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“Time heals all wounds”. That’s how the old saying goes, but it’s not really true especially when it concerns losing someone you love.

Time simply allows a scab to grow over whatever wound has been dealt to us. It’s a permanent scab, which never heals. Some are thicker than others, but it only takes the right thing to rip off even the hardest of protections. Then the wound is as fresh ever. A picture, a song, a sunny day, something someone says, seeing a certain person, being at a certain place, even just opening your eyes to a new day. Triggers that open up old wounds are all around us.

Sometimes, even time does not partially heal. That’s the other non truth about that old saying. Depending on the person, and on the wound….it may never scab over. When that occurs, there is a constant feeling which can vary from a nagging annoyance, to an agonizing, searing, nerve wracking hurt. How you feel just depends on how well you distract yourself from the pain that day.

Nothing in this life is simple, nor do all generalities apply to all people. Sometimes even the toughest of humans need to seek professional counseling and help.

Being well meaning and concerned about other people, especially when it comes to the grieving process can be a double edged sword. A little support helps, but too much may hurt. When unsure, the best policy is “first do no harm”. Back off and stay quiet, and give others the space to try and develop their scab on their own.

That’s all it will ever be though. Just a scab over a wound in the heart, which will never fully heal. It’s always there, believe me I know.

There will always be obstacles in our path. People who want to bring us down. Organizations that tell us what to do, who to be and how to be. Always remember that we are individual minds and that nobody can take away the privacy of our inner thoughts and the singularity of our being. When outside influences are acting against us we can retreat within ourselves and find peace. Life is too short to let the world totally rule and ruin our journey.

This lovely cloudy morning has changed into a beautiful sunny day. It’s like a colorful and interesting caterpillar changing into a wondrous and unique butterfly.

I keep hoping and questioning whether or not we humans are still in our “caterpillar” stage. Will we leave behind our prejudices, hatred, mistrust, violence, bigotry, covetousness, and anger and embrace the beauty that can reside in each of us if we will only let it out. Can we leave the husk of all that is bad behind and soar into a new paradigm of living?

Many will say that only God can bring true peace to Earth, but even so I question why humanity would not want to try and evolve to a more loving species without the intervention of a divine being. I believe we have it within us… Otherwise why do butterflies exist?

If you have loved the people around you during your life, then every time you meet a gray haired old man, think of your grandfather. Did you go fishing or hunting? Did he teach you how to plant a tomato, or how to sharpen your knife?

When you meet a gray haired woman, think of your grandmother. Did she always call you “sweetie” or “darlin'” even when you were in your twenties and beyond? Did she ever make a bad biscuit? Was her cornbread the best you ever ate? Did she always make the bed for you, or give you 50 cents for the ice cream truck. Did she tell you no as much as your Mom?

When you deal with people who are trying to get you to do the right thing, think about your parents. You didn’t always want to do what they told you, but…did you love them anyway? Did they pay for things you took for granted? Your blue jeans or your boots? Did they wait up late at night until you got back home? Did they teach you to drive? Did they have misty eyes when you moved out of the house to live on your own? If they did…you didn’t see it, they didn’t let you.

When you see a younger person, rebellious…with different ideas about how to live life, think of your son or your daughter. Headstrong or graceful. Know it all, or know nothing. Did you love them anyway? Do you still? Have they changed? Have you?

When you see a little child, blonde or black headed. Blue eyes or brown. Smiling up at the clouds in the sky. Singing the “ABC” song, and reading you a book…in gibberish you could never understand. Stacking blocks and knocking them across the room. Running at full speed and tripping over their own feet. Growing so very quickly that days seem like hours and years seem like weeks. Grinning up at you so sweetly. Laying in your lap napping.

When you see a little yapping dog, or a big gently mutt, or a purring kitty, or even those who run free in the streets and are not cared for, do you….would you…think back on a beloved pet you had at some point during your life. How would you treat them?

When we see people who are perfect strangers, we must think that all people we see are somebody’s grandparents, parents, children and grandchildren. No matter what their race, creed, color, sexual orientation, religion, etc., etc., etc. No matter where they are, or where you are. Everyone is someone to someone else.

Life is not only just a circle and a cycle, but a circle within a circle, and a cycle of many things, for many people. We cannot know what anyone else is going through in their lives. I’ll tell you this, sometimes I can barely keep up with what’s going on in my own life!

We jump to conclusions. We judge based on looks, or based on information we hear second hand. We speak first without thinking about what we are saying.

As an old Clint Black song once said: “Put yourself in my shoes, walk a mile for me!”

I know for sure I ought to be doing more of that. I wish we all would do more of that.

A busy day, the end of a busy week. We have been with all the “little” Grandbabies at different times this week. They are tiny tornadoes…but they are our babies. Eli, Rue, and Evie. I couldn’t love them more.

