Writing for Sanity's Sake

If we cannot help the weakest among us, then what kind of nation are we, really?

Feed the hungry. Children and Elderly.

Minister to the sick and dying.

Who needs a thirty million dollar house, really?

All the base and denigrating political talk at all levels disgusts me:

Close the hospitals, but make damn sure that highway gets paved for the second time in five years.

Take the money from the fight against Ebola and just use part of that to try and stop Zika. Microencephaly is a sure way to decrease the human population, but increase human suffering. And Ebola…heck that’s a non issue now. Except for where it isn’t.

Who removed the definition of logic from the dictionary, and when was it done? Does anyone even own a physical copy of Webster’s anymore, and if so is there an inch thick layer of dust on it…same as with most Bible s?

And…..

It’s not beyond the scope of possibilities, with our technology, for the super, ultra rich elite to have it in the back of their controlling and devious minds that their billions, and the power it can buy might one day in the not too distant future also buy them eternal human life. Remember “Freejack”? They do. Cheney’s favorite movie!

But, I rave on and rage on, and nobody cares a bit for the lunacy of one old man.

It’s good for me that I write on “virtual” paper now, cause I know what would happen if I wrote on real paper.

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.

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.
‘

Today would have been my Daddy’s 92 birthday if he’d been lucky and lived a bit longer. All of you who know me know how much I loved him. I talk about the things he tried to teach me quite often. I’ve compiled a few stories that I’ve written over time to say “Happy Birthday” I know we will meet again someday on way or another. I love you.

The Golfer- from 2018

Sitting here and watching the Masters golf tourney this Sunday afternoon, and thinking about how much my Dad used to like to watch this tournament. My Daddy was a sports fan, and golf was probably his favorite sport in which to participate.

He bought my first set of clubs for me when I was 13, an old set of second handed, left handed Kroydons. I got to where I loved that old set of clubs. It’s the only set of clubs I owned all the way through High School. No telling how many rounds of golf I got out of that 30 dollar set of clubs. I can’t count the good memories that came out of that old set of clubs. Great memories. I guess I probably played more rounds of golf with my Dad than with anybody else I know. Walked many a mile with those clubs slung over my shoulder at the golf course in Trion.

I can’t remember if I told him “thank you” for those old clubs, but he knew I was grateful. He couldn’t help but know, every time I hit a good shot, or made a putt…I could hear those “attaboys”

Tomorrow the “old man” would have been ninety, and even though it’s been almost eight years since he passed, I can still hear the echoes of those “attaboys” when I think about those rounds of golf we played.

From 2016

My Dad’s birthday is tomorrow, but as it is a Saturday, I walked to the old Trion cemetery today. He would have been 88 if he were still here, but will have been gone for 6 years come May the 22nd.

There isn’t a day that goes by in which I don’t hear him telling me something. As a matter of fact, when my phone alarm went off this morning I was dreaming about being in a meeting at the mill with Dad, Harold Peek, Herbert Bethune, and Mr Whittington…and I hadn’t come prepared! After I woke up, I was glad the alarm went off when it did cause I wasn’t looking forward to “splaining” whatever it was that they were unhappy about.

Fact is, I was in some meetings with those men for a very short period of time in the seventies. It’s really weird how your mind will turn your dreams in a certain direction at times. I wouldn’t mind being in a meeting with those men now…cause they are all gone, but I wouldn’t even mind being in hot water just so’s I could talk with them all again. They were all a pretty straight up bunch of men.

So I guess I will try and do something this weekend that’s constructive, and I won’t say I can’t cause my Daddy would tell me “Can’t never did do nothing”. (What is that…a triple negative…quadruple maybe?)

Miss you Dad.

Some Treasures are Memories

I usually go to Trade day on Tuesdays. If it’s a nice day, I have junk I need to sell. If it’s an “iffy” day like today, then I go around and look for “bargains” It’s kind of a fun thing. Like a treasure hunt.

Yesterday morning I thought it was going to be rainy, so I just went “treasure hunting”

The biggest treasure I found though, was in the form of an 88 year old man. His name is Mr. Sizemore and he used to be a loom fixer in the mill back in “the old days” He’s one of the few left. One of the few men who can personally tell you about fixing a “Dobbie” loom, or an “X1” One of the many men who worked there who I can remember as a child. One of the hard working men. The white t shirt and sweat soaked men you could see leaving that mill at 4 pm every day.

Mr. John talked with me over 20 minutes about my Dad and how he had worked for him when Dad was a supervisor in the mill.

