Being Fully Present

In an article by Gillian Marchenko in the magazine Thriving Family, Gillian talks about caring for her two daughters who have Down Syndrome.  While teaching one of them to cut circles out of Play-Doh, she considers the importance of this simple activity while at the same time pondering on the immensity of her task as a parent and the frustrations it presents.

Then she says that God reminded her to "Just concentrate on what you're doing right now."  She continues with the work with her daughter, and concludes "This is my task at hand, to spend time with Polly...To create enough space in my thoughts to be fully present and make contact with her heart."

Yea, that's exactly what I want to do with those around me.  Gillian had put words to a beautiful truth, one which can be applied almost daily.  But in addition to touching my heart, I thought to myself "Now that's how I want to write.  If I could pen a line like that occasionally, I'd be content."  Gillian had captured an idea that is an aspiration for most of us - to touch the hearts of those we encounter in our day to day existence.

And then the thought occurred to me that Gillian didn't create this line out of nothing.  It came out of her experience with her child.  She was just plugging along in a difficult situation in her life.  If not for that situation, her page would have remained blank.

I'm one who would like to avoid difficult and trying situations, as most of us do.  But apparently, in order to have good material from which to write, I must continue to get up every day, go to work, and walk through all kinds of situations.  I'll take it, but I'll have to be reminded over and over that it's all good.

Emotion vs Logic

A friend of ours informed us that her husband suggested buying a dog for their boys for Christmas.

According to her, "He has said, for all the years I have known him, that we will never, EVER own a dog.  He has a list of reasons why.

Photo by M.G.M.

1. They're expensive.
2. You can't go out of town without dealing with them.
3. They poop in your yard.
4. They're expensive
5. They eat everything.
6. They require exercise.
7. They leave hair everywhere.
8. They're expensive.
Oh! and, 9. They're expensive."

I reminded them of a few other reasons:

10. They chew up your furniture,
11. They crap in the house, not just the yard,
12. You have to pull big fat ticks off of them.

She told me there were actually more like 100 reasons, but she didn't want to take the time to list them all.

This is a perfect example of making a decision based purely on emotion instead of logic.  It is the kind of decision you may regret later once the emotion of the moment has passed.  It is the kind of decision emotional people make, and logical people frown upon.  It is the kind of decision that often causes you to murmur "What was I thinking!"

But it's also the kind of decision that makes us human.  It's what makes us interesting beings.  It's what makes life enjoyable.  Sometimes the situation requires one to say "The heck with logic."  A world without such emotional decisions would be a boring place in which to live.

Good decision, Steve.

Intangible Rewards

It's been exactly two weeks since the race.  Good sense tells me that posts about running are off limits.  But I never claimed to have good sense all the time. (Stay with me here, this isn't really a post about running.)

It took about a week to get over the soreness of the race.  I did my first run afterwards on the the following Monday - eight minutes of painful and tender hobbling along.  By Friday, everything was back in order.

Of more significance, however, has been my state of mind since the race.  I anticipated it happening...it's a very common occurrence.  I spent months having been consumed with the training and the anticipation of the race, and then, on December 9, it's done.  As I fully expected, the euphoria of completing the task was very short lived.

If you have followed my blogging about the race, you may have been tempted to admire the effort of the training.  But here's an ironic take on that.  The effort came easy, because there was a clear task at hand.  In training for such a huge task, there is no option to skip a run.  I considered every run as absolutely necessary, even the short ones.

Now that a clear goal is no longer there, it is much easier to skip runs.  It takes much more effort now to run than it did before the race.

And herein lies some sort of great life lesson, which I am still working to solidify in my mind.

The lesson has something to do with the value of plugging away at some effort that is completely worthy - like routine running, but without the marathon goal.  Routine running has a long list of positive effects.  The reward is not necessarily immediate or tangible.  But it is worthy, nevertheless.

There must be a whole bag full of such endeavors.  They are completely worthy (much more so than running), but their reward is not necessarily immediate or tangible.  It is these things that require an incredible amount of mental energy.  But you may never be able to connect a short term goal with them, such as a marathon.