They remind me that once upon a time, my other grandchildren were also babies, but are growing up and out of our “sphere of influence” My first Jessica Brown is a beautiful young woman now, in faraway Huntsville most of the time, working hard on her new job. Auttie Bowers my Blondie, is a junior. Going to the prom tomorrow (praying for no storms) Tyler Holland is married and working hard on the road. I passed my 16 year old Chelsea Holland out playing tennis this afternoon with Max, and had to stop my walk and try to show off. Then there is my little teeny bopper Olivia Livy Brown who is getting prettier every day. I know I’m an embarrassment to them, but just can’t help it.

I raised my three children the best I could. There were hard times, financially and emotionally. I commuted to work out of town all my working years, and had less time for my kids than I wanted with them. I bet I have put in at least a million miles between 1978 and 2011…my “driving” years. I got to know Ludlow Porch, NPR, and Neal Boortz really well over the radio airwaves. I listened to more country music than a Nashville producer.

My wife was with the kids more when they were little. I know that her presence helped them tremendously. Their Grandparents were a big part of their life, especially my “larger than life” Daddy.

My kids are my friends now, although I am never beyond still giving “parental” advice and serving as a gravel hauler, furniture mover, fashion supplier, taxi service and much more…all very willingly albeit grumpily sometimes. There is nothing I wouldn’t do…well almost nothing, for them. They know it. My family has always come first.

Brings me back to the babies. The grandchildren of our “old” age. They will never remember Paula and I as anything other than the gray headed grandparents. Evie especially, and hopefully a brother or sister for her in a few years. Perhaps they will remember some wisps and whispers of our caring for them. And oh..how I do care for them….all of them, child and grandchild.

Many, many years ago I decided I would probably never have a profession as such, other than being Dad and Papa. I think it was the right choice.

Lately, “for no particular reason” as Forrest Gump would say, I have been uncharacteristically sad. I wish I knew why.

Things have been going ok, have been going relatively well actually.

I was cleaning out some things at my rented storage building today and found an old photo album which had been misplaced. It had photos of my grandparents and my folks, my Aunts and Uncles…many long dead now. One of the pictures was of Mom and Dad, and Uncle Pinky and Aunt Sis sitting at a card table playing Rook….had to be about 1974.

They used to get together quite often when we lived on 8th street, since they lived right next door. We boys and girls who lived on 8th street also would get together almost every day and play. God, there were a bunch of us there in the 60’s.

Lemme see: Me and Mike. Rickey Bowers, Mike and Lynn Brown, David Hayes and his three sisters, Debo Spears, Barbecue Ingle, Stanley Crawford, Russell Fox, Hiram Sizemore, Alan Butler (sometimes at his grandparents) the Butler girls…three of them, sisters. There was Kenneth Treadaway, (Coway drive…as was Debo) and sometimes Ken Stephens would wander over from 7th street. Did I forget anybody? Probably.

It was precisely this time of the year, every year, that we were getting geared up for summer. Baseball and swimming. Fishing, golf, and nightly games of “freedom”. Around the clock monopoly marathons at Hiram’s house. Guitar playing. Spending the night at somewhere else besides home.

Waiting for the the rolling store and the ice cream truck. Reading comic books all day long. Our lives back then was a combination of “Leave it to Beaver” and “The Wonder Years”.

We, the white middle class kids of America growing up in the fifties and sixties, had mostly wonderful lives. Sure, there were problems. But we tend to forget those. We tend to dwell on the good for the most part. It’s just how humans think. Why else would a woman ever have more than one child?

So I suppose my recent wave of sadness is simply nostalgia biting me in the butt. It’s missing the people who are gone, and the times we had.

But…I’m still looking forward to tomorrow…and this week. My little grandchildren, my big ones, my kids. All of my family. We make new memories now for a new generation of our humanity to one day be nostalgic about. It’s the way of life.

And that’s how it should be, although it’d be good to play a game of Rook…or even “Magic” again…while there’s still some time.

Last week before Easter Sunday, that I would polish my black shoes before going to church today. They were scuffed up something bad. You see, I’m not much of a shoe polisher anymore. There probably hasn’t been a bottle of black shoe polish in this house for YEARS!

I brought my shoes out to my chair, and opened up the bottle and put them on the nice little blue rug that sits in front of my chair. I took the top off of the polish, and opened it up. Suddenly, somewhere in the back of my head I heard a voice say:

“You better put down a piece of newspaper on that floor before you do that!” It was the voice of my Dad…coming out of so long ago. You see, my Dad believed in putting that newspaper down on the floor as you didn’t DARE get a drop of shoe polish on my Mom’s clean floor. He also believed in polishing your shoes EVERY week, especially since we generally had only one pair of shoes at a time for both school and weekends. Scuff ’em up during the week, and polish ’em up on Sunday morning before Church. Every Sunday morning, for so, so many years. After I grew up, I grew out of the habit.

I thought about getting up and grabbing a piece of last weeks Summerville News, an appropriate usage for that periodical after a first read. Nah…I said, I’ll be careful. I got through the fist shoe just fine…looking good. As I started on the second shoe the little foam top wasn’t putting out as much polish as I though it should so I pushed down on it. Mistake!! It slooshed out and about half off it ran off the shoe onto the rug. I finished polishing the shoe and went and got a rag and some Windex and did the best I could to get it up. Left a little black stain despite the best I could do.

