Month: April 2018

Whoever said words which motivated you. Words which made you love. Words which filled you with hope and gave you joy.

Whoever showed you compassion, or taught you compassion. Whoever let you know that to give is better than to receive, and a kind word is better than a hateful act.

Whoever told you that the light drives out the darkness and to treat each person as you would want to be treated. Whoever gave you cold water to drink and a warm hug to pass on.

I have seen so many posts again lately about the school shootings we have had over the past several years…since they took “God” out of the schools. I personally think that this particular line of thinking is pretty sad. Do we have a God, Jesus Christ in the case of Christians, who has gotten so mad and vindictive that the Courts of the United States ruled against having State sponsored prayer in school, that he is letting more little children get shot to death in schools to “get back at us?” What a pitiful point of view this is. I would want NO part of a God who would purposefully use the deaths of children to punish people. I really wish folks would think about what they are saying before they use this line. God IS in schools every day. In the hearts and minds of everyone who believes who take him there…no group of court can stop that. Prayer groups are still allowed in schools. American has become so diverse in nature, and in beliefs that we have to be neutral about what the Government can and cannot condone in schools. Live and let live.

If I were a stone of some type, I guess I would be a gravel. The kind they use in road paving, and to fill in mud holes. Utilitarian.

I could never be a gold nugget.

They are scarce and valuable. They are malleable and shapeable. They are extremely useful in so many things. Crowns of gold. Rings of gold that are used to bind promises of love.

Not a piece of silver.

A silver coin can lay in the ground for hundreds of years and then with a little polishing, can be as shiny as the day it was made. Silver is valuable. Circulateable.

Certainly never a diamond.

Shiny, hard and bright. A rare treasure. A stone to be cut and set in the most precious of objects. Jeweled scepters, and engagement rings for the stars.

No… Just gravel, with a coating of dust. Doing the job and getting it done. Filling the holes, paving the roads. Year after year.

I wouldn’t….I couldn’t, have it any other way.

To the night…sleep tight, all my loved ones and friends. Tomorrow we will find us a better day and maybe a better world. If not, let’s make the best of what we’ve got. Be kind to someone. Give if you can to those who have less than you. Hug and kiss your family. Love if you want to be loved.

And in your dreams, you may find solace…and occasionally perhaps a glimpse of wisdom. You may find true love, conflict and maybe betrayal. You may dream the idea that changes the world, a new paradigm for a new age….but then awake, and forget it all. Dream well this night…

The exhibit by Mother Nature this morning, or…by God, whichever you choose, is glorious. The pollen is not quite stirring as strongly yet so I was able to take deep breaths of wonderfully fresh and cool air into my lungs. The dogwood tree in my front yard is in full bloom and so white that it nearly mirrors the snow from this past winter, the blooms are large and almost fluorescent.

The large red headed woodpecker which lives the Oak tree in the front of the house is slamming his head into a rotten branch and enjoying his breakfast. The other birds are singing a Sunday song of happiness to go along with Mr. Woodpeckers drumming and it becomes an orchestra of nature which no human band could ever replicate.

The sunrise is pink and purple, peeking up over Taylor’s ridge into our little valley saying “Howdy, how are ya?” I can almost hear my Dad’s voice from these same spring mornings years and years ago: “Rise and shine” he would shout. “Rise and shine.”

Well I have risen this morning, and as always I am optimistic as a new day is born that it will be better than the one before it. Who knows how I will feel about it, when Mr. Sun has made is entire journey across the sky tonight? I hope I am still optimistic. I hope all of my friends will find a sense of optimism today. I hope we will all find a renewed sense of giving today, and will act upon that sense of giving and help someone who needs helping. Wouldn’t that be a wonderful gift to give to go along with this wonderful gift of a day we have been given? I think so.

Sitting there watching Sergio Garcia finally win the Masters on Sunday, I like to remember back to my High School years and all of the times which I won that tournament. It was many times, as I remember….

I switched from baseball to golf after I had a knee injury while playing baseball. Old Doc Clemens wanted me to walk…even while I still had a cast on my injured left knee. My Dad liked golf, so he bought me a set of “Kroyden” golf clubs from one of the supervisors he knew at the mill. It was minus a 3 iron…which had gotten wrapped around a tree. Thinking back, I guess that’s why he got them so cheaply. The guy was giving up the sport. I still have the nine iron from that set. I used it for years and years around the greens. I chipped a lot of balls in the hole with that club. I won the Masters a couple of times with it.

