Category: compassion

Early memories

I was recently asked what my earliest childhood memory is. I always cringe when asked about a childhood memory. The fact is, I either have a terrible memory or I have suppressed an awful lot of my childhood. Given my penchant for mercilessly beating the crap out of myself for things that happened forever ago, one would think that my memory is tremendous. I will compromise and say that I have a great memory but it doesn’t go back very far in my childhood.

But I do remember one particular toy very well, let me tell you about it.

The “Hoppity Hop”, the 70’s greatest invention. A big rubber ball with handles that you can hop around on. Every kid in America had one and I was no exception. I brought mine everywhere. Including on vacation to Papoose Pond Camping area in the State of Maine.

Pappoose Pond was a favorite destination of ours. Mom and Dad were Square Dancers (go ahead and deride deride) in the 70’s. They had a lot of fun and made many friends. Those friends had kids of course, and that made it fun for me. Every summer, as many as 8 families would take 2 weeks off for the annual Jamboree. Long after Square Dancing was done, the same families would meet. This was great for me, as a young child I always looked forward to my “2 week friends”, and as we got older we managed to get together more often.

I’ll never forget certain details of those excursions. For starters, the Pond was incredibly murky, so much so that we didn’t do a lot of swimming. I also remember that it rained several days every year and the dirt road’s multitude of potholes became a great way to get filthy as we plowed our bicycles through. I fondly remember the adults all getting together for wine coolers, crackers and cheese; a ritual that would ultimately span decades.

But one of my favorite memories was the playground. As far as playgrounds were concerned, this one was the Taj Mahal. At least 2 huge Jungle Gyms, sandboxes, the Rocking Horses on giant springs, and the tallest Swing Set I have ever seen.

If I were to visit there today, and nothing would please me more, those swings are most likely not there anymore. This would be due to the simple fact that they were dangerous.

Today’s generation could never handle them and the pussified parents of today wouldn’t allow their children to swing 20 feet into the air. Additionally, the swings were made of wood. Hard wood with edges that can cause damage. How do I know?

I was hit in the face with one.

My family, cousins and all, spent a great deal of time in that playground. One sunny day in August, I was bouncing around on my Hoppity Hop, having a grand ole time. My cousins, all 6 of them were taking turns on the monstrous swing set. To this day I am still not sure why, but I think I can safely say that natural stupidity was a part of it, I hopped my way directly into the path of the swings. I remember much shouting, my mother’s voice stands out, and then looking up. My older cousin Deb was mid-air, on a downward trajectory yelling at the top of her voice for me to move out of the way. As I type this I recall that I was watching this as if in slow-motion.

Too late. I was struck and I flew through the air. Not an exaggeration, I flew at least 6 feet. I had been struck in the face and there was no shortage of yelling and screaming as family members and strangers ran to assist me. Amazingly, I was fine. I had a deep cut under my left eye and a headache, but I was relatively unscathed.

I was taken to the hospital where the doctor stitched my cut and made the official diagnosis that I have the hardest head in recorded history. He also made the tacit observation that I was the luckiest kid alive. A mere inch higher and I would have lost an eye.

I will never forget the concern on my family’s faces, and the face of my cousin Mike, whose face told me that I would be called a dumbass forever.

Dumbass is not far off, but I have amended it a bit.

That’s “Lucky” dumbass to you, sir.

A new challenge

I can see myself laying back on a therapist’s sofa, I can feel the beady Freudian eyes studying me, I can hear the words coming out of my mouth as if I was there, “Dr., help me. I’m dating a liberal.”
“Veeelll”(my best Austrian accent on paper), “how does dat make you feel?”
“I don’t know yet, it’s never happened before. But I think I like it.”
“You do”?, he inquires. “I thought zat you were a conservative, with a, how do you say eh…Podcast”.
“I am”, I paused. “This is uncharted territory for me.:
“Vell then you should embrace it zen”, he instructed.
“I will, as soon as I figure out how.”

Of course, I am not really on a therapist’s couch but I am in the grips of a crisis in my dating life, I am dating a strong and intelligent woman whose politics are very different from my own.
I can tell you that initially, it gave me fits, but now I am perfectly OK with it.

It’s been my history that I have, for unknown reasons, dated women who share my conservative leanings. It has never been a preference that I sought out, it merely worked out that way. In the dating process of getting to know someone, political leanings, or interest level at least, usually come up. I’ve dated some very political women and others who couldn’t care less. I gravitate towards somewhat political women because I believe that it reflects awareness and intelligence to want to know what is happening in the world, and I have little regard or interest in people who don’t care. So it tends to work itself out early on in the process. This one, it took a while before the liberal revealed itself. Not for any particular reason other than one really great one; it didn’t come up because we had so many other things, great things, to talk about as were getting to know each other that it never came up.