I thought about getting some carpet cleaner, but I’m just gonna leave the spot there. Every time I look at it I might just remember to do what Daddy tells me the next time. You might be able to ignore your “raisings” but you never forget ’em.

I mentally wished a Happy Easter to my Dad and Mom….I will seeya’ again someday, somehow, and thanks for all the advice you gave me for those 60 years we were together in this life!!

Days

Every morning when I wake up, the first thing I do is to be thankful for one more day. Then, most of the time during the day I find myself being thankful for simple moments. They are the type of moments that each of us should have, and should treasure.

The kissing of the baby’s neck. The hug from the little kids. The taste of something decent to eat, the smell of coffee, the song which touches your heart, and brings a tear to your eye. The glance from a familiar eye which says “I love you”.

Those are real moments, and when it all is considered, those moments are all we have. The past is gone, with every breath we take, it is fleeing swiftly by us. The future is simply conjecture. We plan on doing things which will happen “in the future” but it’s not certain.

A lot of times during the day, especially now, at my age, I find myself questioning life. Uncertain life, and if I travel outside my little venue, either physically or via this computer or any other electronic means, I become aware of things which I cannot understand.

I can’t understand the hate which has resurfaced in our country. I cannot remember a time in my life, except for perhaps in the 50’s or early 60’s when hatred was so wide spread and naked for all to see. I never thought to ever see a time when a swastika was burned openly in order for people of one race to intimidate people of other races or creeds. There is no love in that act, only hatred. There is nothing to be gained by that act, only loss. There are only lost moments in doing something of that nature. There are only lost chances at being able to live together in harmony at those moments. There is nothing Godly happening there. There is nothing divine happening there. There is absolutely no love being exhibited there. There is no sense in it. There is not use in it. There is nothing to be gained by it, other than one moment of the searing satisfaction that an orgasm of hatred can bring. It is ugly, and is the antithesis of everything that anyone who claims a religion of any kind can muster.

We human beings have so very little time on this planet, and hatred is a total waste of that time.

When and if I wake up in the morning, I will again be thankful for the day…..for the moments which fill that day. I’m going to continue to love. I do not, and cannot believe however, that by staying silent anymore about the bad things which are going on, I am doing what is right. I will fight hate, although I will do it in my own way, and I hope and pray that everyone else who hopes for a better world for our children and our grandchildren will do the same. Forcefully, but peacefully… perhaps we can prevail and a better world will be the result.

I realize now that there will never be enough time in my life to do all the things I had planned on doing when I was young. I hate to use the phrase “bucket list”, but I am going to have reevaluate thing somewhat. Which things have true importance? What is a lasting legacy to leave my loved ones? What is it that I really NEED to do versus what I WANT to do? I had a lot of big “plans” when I was a kid. I wanted to be a writer, a pro golfer, a baseball player. I think most of all I wanted to be a Father.

For some reason that was a goal which seemed of paramount importance to me. Since moving last weekend and going through mounds of “stuff” downsizing is an absolute must!

I don’t have enough time left in my life to deal with everything I have “collected” over the years, and I don’t want my children and grandchildren to have to deal with my mess when I am gone. I tell you, nothing changes your attitude like a close brush with death. Guess what I’m trying to say is I still got a lot to do, so there is still a LOT to live for. I once read a “Calvin and Hobbes” cartoon where Calvin was saying that with all the things he had to do, he would live “forever” Being mortal, I know I can’t do that, but I do have a LOT to live for so I am going for at least 100! Ya’ll have a good day!

Common Sense: Not looking both ways before crossing the road. Not touching a stove eye which is red. Don’t sign anything without reading it first. Don’t eat undercooked pork, or a raw ghost pepper.

Don’t encourage ignorance. Don’t put up with rudeness. Don’t forget to say please, thank you, and excuse me. Don’t be bigoted.

Don’t be sexist. Don’t forget to brush your teeth before you go to the dentist. Don’t forget to vote. Always wear clean underwear. Don’t shoot a motorcycle gang a bird.

Don’t forget to learn as much as you can about everything you can. Don’t argue unless you know you are right. Don’t be stubborn about changing your mind when you’re wrong. Don’t contradict yourself.

Always fasten your seatbelt. Don’t fly unless it’s in a plane. Don’t criticize anyone’s personal beliefs.

Thomas Paine once wrote a book by the same name. Read it, it’s an important part of history. Benjamin Franklin wrote a bunch of good common sense sayings in Poor Richard’s Almanac. Another important book.

Apple Cider vinegar and local honey are good for what ails you. Wear an orange vest in the woods during deer season.

Love your neighbor, and that doesn’t just apply to the people you live near. Have compassion and pity for those with less than you. Try to understand where even the angry people are coming from.

Hug somebody. Get enough sleep……