March 2006

A few things come to mind, but I'm sure there are more.  The first and most obvious one is child rearing.  Day after day after day, parents (mostly mothers) plug away at one of the most worthy endeavors of all - the influencing of another little human being - expending incredible amounts of energy.  How that little person turns out has everything to do with the day to day grind of motherhood.  Of course, this is not to say that the mother is responsible for everything the child does later in life.  But she has a position of influence like no other person in the world.  For the most part, she has no big goal like a marathon that can be finished.  She just plugs away, never having the satisfaction of passing some point of completion.  She is always a mother.

Another thing that comes to mind is work.  Yes, it is rewarding for some.  But for others, it requires an incredible amount of energy to do it day after day, with no great reward.  Sure, there is immediate financial compensation, but perhaps it is just adequate, or worse - less than adequate.  But they plug away anyway, because it is worthy.  This is more admirable than running a marathon.

Perhaps something else comes to your mind.  Perhaps you have watched someone who presses on day by day in some endeavor which has no immediate or tangible reward.  And you admire them for that.  In the Spirit of Christmas, perhaps you should tell them.

The Rehoboth Beach Seashore Marathon

After anticipating this day since late June, we set out from our house at 5:15 a.m. after about 6 hours of sleep and arrived in the sleepy town of Rehoboth Beach, DE for the Rehoboth Beach Seashore Marathon.

(Note:  clicking on the pictures will enlarge them.  Clicking on the links will take you to other pages.)

For those of you who want the Cliff Notes version:

• Event:  Rehoboth Beach Seashore Marathon
• Date:  December 8, 2012
• Weather:  52 degrees, heavily overcast, no rain
• Time to complete:  4 hours, 10 minutes, and 14 seconds
• Average pace:  9:33/mile
• Overall Finishing position:  430 out of 823 runners
• What I predicted:  525th, 4:08:00
• Finishing position in age group:  37 out of 68 runners
• Finishing position among males:  310 out of 517 runners
• Time for first half:  2:01:48
• Time for second half:  2:08:26
• Pace in first 6.55 miles - 9:02/mile
• Pace in first half - 9:18/mile
• Pace in second half - 9:49/mile
• Official Results from Lin-mark Sports. 
• Official Photos at US Candids (select Rehoboth Marathon 12/8/12 -search for bib #901) .
• The winner was a fellow we have met, Enos "E" Benbow Jr..  He finished in 2:45:21 with a pace of 6:19/mile.  E helped coach Sarah some when she ran track two years ago.

For those of you who were interested in the Strategy I mentioned in a previous post, here are the answers:

The Starting Line

- I didn't want to start out too fast.  Not a problem.  There were 2000 people crammed into a street about 50 yards in length behind the starting line, all waiting very patiently to begin.  This mass trudged along for quite some time, putting a harness on everyone's adrenaline.

- I intended to pick out a runner to run behind, who would help me keep pace.  I didn't really find this person, and ran behind various runners who never really fit the bill.  I did find one good prospect around mile 15. I had glanced at my watch, gave up on trying to do the math in my head, and asked a lady who met most of my criteria for the pacing partner.  Based on my quick math, I thought we were running at a pace to finish around 4 hrs, 15 minutes.  I asked if she was tracking her pace.  "No," she said, "But it feels like we are running to finish in about 4 hrs 10 minutes, maybe 4 hrs 15 minutes."  Great, just about what I thought.  Then I noticed that she had no fancy gadget.  In fact, she wasn't even wearing a watch.  She WAS the runner for whom I had been searching.  She had obviously done this a lot. (Note:  I discovered that it was Kristen Hine of Baltimore.  She finished 425th with a time of 4:09:32, 5 places and 42 seconds ahead of me.)

Mile 11.7 near the DQ in Lewes

- It didn't take long to realize that she was a faster runner than I was.  I consciously had to say to myself "Let her go, she's too fast for you."  So I did.  I don't know where she finished.  At that point in the race, I determined that a 4 hour finish time was probably out of reach, and I was perfectly content with that.




 - Finishing strong was important to me.  The last mile is perhaps the highlight of the race.  You know you are about to finish, and the joy of accomplishing the task sets in.  Almost got a cramp in my right calf because I picked up the pace in that mile, but I immediately slowed until I knew it was in check.  Then I passed 5 or 6 runners in the last stretch, awing the roaring crowd (O.K. So perhaps they weren't actually in awe, but I can believe what I want, cause it's my story.)