When it did come up, it did so in a somewhat comical manner. If memory serves, she may have said, “ok, let’s get this out there” or something similar. She then proceeded to say something that is very contradictory to my beliefs. I laughed it off, we talked about it and we agreed to disagree. I was relieved to realize that I was able to hear opposing viewpoints and make the critical distinction that it isn’t personal, I wasn’t being attacked, and it was up to me how I chose to process it. Except for one comment she made, which showed me that she was a little left of an Independent, a comment that made me question her sanity for a moment, I was surprisingly ok with it. We had a spirited conversation and it ended on a good note.
But after we talked, I had serious reservations about whether I could be with someone with such different ideas. See, I view my convictions as more than just opinions, I believe that it is an extension of our belief system, our character, dare I say our values. My fear was that my new interest was so different in her actual makeup that we wouldn’t get along. I spent the night and most of the next day thinking about it.
I think she did as well. Here’s why. She believes that Conservatives are unfeeling and compassionate, I feel that liberals are misguided and unrealistic. And my fear was that she was the worst type of liberal, the “all about party” person that rejects all opinions that don’t fit their narrative. This could have gone either way. As it would work out, we talked about it the next day. The results were surprising; we agreed to disagree.

I was relieved. It then occurred to me that there was one thing I was overlooking. She was different. Unlike many people, she had educated and informed opinions backed by genuine compassion. I cannot emphasize how much value I place on that. I would like to believe that I espouse my beliefs and convictions similarly. I’m not angry and closed off, instead I truly care. That is the great equalizer. Also, it occurred to me a larger matter; I really liked her and the notion of losing an opportunity to get to know this interesting, intelligent and accomplished woman over politics is unacceptable.

It hasn’t crossed my mind since I came to that realization. I would go so far to say that she is good for me. She is making me put my money where my mouth is. I wanted to be more open-minded, here’s my opportunity. If I lose her, it won’t be over my like or dislike of a candidate or party. I have so many ways at my disposal to ruin this opportunity, I don’t need politics. There is a bigger picture here. One that hopefully includes her.
Relationships should include challenging each other. I welcome it. I hope she does as well.

Chris in the morning

Perhaps I am easy to excite and easier to please, but I so enjoy it when I see a movie or show that I once loved show up on a streaming service. Given the amount and quality of memories something from the past can provide, I look forward each month to seeing what shows up on streaming. Last month I was nothing less than thrilled to see that one of my favorite shows ever, Northern Exposure, arrived on Prime Video.
Set in the tiny and fictional town of Cicely, Alaska (filmed in Virginia) the mostly Drama with a dash of comedy took a common theme, life in a small town, to an entirely new level. The show centers on a New York Doctor who agrees to enter into a contract with the State of Alaska in exchange for payment of his medical school debt.
He got less than he bargained for, the town of Cicely was as underdeveloped as it was underpopulated. Initially, Dr. Joel Fleischman, played by Rob Morrow, acted as you would expect an uptight Northerner would. He initially scoffed at the town and its people, considering the town podunk and its people simpletons. The true charm of the show is how the narrative is flipped on its head. The characters are all fascinating in their own way. Simple, yes. But simple in a non-pretentious and unassuming way.
You have Maggie the pilot, played by the always lovely Janine Turner. I had forgotten most of the show but I never forgot my crush on Maggie. Strong, fiery, and independent Maggie also possessed vulnerability and grace.
Then there is Hollings and Shelly, owners of the only restaurant in town. Hollings is in his 60’s and Shelly wasn’t old enough to drink when they married. But their chemistry and individual characters lent great depth to the show.
Then there’s Ed, one of the many prominent Native American characters, Native American people and their cultures are prominently featured on the show. Ed is a young cinephile and his love of movies appears frequently in story lines.
Maurice Minnefield is a wealthy, legacy-obsessed former Astronaut who is dedicated to making Cicely a real town. He is a very prominent character as he is always interacting, influencing, buying and otherwise trying to impose his will. One of his local possessions is a small radio station, where the host can be seen doing his show through a big storefront window on Main Street.
Enter my favorite character, Chris Stevens (a young John Corbett of My Big fat Greek Wedding fame), host of the only show in town, the Chris in the morning show. Chris is a highly intelligent ex-con who eked out a living in Cicely, giving the impression that Cicely was one more stop on a still undefined journey and he could pack up his trailer at any time and move on. I can’t say enough how much I enjoy his character.
Quirky, enigmatic, brilliant, educated, empathetic, passive and passionate at the same time, contemplative and capable of going off on a rant at any moment, Chris is a breath of fresh air. In the course of his show, he reads local news and discusses local gossip, and reads heavy material from obscure books and classics alike. He plays music, takes calls, and at other times he simply leans back in his chair and offers a personal diatribe on whatever is on his mind. He speaks of the frailties of man, discusses metaphysics, waxes poetic and bares his soul to the small town. And they hang on his every word. Outside of the radio show, he lives a meager (by choice) existence as he indulges in whatever whim appeals to him. Be it Art, reading, romping with his woman dujour (he is quite the lothario), or getting out into the nature of Alaska to get in touch with it. He seems, except when he is in the throes of an occasional existential crisis, to be unencumbered by the anchors that hold the rest of the world back. We learn a new tidbit about him every episode and with every revelation, I realize more and more that if I could be anyone in the world, I would be Chris Stevens.

