St. Anthony but those guys still count just the same. In fact if you search long enough on the Internet you can find a half dozen saints that it will supposedly work with.

I've read varying accounts from priests who have been asked to bless the statue before it's buried, which they reluctantly do with the caveat that you dig the statue up afterwards and clean it up and put it in your new home.

I contacted my realtor, who will go unnamed right now to protect her anonymity, but she said she even carried them in her car trunk years ago. And my older brother Dave admitted to me when I told him about this story that his home had been on the market for a year and someone told him the story and he buried a statue and it sold 3 days later.

 Right now you can purchase at Ace Hardware a St. Joseph Home Selling Starter Kit for only $4.99.

Well, I'm going to run this by my pastor tomorrow morning and run it by some of my more learned-than- me, theological thinkers and get their take. And if I get a somewhat positive feedback, I'm headed to the hardware store!.

Like I said, I sure don't want to end up on the "Dark Side" but dang, it would be great to sell the house.

Peace

And a Happy Birthday in Heaven to my wonderful wife today, Sept. 14th. I know you're smiling knowing I'm writing again.

"One step at a time"....

From the moment we enter the world out of the womb our accomplishments are constantly monitored. Our first cry in the delivery room is a sign we are alive and living. Our first words that we utter bring ecstasy to our parents as they interpret  that "Dada" or "Momma" and confirms to them that we are learning. Our first step as we struggle to keep our balance is a prelude to what might be the beginning of a long distance marathon runner or track star. Every moment of every day of our life is an accomplishment.

But sometimes our learning, our accomplishments our lives as we know them, suddenly takes an unexpected turn. We simply go into survival mode trying to make it through the moment, the hour and then the day.

It could be someone trying to recover from addiction, a survivor from a broken marriage or a grieving spouse who has been left to begin life anew, yet alone. All of these paths have the same common thread. The steps have to simply be taken "one step at a time".

No one wants to linger in their pain, wallow in their misery or be alone in their thoughts with no one to share them with, yet the recovery has to begin with that first step and then the next and the next.

Our accomplishments are marked by the simplest of tokens. It might be a simple wooden chip celebrating a day or a week or a month of sobriety. It could be venturing outside the home to meet new people, or sometimes it can simply be doing simple tasks that to everyone else in the world who have "never been there" as simply mundane.

For me, I felt I made a major stride today. I cooked.

To most, I know it sounds silly if not ridiculous. To a few, I know you will understand.

Behold....The meal. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes and asparagus tips. Not pretentious. But delicious. 

It's a major step......no longer the frozen dinners, the fast-food drive thrus or even a night of fine dining, but simply a meal that I chose to take the time and the effort to make for myself.
And yet, probably another step I have taken is simply allowing this to be read by others, because as I'm now learning, I am here to teach, to share and to help those who will follow in my path.

I'm proud of myself...for now I know there is hope.

"You can't go home again"... or can you?

"You can't go home again", the title of an early book by one of this country's most prolific writers in the early 1900s, Thomas Wolfe, tells the story of George Webber, a struggling author, who writes a novel that makes references to his hometown, much like I have done over the years. Although George's novel becomes a national success, he is met with disdain by many of his hometown friends for the way he portrayed them. And that's where my life and the fictional character George Webber differ. My first published book of short stories about my hometown characters never became a national success, but I always treated my characters with the greatest of love.

But does that mean then that I can go back home again? Perhaps.

Wolfe formed the title, "You can't go home again" after a conversation with another writer and when asking permission to use the title, the other writer commented, "You can't go back home to your family, back home to your childhood ... back home to a young man's dreams of glory and of fame ... back home to places in the country, back home to the old forms and systems of things which once seemed everlasting but which are changing all the time – back home to the escapes of Time and Memory." 

So, does that mean then that I can't go back home again? Perhaps.

Wednesday, Aug. 14th, will be my second visit back to my hometown, Dayton, Ohio, in little over three months. Yet for almost 50 years, it was a trip I made less than a dozen times.

 I don't look for the nostalgia, though it will certainly be there. I don't need to rekindle friendships from a lifetime ago, simply because they don't need to be rekindled, the embers never died out. And I certainly won't be seeking out a new identify for I am who I am, and as I always like to submit to people  when asked about my life, my reply is always, "I am a simple man".

If you've never lived away from your childhood home, well then , my explanation for this overwhelming desire to return home probably won't register. And if you have been away from your childhood home for a lengthy period of time and you've found a new home elsewhere, then your childhood home might very well be simply a remembrance of the past.

As I have written before, when I left my hometown and ventured out on my own, I hadn't even turned 18 yet. I was headed to Oklahoma and then later Texas after a short pause for military service. Where I have hung my hat, it has always been home but always for these last 50 years, the chance to experience my hometown as an adult, has driven me to long for a world that was close to me, dear to me and of course where my source of all of the short stories I have written about found their beginning.

Maybe I can go home again, maybe I can't, but one never knows the answer to their questions, the results of their endeavor, the final destination of their journey unless that first step is taken.

So this week I take some preliminary steps in putting the plan into motion. Maybe my dreams will become fruitless, or maybe a Dayton that I have missed for all of these years just doesn't exist. But for sure, unlike George Webber, my friendships should probably still be intact. 

   "Truly great friends are hard to find, difficult to leave, and impossible to forget." - G. Randolph

Peace

"out of the mouths of babes"....regardless of how young or old they might be

There is nothing more fulfilling, more joyous than when you are watching an infant as they reach out and discover new things in their brand new world. They'll find their toes and smile to themselves. They'll reach out and grasp your finger holding on tightly with their precious little hand as they smile at you, and you back at them, both of you knowing what a wonderful experience they are having and what is to follow in their journey down the road of life. They are learning about themselves and their world.