Mile 19.3, also near the DQ in Lewes

- The course, as expected, was spectacular.  And I enjoyed it the best I could.  But you are so focused on running that you have to almost force yourself to take it in.  Keep in mind that when you have a goal in mind for a specific finishing time, you are constantly having to push to run a little faster than you really want to.  If you are out for a casual jog, it is different.  You are doing this for hours on end.  It takes a lot of mental energy, believe it or not, and this is part of what makes the marathon a challenge.

For those of you wondering about my health:

- I felt great at the end of the race.  My only effects were a blister on one toe, and a little chafing under one arm.  Some soreness in my thighs set in around mile 20.  The next morning,  my thighs were sore, but just muscle soreness I would expect - nothing to indicate any kind of injury.

For those of you wondering what part of the marathon I liked best:

Family and Friends

- Sharing it with my friends and family.  This whole thing has been a big event in the the lives of our whole family since June.  Sure, you do something big and you want others to witness it... I can't deny that there is some of that sentiment, which is self-centered and in my view somewhat unattractive.  But that's not what I'm getting at in "sharing" it.  We are all involved in different things that are important to each one of us.  And we "share" those experiences with each other by talking about them - letting each other know what we are doing.  In doing that, we all get to experience the joy of the event.  A classic example is inviting others to our weddings.  It isn't a matter of "Look at what we've done," but rather "Come and experience the joy of our marriage."  Now of course, this particular event isn't on the level of a wedding, but it's the same idea.  It is the sharing of lives that brings joy to our hearts as social creatures.  It is that sharing which, in fact, makes us less self-centered, because others get to share our joy.

The Finish behind Rehoboth Beach Running Company

- In that light, I have to mention a few people by name.  Mom and Dad, Steve & Marcia Miller and their boys, Aleisa Timmons (Bud had to work), Kirk and Barbara Westfall, and Al Abrams of Sea Finds in Rehoboth all came to the race to cheer me on.  Tina's Aunt Helen showed unparalleled interest in the race from the very beginning, texted during the race for updates, and sent us a donation, which we used to buy breakfast afterwards at Sammy's Kitchen on Wilmington Avenue.   Rick Baker, who would have been there except for another commitment, called right after the race.  Bill Sammons of 88.7 The Bridge mentioned the marathon on his morning show last week.  None of these people have any particular interest in running.  If you aren't a runner, talk about running is just plain boring.  Watching it is boring as well.  This is what makes people who show interest and support all the more special.

Kirk, Mom, Barbara, Dad, Marcia & baby

Al Abrams

- Many others gave me their ear to talk about the race beforehand (well, they appeared to give me an ear... perhaps I just took it.)  This was important to me.  You can tell when someone expresses genuine interest in what you are doing.  And that says "I care about you... I want to know."  That is all part of that sharing.  And that's what I desire to do for those around me with whatever it is they are doing. 

Tina

For those of you who wonder what my family thought of the marathon:

Tina and the kids were all completely supportive.  They never once complained that my training was a nuisance, even though at times I know it was.  What can I say to that except thank you.  And thanks to the rest of you as well.

Who Has the Greater Need?

Our two daughters are involved in an after school activity. Occasionally, the activity requires the group of kids to either eat dinner at the school, or to pick up something later that evening. In both cases, the students contribute to the meal cost.

My wife was talking to one of the other parents about planning the meal. The parent was discussing one of the students. She said they never ask for money for the meal from this child. And when the activity requires the student to buy something later, someone makes sure he has something to eat.

The reason is that this child never has any money to contribute to the meals.  The parent told my wife that they think that sometimes the only meal the child eats is the lunch he receives at school.

This is one of those things that we personally don’t see very often - a child dealing with hunger - an “In our faces” issue, right here at home. We didn’t have to go to Africa on a mission trip to see it. We only had to participate in an after school activity with our own children.

The question now is what, if anything, can we do. How can we get involved in the life of this child?  Never in my entire life have I nor my immediate family lacked something to eat.

The other question here is "Who has the greater need?" This child may need food. Our family needs an appreciation for that which we take for granted every single day. And in His great wisdom, He has brought this child and our family together, if for nothing else but for us to witness each other’s lives. And that answers that first question: we are involved in this child's life.

This is one of the reasons we have our children in public school. This is where we believe our family has been called.

My Kind of People

Wicomico County, MD Recreation, Parks & Tourism put on the Hidden Treasures Half Marathon on September 9.  Along the course, there were people like this:

They held signs saying "Go Daddy", "Keep Going", and the like.