What I wouldn’t give to be unchained, present, grateful, and at peace with the world around me. How I desire to be free from my own mind and not experience worry and angst. To be able to reconcile my past and not only make peace with it but also recognize and value what the experience taught. I would love to be the person who reacts to a hostile person with a “hey, it’s your journey, man” type attitude. Oh, to be a free spirit that isn’t fazed by anything.

I’ve been binging Northern Exposure and it has been nothing but a positive experience. One unexpected benefit is that I have a fresh desire to think like I;m from a small town. Because I am, and I have lost some of the benefits that come with it. Small-town people believe in honesty, if for no other reason that it’s costly to get caught lying in a small town. People from small towns believe in integrity, because even though doing the right thing doesn’t require an audience everyone is still watching. Small-town people believe in community in general and caring for your neighbor in particular. I love small towns and that’s probably why I love this show.

My favorite furball

One of my earliest memories was of the day we went to adopt who would become my best friend in the world. Not to put too fine a point on it, but there were times when he was my only friend. He was very hairy, didn’t say much, and smelled awful when he was wet. But he was a great listener. I suppose that’s par for the course for a Brittany Springer Spaniel.

I don’t remember everything about the day but the important details come to mind. I think I was 4 years old. I remember it was a very long drive. I also remember a long dirt driveway and the dust our big Ford truck kicked up. I remember there were many dogs running off-leash inside a fenced-in area, which is my true idea of what heaven must look like. I remember my Mother calling it the “Daisy Hill Puppy Farm”, an homage to The Peanuts, and the origin story of my favorite cartoon character Snoopy. Incidentally, Snoopy was introduced to the world 3 months before I was born.

I was playing with the dogs. Even to this day, if I’m in a room withI’m not even sure I knew why we were there, it was a regular occurrence to get in the car and just go somewhere. My Dad knew so many people, I stopped asking questions and got in the car when he said “Let’s go for a ride”. So up until the moment when they came over to me with a beautiful brown and white Spaniel with kind eyes, I wasn’t aware that we were leaving with a dog. It was all a big surprise.

We gave him the name Friskie. I think there was a dog food of that name. It was a fine name for him. He immediately became my friend, my ear and shoulder, and my companion. Wherever I went on foot, he would be right next to me. When I wasn’t home, he would be perched in his favorite spot, on top of the concrete stairs at the front door. Most days, when I came home from school, I would find him there, tail thumping excitedly on the concrete, his full attention on me. It makes me sad to think of the times, and they were often, that I would walk by him without acknowledging him as I dealt with whatever childhood and then teen angst that was bothering me. He always forgave me and got some good head scratches in return. If only I had known back then that while my life had many aspects to it, Friskie only had one. My family.

Not long after we adopted him, I learned why (as well as a 5-year-old can know about purebreds) a valuable Hunting Dog with a documented pedigree (papers) was at a shelter and not by the side of a hunter. As a pup, for some reason, he became afraid of loud noises. He was gun-shy. This rendered him useless as a Bird Dog (Brittany Springer Spaniels are class A bird dogs) and he was placed for adoption.  I do not know if my parents knew this when they adopted him, I would like to believe the shelter told them, but even if they did there could have been no way to be prepared for the first Thunderstorm or Fireworks. It was heartbreaking, no other word can come close, to see the terrified look in his eyes. The friendly sparkle in his eyes was replaced by abject terror and he was inconsolable. Many a 4th of July and weather event was spent holding him down with blankets and consoling him. One of the biggest arguments my dad ever had with a neighbor was over his use of a miniature Cannon on the 4th. My father asked him nicely to stop and the neighbor said “The hell with you, it’s just a dog” and thus ensued a feud that would span years.