So too have my new discoveries that have been taking place in my life during these past few months since Pattye's passing as I've learned so many things about myself, my God, and my universe, and have wanted to share with all of you. But sadly, I've been hesitant.

I have thrown away more words than I have written or published. I have silenced myself more than I have spoken. I have kept more of my emotions suppressed rather than sharing them with both friends and strangers.......and why, why do I not express myself?

How silly of me that I am willing to risk my eternal salvation for NOT sharing what I am supposed to be speaking or doing simply because I might cause a few of these supposed "social media friends", people whom many of them I have never even met in person, that I might cause them to think of me as weak for professing my Faith. For some reason, I shy away from any discussion of Faith just so I don't have to identify myself as a Believer and risking a non-existent relationship with an unmet stranger. Or perhaps I might be thought of as a hypocrite as I constantly fail while I am trying to learn.

And that takes me to what has occurred in just the past few weeks.

I had joined a small Anglican church, Restoration Church, literally across the street from where I live. I discovered it just a week before Pattye died while I was out walking Cooper on a Sunday morning and stopped and visited briefly with members of the congregation as they entered what I thought was just a large event center which mostly hosted wedding receptions or similar events. Little did I know, I would be there two Sundays later in desperate need of comfort to ease my pain.

Since then, on one recent Sunday morning, it dawned on me that this event center was transformed into my new church by volunteers who would come in early and help setup the seating, the altar, the sound system and everything that one would expect in a traditional environment in a permanent church type structure. And since I lived across the street, of course I could lend an assistance before the service started..

 While our head pastor, Jed Roseberry, was helping setup for the service (yes, many participate whether teacher or student) he asked me if I was comfortable being in front of people.
"Who, me?" Of course I was comfortable. Heck, I have never met a stranger in my life. And naturally, I was thinking he was going to ask me to participate in the service, perhaps reading the Lesson or maybe helping with the Collection basket.. Boy, was I in for a surprise.

As many of you know, who attend church on a regular basis or may have grown up in religious type environment you won't be surprised what came next. Jed said, "Tom, I'd like you to tell your story. I think sharing what has happened to you would not only benefit your growth but would benefit so many people who would hear it."

Geesh, I had worked hard to blend in. Sitting in a middle row, participating in a modest way. Singing the songs, yet not too loudly and now, he wants me to expose my emotions? Well, what the heck. I agreed.

Anyway, I did share the following Sunday. I told my story. I gave my Testimony and I discovered so much more about me. More than I ever knew. Of course I struggle each day with doing the right thing but I found I am not alone in this battle. I have both my new friends and my old friends. And I have God now. I always have had Him, I guess I just was a little embarrassed to admit it to myself or to tell anyone.

UPDATE: I was able to find audio of my testimony during Jed's sermon online:

Like an infant, I'm just now discovering my toes and learning to reach out and grasp someone's extended finger or hand. I smile to myself as I learn about who I am and wonder about who I will become. It's kind of a late start for me, being near 71, but then again, I'm not the one setting the time schedule.

Peace

It's all about "perspective".....

When I was a little 10 year-old Skeeter boy growing up in Dayton, Oho in the early 50's one of my early misdirections in life was attempting to learn to play the clarinet. I say misdirected because I HAD to learn to play it. It wasn't my choice. Oh, don't get me wrong....I chose the clarinet as the musical instrument that I wanted to learn to play but when it came time to practice and go to lessons, well heck...that wasn't happenin'.

I would ride the bus downtown to Hauer Music store and reluctantly sit and wait my turn to show my teacher what I had learned and then supposedly practiced the previous week. It was the same story week after week. No improvement. Just the squeaks and squeals as I tried to fight my way thru for that miserable half hour. But that's what happens when you don't practice, when you don't try to learn.....No results.

But that was me then. A kid always looking for adventure but not really wanting to make the sacrifices necessary to produce positive results. It was how I looked at things. It was my perspective.

Today, though things were different.

Some 60 years later as I waited all week long for my first piano lesson that would take place later in the day at my new teacher, Amy Munro's,  home,  I would find something I would later describe to a friend as beautiful. I was truly in another zone as I focused, something I have to really fight to do, on learning every thing she was saying, everything she was showing me, and everything in my new study book.

I know thousands and thousands of you have taken piano and music lessons before and many of you are, I'm sure, quite accomplished at it.

But for me, this was a breakthrough. This was me learning to do something I wanted if for no other reason than to simply hear the music of my own creations.

Sure I have sat down at the piano hundreds of times and hit the keys and heard the reverberating sounds. I've even written about it before on occasion.But that was just sound. That was a wave of pressure as the vibration went through the air.

But I was so focused. I was so enthralled with the genius design of such a wonderful instrument that instead of my counting the minutes until my lesson ended as when I was a young lad learning the clarinet, now I almost heartbroken that my short time had come to an end.

Do I make more out of this than what it really is?... Not in my mind.

Nope, not on drugs, not early dementia, not overly tired, none of those things. I truly felt I was part of the key as it simply struck a C# string (see how smart I'm getting!).

I don't care why I felt this way. All I know is I did. And, I want more. I want more and more and more. Maybe it's the loneliness  and I want music and sound in my life. I don't know.

I do know I loved the passion. I loved the passion I felt for making my own sounds.

No, this won't be another past failed episode in the life of a little Skeeter boy. This was too real.

Anyway, you asked....so there it is.....and embellished as always. But I know my soul is afire and perhaps I have ignited a fire in yours as well to follow your dream.

Peace