He told me of a particular incident which he remembered when my Dad had asked him to fix a loom which wasn’t on his “upkeep” because he was the only man who could do it. Mr. John said he got it fixed and Dad told him how “super” of a fixer he was. That was my Dad’s big talent. Being able to get folks to do the things they were best at, even if it wasn’t their “upkeep” I’ve had a lot of people talk to me about how much they liked working for him. I know there were some who didn’t. Some who didn’t like him. There’s always that, no matter what you do.

That 20 minutes of talk with John Sizemore was the treasure I found yesterday.

If my Dad had lived, tomorrow would have been his 88th birthday. Same age as Mr. Sizemore.

Dad wasn’t much for Trade day, but I bet he would have been up for some fishing if were here. I know he would have been.

Memories of Dad- from 2014

Tomorrow is April 9th. My Daddy would have been 86 years old if he
was still here. It’s hard to believe it will have been 4 years this May since he has been gone.
We all have Daddys. Some of us have great relationships with them, some don’t. My relationship with my Dad was a good one. He taught me a lot. He was not a perfect man by any means, but neither are any of us.
Daddy taught me an important lesson back when I was about 10 years old. We went fishing down in Gore. I was trying to catch bream, and Daddy was “bass fishing” He was using some kind of “shyster” plug….with three big hooks on it. I was just down the bank from him a little bit and I caught a little old bream. I went running down to show him, but didn’t holler or even say “hey” Dad was in the middle of a cast and as I ran up behind him he drew the rod back to where I was standing, and one of those hooks caught me in the right ear. Went plumb through my earlobe. If I had known he was gonna do that, and knowing what I do now I would have just asked him to drive me to the jewelry store and let me get a gold stud. It would have been kinda’ weird for 1960 though.
As it was, once Daddy knew he had hooked me, he hollered quite loud at me and then dropped the rod and grabbed me to access the damage. We ended up going to see old Dr. Clemens who cut the hook with a pair of wire cutters and pulled it out. “Boy, you gonna’ need a tetanus shot” he said. I hadn’t cried a lick the whole time with a shyster in my ear, but the dang tetanus shot hurt like mad and I cried like a baby.
Dad felt bad about hooking me…though it wasn’t his fault at all. I was the one that had snuck up behind him. I did learn to stay out of the way of a man casting a line with a baited hook on it that day. I also learned that parents can be scared too, especially when they accidentally hurt one of their kids. Dad reacted in the moment by hollering, and then by hugging. I’ve done the same thing over the years with my children. The initial scare…..and the startled reaction of hurting someone you love, and then the empathetic reaction of seeing they are hurt….but ok.
Dad took me fishing many more times after that, but I always got the exhortation at the start of our trip “Stay out from behind me when I’m casting son!” he said. “I will Daddy, I will….”

So, another year is quickly passing. Next month Daddy will have been gone for a decade. A lot of things have happened in that 10 years. New great grandchildren he would have loved to have known. A heart bypass for me that he could have told me about from first hand experience. Politics On which he would have had some of his own unique opinions. Now, this pandemic.

I have dreamed of him and Mom and my grandparents a lot lately, and I am always comforted by those dreams. It’s like they are all telling me things will be ok. That really helps especially coming from them. See you all again sometime.

Today is the day which is really the central core of Christianity. I know that tomorrow is the day on which Christ came back to life. But on this day, he lay dead in the grave and like any other human being he experienced “death” itself. Jesus did not rise in his same body, or form. He arose from the dead in a new body, a transfigured body. He showed us that although we die it is possible through him to do the same thing which he did. He told us, that whosoever believed in him, should not perish but have eternal life. It took some time for the people who knew him the best to recognize him, just as it takes time for us to recognize what really being a follower of Christ is all about. When the dawn breaks in the morning, I hope to see it. I hope to smile and say thank you to our Creator for another day. I will want to tell everyone,…everyone that I love them and that God loves them, no matter where they are or what they are doing. Tell everyone to forgive me for anything I have ever done to cause them sorrow. Give forgiveness which is not asked for nor sought after. Christ’s love is unconditional, and it does transfigure a person to something which they cannot be on their own. How can my love be less unconditional? If we followed Christ’s guidelines which he laid out for us during his last three years of life, we would have peace on Earth and love for each other. Jesus loved us, and he proved it. He loved ALL of humanity, and he proved it. Can we do any less and still call ourselves Christians?

From 2015:

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called the children of God.

In this world, in this day and age…how many peacemakers do you suppose there are as opposed to “agitators”

In the sixties we would make the peace sign, and we meant it. We wore the peace symbol and we meant it. We pictured the dove of peace in a world of war. We pictured an end to nuclear weapons. We decried the warlike status of our country.