Except for his crippling fear of loud noises, he was as good a family pet as anyone could ever hope for. He was loyal, playful, loving, and a part of the family in every possible way. He was also smart. Very smart. He picked up on verbal cues, knew an impressive amount of commands, as well as intuitive when it was required of him to be a support system. If you were down, he was lying next to you. If you pushed him away, he would sit before you and put his head on your lap. As a messed-up kid, and then teenager, our routine was that he would lie on his side and I would lay my head on him. I spent many hours with my Friskie pillow and I will always love him for that.

That, and one other small incident.

I lived on a busy street that led to the Middle and High School. Cars and School buses raced up and down it all day. Mostly on the way down. There was no fence on the edge of my yard. Friskie never went far and knew what cars were. As for me, I also knew what a fast-moving Chevy would do to me. 

And then one day I didn’t. 

The neighbor kid across the street called for me to come over. Friskie was across the street, sitting and watching me. The neighbor kid’s dog was trying to get Friskie to play with him but his eyes were on me. For some reason, I stepped off the curb to walk across the street. Unaware of the School Bus coming down the hill and bearing down on me. As I stepped off the curb Friskie bolted towards me. He barely escaped being hit by a car but he never flinched. Three-quarters of the way across the road he launched himself mid-air and tackled me, knocking me back into my yard. The bus missed us by no more than 2 feet. I was too shaken up to move, but several cars stopped to make sure I was ok. And every one of them patted my amazing best friend on his head and told him what an amazing boy he was. 

He was just that. He was an amazing boy. I was fortunate enough to have him with us until I was a Junior in High School. Even as he slowed down, a stroke had taken a lot from his mobility, he had that twinkle in his eye and he remained a wonderful pillow when I was sad. 

I will never forget the Summer day when I drove to the family camp in NH to meet up with the family. When I pulled into the campsite, Mom and Dad were sitting on the edge of the deck waiting for me. I got out of my car, greeted them, and immediately asked where the good boy who normally sat next to them waiting for me was. Their faces said it all. I sat down in silence and cried, one of the few times that I have done that. I was happy that he wasn’t suffering, he had had another stroke, I was just sad for me. I didn’t get to say goodbye to the best friend I ever had. 40 years later, I still cannot think about that day without a tear forming. 

He is buried in a plot of land owned by the Animal Hospital that put him down. I drive by it once in a while. Sometimes my destination demands it. Other times I drive by it on purpose. Every time, the memories of my Good Boy come to me. I suppose that as long as I live, I will continue to do so.

It’s on all of us

We can ride the wave of “renewal”, “rebirth”, and “fresh starts” that the New Year brings for as long as it feels good, but 2024 looks to be more of the same. I know I’m a buzzkill but someone needs to say it and doing so on January 2nd is fair. The hangovers are gone, the celebrations have subsided, many resolutions have already fallen by the roadside and, with the possible exception of writing the wrong year on a few checks, nothing has changed by opening a fresh new calendar. 

Change does not just happen, it is only possible through analysis, facing hard truths, and creating an action plan. It requires sacrifice and work, from all of us.

Here is my master list of resolutions that I wish for all Americans in the coming year. If we do these things, we can make 2024 the year that we turn things around in this country. If we do not, the chaos, uncertainty and needless descent into third world status is virtually inevitable.

Question everything. Ask questions. Take the time to learn for yourself. We all have in our pocket, most likely our hand, access to all of the information ever recorded. That cell phone does more than surf social media, text and take selfies. Anyone can educate themselves, and if nothing else never espouse an opinion or sound bite unless you have asked yourself the critical question, “Is it true?”

Understand that our elected officials are not our leaders. They are our chosen representatives. They may act as if they were coronated and can impose their will over you, but they aren’t. Ask yourself if that person represents you and what you stand for. If they do not, vote them out. Don’t just accept the treachery and betrayal that Washington has routinely subjected you to for decades.

Understand that we are unnecessarily divided. When people come together, the will of the people will prevail. A government that does not have your best interest at heart wants us divided. Recognize that we are being subjected to Propaganda, the role of which is to make one group of people seem less than human. Decency and empathy should tell us that we need to look at what we have in common, not what makes us different. Fire ants and black ants can be in the same jar and coexist. Until someone shakes the jar, then they fight. We’re the ants, ask yourself who is shaking the jar.