During the training for the race, some of these people also waited patiently for dinner so that daddy could run beforehand.  On the day of the race, they got up early to make their way to the Civic Center, cheered at the start, drove across town to cheer at a midpoint of the race, and dashed back to cheer at the finish line.

Some of these people allowed us to crash at their house the night before the race, and made pasta for dinner for carbo-loading.

There were also people from the County who organized the race, with its infinite number of details to work out.  There were problems to solve, volunteers to get organized, bands to book, and headaches to endure.

Other people directed traffic, manned water stops, and gathered cheer groups.

All this for 180 runners who wanted to navigate a 13.1 mile course through the city of Salisbury.

These are family members, friends, and perfect strangers.  These are my kind of people.  Thanks guys.

Minute by Minute

Back in the day, Michael McDonald was one of my favorite musicians.  He was with the Doobie Brothers at the time.

During the '80-'81 school year, I went to see them in Philly with some friends in college.  As I recall, in attendance were my roommate Bill (his family lives 10 minutes away, and our children are best friends), my other roommate Dave (he was a character, and disappeared part way through the year), Paul  (he would be my roommate two years later), and another Bill (he lived across the hall from us, and I was disappointed that he transferred to another college later).

Little did I know that during that era in my life,  McDonald's voice would set the bar for voices.  The question is - is it really that good, or was it related to the fact that I heard him during impressionable years, and he would become one of the people from "The Good Ole Days."

We all know "Good Ole Days" people (present company included).  They harp on what it was like "back then".  Nothing compares to "back then".  Something happened "back then" that made a huge impression.  It wasn't necessarily about the quality of the thing - it was about the time, the people, the whole event.  I think it has something to do with the theory that the mind is a blank slate, and new memories receive much more hard drive space on the brain, thus making them more "memorable".


This is McDonald in 2006, singing a Doobie Brothers song.

Turns out, this is NOT one of those "Good Ole Days" events.  In fact, he was good then, and only improved with age.  You may not like his style, but I can't imagine anyone disputing the quality of his voice.

And those guys at the concert with me?  There is no dispute about the quality of those friendships.

The Arts

Some very good friends of ours invited us to attend an outdoor showing of the movie "Homeward Bound" beside the Riverwalk in Salisbury, MD.  The event was put on by the Salisbury Wicomico Arts Council.  There is something irresistible about outdoor events in the summer.

Roma Old Bay Sausage

We shared dinner together beforehand in our friends' new home.  The old bay sausages expertly barbequed on the grill were a huge hit. 

We were handed a pamphlet at the movie by someone from the Arts Council.  I noticed a quote at the top of the page, which said:  "The arts are a gift to our souls, that we may achieve gladness in the midst of tedious living.  The arts are our entitlement to lift ourselves to higher ground, simply for the asking." 

Finally, someone has put into words why I listen to music, why I drag my family to concerts in the summer, why a good book is a thing to ponder on for weeks, why every dollar spent towards ballet lessons for our girls is a dollar well spent, why the sound of the clarinet and saxophone are music to our ears in our home, why I mix the sound for the family who leads worship at our church, why I badly attempt to accompany that family with the djembe, why I love to see our Sarah draw, why I am fascinated by architecture, and why I write.

Food may actually be a fine art as well.  Maybe that's why I enjoy eating so much.

"Old Ladies"

I have been doing work for my first grade teacher since December of 1998.  We have done major projects on her home, including a new roof, new siding, new windows, a remodeled bathroom, a remodeled kitchen, painting, various maintenance issues on her property, and most recently, a new out-building.

Years ago, after writing her a thank-you note for a tip she once gave me, she encouraged me to write more.  I took that encouragement to heart.  I give her much credit for why I pressed on into writing.

She is one of those people who are faithful to express to me her thanks when I work on her home.  This note came in the mail with her payment for work we just did to make some of her routine tasks easier.  Her handwriting is deceiving.  She is much more spry than it would indicate.

Translation:

Thank you so much

for the many things you

do to make "old ladies' "

lives more comfortable.

Until next time...

She is the one who deserves my thanks.  She is on the long list of people who make my life the joy it is.  And I look forward to caring for her for years to come.

Harry H. Dukes, Jr.

I was recently doing some work in his old office in his garage, and couldn't help but notice a framed newspaper article on the wall.  It was printed around 1987, not long before Mr. Dukes died.  The article spoke about his individuality and his life long effort to be part of and to contribute to his community.  Indeed, he had a colorful life.