Now we are called “old hippies” or worse. We are scoffed at as irrelevant. We are blamed for the way the returning vets from Nam were treated. Nothing could be further from the truth. I know, because I was there…then..and now. The same entity, the American government was responsible for forgetting our vets then, and they are responsible for “creeping” us back into war again now…

I for one want no more wars. They do not solve any problems. They only always perpetuate them. I see a new presidential election on the horizon and I see myself voting for someone who is against starting new wars. We need a peacemaker, after all they shall be called the children of God, and that’s not a bad endorsement.

Where the north wind meets the sea
There’s a river full of memory
Sleep, my darling, safe and sound
For in this river all is found
In her waters, deep and true
Lay the answers and a path for you
Dive down deep into her sound
But not too far or you’ll be drowned
Yes, she will sing to those who’ll hear
And in her song, all magic flows
But can you brave what you most fear?
Can you face what the river knows?
Where the north wind meets the sea
There’s a mother full of memory
Come, my darling, homeward bound
When all is lost, then all is found

To set your mind purposefully to hurt another human being physically or mentality, unless it is in defense of yourself or family, is a sorry thing.

With what little time we have here on Earth, why do we always seem to be at odds with each other over something, and mostly those somethings are none of our business anyway. What harm is a little tolerance and a little balance from all!

What person in history has always had their own way in everything? What person was created more or less equal than another? We are all born and we all die…of that we are certain, but it is what we do in between which defines us. Use kindness first, and if that doesn’t work, then move on to somewhere where it does.

Try a little harder to get along.

The definition of Resurrection:

res·ur·rec·tion (rz-rkshn)
n.
1. The act of rising from the dead or returning to life.
2. The state of one who has returned to life.
3. The act of bringing back to practice, notice, or use; revival.
4. Resurrection Christianity
a. The rising again of Jesus on the third day after the Crucifixion.
b. The rising again of the dead at the Last Judgment.

If it’s in Webster’s dictionary, it has to be true.
The seminal belief of a person who calls themselves a Christian has to, it has to involve this. If there is no resurrection there is no basis for Christianity. We may disagree on many, many other things having to do with the nature of our beliefs, and God allows us to do that. All the hows, whys, variations, arguments, different practices, bells, whistles and sermons mean nothing without Christ’s proof that death can be overcome. I don’t know exactly what things are going to be like after I die, but I know that one day I will….we all will be resurrected. Let us love others as Christ loved us, let us drive away hate and intolerance. If Christ could ask from the cross for forgiveness for the VERY people who were crucifying him what should WE do. Have a wonderful day everyone.

Being really tired after driving ten hours today (my choice…as Paula offered) but being that tired and then eating a quick bite, I went out to walk. I don’t know why, but I had a quick and fleeting thought that I should call my Dad and let them know we got back ok……

Why did I think that?? It’s will be five years in May since Daddy died, and I thought I should call? I shook it off, and continued to walk around this old mill town. “Why did I ever stay here?” I wondered

My Dad called me, back in the summer of 1974. He knew I wasn’t liking my new job fresh out of school, and liked living in Toccoa even less. Kirsten was two and the apartments we were living in were terrible. Our cat “Hector” had gotten run over and killed. The security was awful. I couldn’t envision raising our little girl there.

Dad had talked to some people, and I had a job as a “management trainee” if I wanted it. I thought about it.

Could I make a good life in a cotton mill town for my little family? The schools were good. I knew people. I called my Dad back: “I’ll take the job” I said. So we moved back “home”

I am not sure it was a perfect decision. We have ridden the roller coaster. I know my wife has had a difficult time in some ways. I know many people here. I grew up here. She knew nobody, and in a small town that’s a problem. I am so sorry that many times she was “Larry’s wife” That’s not much of a description for the clever and caring person who keeps me straight.

I had my problems over the years with jobs, with finances, with so many things. So, I called Dad a lot for advice and help. He never once…not once…refused to help me. He chewed my ass out, yes even as a young adult, if he thought it was necessary. It was. Certainly at times it was. Whenever we went off for a vacation or a long stay he’d tell me to call when we got back. “Just for peace of mind”

So I guess that’s where that flashback came from this afternoon. Either that, or part of his spirit still inhabits this one horse town we call home. I’m not so certain that’s not so, as Rue and Eli seem to “know” him…having both looked at his picture and called him “Papa” or “Tarpy” without having been told who he was. Who knows. Not me for sure…