Stop thinking that it is someone else’s responsibility to get involved and fix things. It is on all of us to make a change. Think about elections. If you have determined that your candidate cannot win and you decide to not go out and vote, think about how many others (millions?) feel the same way. If all of you turned out to vote, your guy may win. It is up to all of us to cause change. Not just in politics, you can also say hi to a random stranger. You might make their day, or even restore their faith in humanity on the worst day of their lives. A pebble causes a ripple effect, kindness does as well.

Take back our children. We need to stop allowing Social media and television to raise our kids. This also applies to schools. It is not the job of the teacher to raise our children, it is their job to teach them. Insist that schools create and follow age-appropriate curriculums, void of political agendas, and focus on how to think critically, not just how to take a standardized test.

Our society is at a critical point and we have all of the power to save ourselves. I hope that we find that power within us and exercise it with enthusiasm. The United States is a unique experiment that has faith in the people to govern themselves and determine our own future. As citizens of this great experiment, we have lost sight of this. There is no guarantee that it will last forever, it needs to be maintained, even fought for. It is on all of us to do so.

Let’s start acting like everything is on the line. Because it is.

Fellowship

I really love being a Mason. It is so good for my soul. Choosing to join the fraternity is one of the best decisions I have ever made. Few things in my life leave me feeling as spiritually fulfilled. I wish I could bottle the sensation that a night of fellowship with friends old and new gives me. Unfortunately, few things satiate me in such a way.

It is an exciting time in my little corner of the Masonic world. My lodge has emerged from difficult times and now stands strong and healthy in both membership and finances. In a day and age where Masonry is going in the same direction as many fraternal organizations, downwards, my lodge is, at least for now, keeping the wolves at bay with a slight but encouraging uptick in membership.

Masonry will never return to its heyday. Post WW2, Korea and Vietnam, men flocked to Masonry because it provided a fraternal, male organization that resembled many aspects of military life. Unfortunately, in those times many men worked one job, and wives stayed home as many men did what they pleased at night. Life is simply not like that anymore, most families have both adults working at least one job, demands on time are greater, gender roles have evolved, and membership has consequently dwindled. In addition, it is a faith-based organization in an increasingly non-religious world.

But challenging times often return people to their core values of seeking truth, certainty, and comfort and Masonry continues to offer those. Our fraternity heavily stresses friendship, bonding, and support and men need that today. This is evident in the recent uptick in membership.

Now, we have to give them an experience to keep them. That’s where I think I come in. As a former Master, my duties are to enjoy basking in the feeling of having met one of the greatest expectations of a Mason, that of leading a lodge. I can do what I choose to do. Last night, I recognized the need for organization, mentoring, and development of our newer members. I think I will gladly take this on.

I think it is what I am meant to do at this moment in my life. I have been looking for some purpose and, as these things tend to do, this one revealed itself to me when I least expected it.

Just how I like it.

The storm

the comforting pat on the head

Just when I thought the storm couldn’t get scarier, the Tornado Watch alert blasted from my phone. I have never been a big fan of Thunderstorms, I’m perfectly ok in admitting that I’m terrified of them, but this is my first Florida T-Storm and it is a beast. In NH, they can be severe but they pass quickly. Here, they come on strong and stick around way too long.

Today’s storm is a continuation of a serious system that came through last night. It flashed and boomed for hours. Just when we thought it was over another wave came through. It being my first real Florida storm, I was shocked at its intensity. But as uncomfortable as I was, and am right now, I am not upset or fearful. My dog, however, is not faring so well.

Sammy is not a shy dog and he is adaptable in most situations. He even tolerates gunshots when I am doing target practice in the yard. Thunder brings out absolute terror in him. It is loud to us, I cannot even begin to imagine what it sounds like to him with his advanced hearing. In addition, dogs (not nearly as brilliantly as cats BTW) can detect changes in atmospheric pressure. All of these factors combined equal a prolonged state of terror for the little guy.

I have been comforting him the best I am able. I have to restrain him by his harness but I do so without holding his neck. Between last night and this current wave, I have been petting and reassuring my wonderful little guy for hours. Occasionally he takes a second from the panicked behavior and turns to look at me. I can’t say for sure but he seems to be grateful for it.

Lean on me, buddy. I got you.

I am logging this today because it occurs to me that the time spent, as unpleasant as it may be, providing and comfort to another living, breathing, feeling creature with a soul, is a cherished moment. To give love unconditionally without seeking something in return is time well spent.

I only wish people felt as inclined to help each other in those moments of fear and uncertainty.