I had a hole in one on number four at the Trion golf course once. It was, however, a two. I was playing with old friend of mine Steve Hammonds. I lined up that five iron and took a mighty first swing…..and…whiffed the ball. Totally missed it. I tried to play it off as a practice swing, but Hammond wouldn’t let me. I changed clubs to a four iron and swung a little more gently and the ball took one hop and bounced right into the hole. “Hole in one” I yelled. “No, said Steve…it’s a two” Ah well, at least it was a birdie. The only hole in one in all my years of playing and it would have to be a two!

Being a solitary soul, I played many rounds alone. Those were the “majors” for me. I can’t tell you all the amazing shots which I made, all of the commentary from the announcers. (I didn’t know who they were back then…but they later turned into the voices of Pat Summerall and Ken Venturi) I made up all the acceptance speeches, held all of the “loving” cups with my name engraved into them. I won the “grand slam” many times over.

The golf course was my home away from home. I worked at the “pro shop” for a couple of years and learned a lot of neat new words from all of the older golfers, as the shop was just off of the first tee at Trion…with the river running right next to the fairway on the right. My friend Michael Brown and I dove into that muddy mess after a lot of tournaments and felt in the “gunk” with our hands, often coming up with dozens of balls which had found their way into the “wet” I mowed around the roughs and sloughs. (Lamar would NEVER trust me to mow the fairways or the greens) I caddied for the guys from Ware Shoals S.C., when they came down for their yearly match with the Trion supervisors. They paid better, especially as a caddy AND a player, I knew the course well.

My best tournament I ever played (with the exceptions of those imaginary ones) was in my Senior year at Trion High. There was a Fall tournament…a “Jaycees” tournament for the youth of the community. It was divided by age and I was in the “fourteen and over” group. I played excellent and consistent during this 27 hole day long affair. I had three 37’s for 111. Three over par. Some of the best golf I have ever played. The air was crisp and leaves were already starting to turn. The sun was gorgeous and temperature just loomed in the 70’s. The golf course was in immaculate condition. As I walked up onto the old clubhouse steps after my last round I just knew that I was going to finally get that trophy I wanted do badly. It would make up for losing the Region tournament low medalist by hitting my ball inside a 55 gallon trash can. I knew I could beat all the kids around town with my score. I hadn’t counted on an outsider from Savannah coming up and playing and shooting a final round 33 to post a 108 and win our age group. His Daddy Tommy had been pro at the Trion golf course some years back. Kid’s name was Andy Bean. He did go on to win a lot of money on the PGA tour…but that wasn’t any consolation to me at the time.

I haven’t played a round of golf since about 2004 or 2005. I think about playing from time to time but just don’t get out there and do it. Perhaps I’ll go play a round by myself someday soon just to get back into the “swing” of it. I can hear Pat Summerall’s voice now….”and Bowers chips the ball into the hole on the 18th, winning the 1975 Masters” Ahh the memories..both real and imagined.

It’s been a few days since I have walked around town, but I hope to go in the morning.

I need the fresh air to fill my lungs and reinvigorate my blood. I need the sunrise to refresh my spirit as it’s first rays peep over the crest of the ridge.

I need the solitude in order for my brain to reset itself.

More and more time is a blur, similar to standing next to the road very closely while a huge long bus passes by so very close….you can feel the whoosh of the air and brace yourself against the vacuum it creates as it tries to pull you into the road, under it’s wheels.

You feel like you are at fate’s carnival, watching the grim reaper throw darts at the balloons on the big backboard of life, trying to hit somebody’s brightly coloured existence and end it. He broke one of my high school classmates earlier this week. It got my brain to spinning thinking about that loss.

He’s relentless and random, that Father time. Doesn’t care a whit for any of us, rich or poor, low or high.

So I hope to go walk tomorrow and feel the wind on my face, and smell the grass people were out cutting today. I hope to see a hawk or a woodpecker, and smell bacon cooking. I know I’ll hear the local dogs barking but I won’t care. I’ll be busy living life and loving it.

‘

We are the gatherers of our experiences, no matter if we initiate them or if they are initiated by others, and through us, I believe God is able to experience all of that sum of those experiences. We believe in a creator who is all knowing, all seeing and all powerful…but that is not to say that our creator has experienced all things. If you are the author of a fictional novel, it is much different than if you are the author of a biography.

Sometimes the most beautiful things in the world are never heard or seen by other humans. There are rare times, when you stumble across them accidentally and they are so fleeting and unique that they can never be replicated.

I have written many times about my Grandfather, and how as a child I used to sit on the porch of his old house and watch and listen as he played his banjo. It’s one of my best memories.

The other day, one day this week, I was walking my regular route through town. It takes me past one of the town’s unusual resident’s house. He’s a man a little older than me who lives up on the hill behind the ballpark. He’s different. I was rounding the curve in the hill when I heard it…the banjo playing. But it was not just ANY old banjo playing. This was the Flat and Scruggs kind of banjo playing. This was blue grass roots. This was great playing. This playing made the leaves swirl in little circles in the air, and the needles of the pines lean in closer to hear.

At first I thought it was a professional recording, but then realized it was coming from the little white house on the hill with the name “Earp” on the mailbox. It was somebody playing live. Probably…most probably it was V.W. Earp, that different little man who lives there alone. I stopped there and eavesdropped on this playing. I don’t know what song it was. It didn’t matter. It was heavenly. Complicated, fast. The type of playing you wish you could do if you were a pro. I moved on reluctantly after five minutes, finishing my walk. I shook my head in wonder at the savant like talent of this man.

I had seen some of the other things he had done in the past. My good trade day friend, one of the Webb twins, (I can’t remember if it was Ronald or Donald) showed me a design that V.W. had drawn. It was a complicated and quite logical drawing of how to stop the flooding on the Chattooga River. I guess V.W. had given this to him some time back. It looked like something that Leonardo da Vinci might have done. It was a crude, but at the same time a simple and brilliant plan. Of course, nobody took it seriously. I wonder if it would have worked.

I think the Webb boys have a weekly “shack picking and playing” session somewhere, (don’t know for sure…never been invited to come!) I hope V.W. shows up there sometimes. It would be a shame for nobody else to ever hear that gorgeous music. I wonder if he has many friends. I see him out and about his house with his little white dog following him and I throw up my hand and say “hey” I’ve run into him at the local grocery store and talked with him for a few minutes at a time. Conversations which are strange and disjointed, but at the same time very interesting.

I marvel at people like this. I knew Mr. Earp was an unusual man. I grew up around him and his brother and I knew his father, but I can’t begin to comprehend this person. This outlandish “character” who on the outside is so incomprehensible to “normal” people, but who on the inside is such a talent and has such a tremendous intellect. A person who because of his eccentricities has a problem finding outlets for his talents, which will fit nicely into our societal norms. If you act a little different no matter if you cannot help it, it’s hard for people to take you seriously sometimes. There’s no doubt about it. Nowadays in schools perhaps things would develop differently. Back in our day in school… There just weren’t things available.

I’m glad I know this man and I’m glad I took that five minutes to listen to his music. I will always remember it.

…suppose all of the women who were ever burned at the stake as witches, or for heresy, were to rise in anger from their graves and seek revenge on the descendants of those who murdered them or caused them to be killed?

…or all of the ghosts of the Shamans and Elders, and the Chiefs of all the first people who lived in the Americas were to magically become zombies, like the ones in “the Walking Dead” and seek retribution for the diseases which decimated them, or the soldiers who cut down their woman and children left alone in their villages.

…imagine the fear which would reign if the spirits of all the lynched Negros, all of the abused and tortured slaves, could haunt the dreams of the offspring of those who caused their terrible and awful abuse.

..what if the Earth itself is silently plotting our demise because of all that we have done to harm her? The scars we have permanently left upon the land, and the species which no longer exist…many simply because they got in our way, or because we could easily exploit and manipulate them. Many died due to our greed.

why are we like this? At what point in human history did we decide that treating other humans as animals was ok, and that treating animals like dirt was our “right”, and that treating our home like it is disposable is even remotely wise? Why do those of us who do not want these things to be so, give power to those who have no soul?

I believe that people who care about not letting the terrible things which have plagued our history happen again, should exercise our right to treat those who would do them as criminals and outcasts not as leaders. We don’t need destroyers as leaders, we need builders of consensus and cooperation. We need people of compassion and love.

Can we find them soon enough?

I look to the future generations and hope. I look to the babies who are crawling and toddling for wisdom. I dream of technology which is yet to come for assistance.