The Dukes family has a long history in Millville, DE.  In the article, he told the story of working for his father in his general store, where he claimed that from the locals, "I learned to swear for 5 minutes straight without repeating the same cuss word."  It was a comment I could picture him saying.  He always had a funny quip.  (See other historical information about Millville.)

But the overwhelming thing I came away with from reading the article was the regret of not having gotten to know Mr. Dukes better.  I see now he had a great wealth of knowledge and experience from which I could have benefited.  But during the time I knew him, I was too busy being a youth to take advantage of it.

I suspect that as a general rule, I greatly undervalued relationships with my elders while I was growing up.  I probably tried to learn from them what I needed to know at the moment, but rarely just let them shower their experience on me as a matter of routine.  Generally, most elders don't just do that unless invited, and I wasn't one to extend the invitation.

This is one of those lessons I would like to teach my children.  But it is likely they may follow in my footsteps, and take years to learn it.  Well, there's always hope.

Things You Think About While Running

One of the reasons I enjoy running is that it frees your mind of just about everything while doing it.  I often find that if I want to think about anything, I have to make a conscious effort to do it, and I am able to focus solely on that one thing.  Otherwise my mind just focuses on the next step, the next breath, aches, my pace and other important running stuff.

Despite all that, one thing that frequently just pops into my head is a person - Brendan Warner.  Brendan was a classmate of mine at Indian River High in Frankford, DE.  He ran cross country (one of many sports), and after just about every cross country meet, the morning announcements would include the news that he had won.

I once ran with Brendan, or actually behind him, at one of those semi-annual PT tests they make you take in school so that they can chart whether you improved at all from all those PT classes.  He ran with a relaxed style, his arms at his side, and with his hands dangling completely relaxed at the wrist, almost limp.  It wasn't until some time later that I learned that this relaxed form is perfect for distance running.

So once in a while I will look down at my hands while running, and think of Brendan.  And for a brief period of time, I will relax my wrists like he did.  I've done it for the past 29 years of running.  If I had run cross country with him, I'm sure that wouldn't have been the only thing he taught me.

It just goes to show the kind of crazy things I remember, and makes me wonder about what kind of things people remember about me.

Don't mean to get all weird, Brendan.  Go Redskins!

Georgetown, Delaware Little League

Our boys had their last Little League games last night.  They had a great season, and have both learned a lot.  They are well liked by their coaches, who expressed a desire to coach them next year.

Asher pitched some in this last game.  His pitching has steadily improved over the season.  Asher takes everything to heart, and is very conscious of his performance.  It is one of his strong points.

Asher

Elias does not seem to take his performance as much to heart.  And since he doesn't have quite the natural ability as his younger brother, it is one of his strong points.  He just does his best.  We discovered that Elias's prescription had changed dramatically since his last eye exam.  His new glasses came in this week, in time for his last game.  His performance improved noticeably.  The coaches rotated the players around more than usual, and Elias ended up playing second base for an inning... even made a play at first.  At the end of the game, Coach Penuel complimented him on his efforts, and gave him the game ball.

Elias - next to last player on right.

Coming into Little League two years ago, we heard all kinds of cautions, mostly pertaining to overly competitive coaches and parents.  We have experienced none of that.  Georgetown Little League has been an outstanding organization, staff and parents alike.

We did have one small incident, the details of which are listed below:

• A visiting umpire made a questionable call.
• Elias's Coach Jeff tried to question the call, the umpire refused to discuss it, and as he walked away, Jeff muttered the words "Well that's a horse crap call."
• The umpire immediately ejected Coach Jeff from the game.  It was his first ejection, ever.
• A parent got involved in the situation (normally calm and extremely pleasant), and probably without thinking, let the "F" word slip.  He too was ejected from the field by the umpire.  The parent protested that he had just cut the grass on the field, and couldn't be ejected.  The umpire did not think these extenuating circumstances merited any leniency, and the parent was ejected anyway.  When he hesitated to leave, the umpire threatened to cancel the whole game.
• Another parent rose from the stands and shouted "It's all about the kids.  Let them play ball!"
• Our coach and parent then quietly left the field.  No yelling, no kicking of dirt onto the umpire's shoes, which was very disappointing, as I thought these things were part of the game of baseball.  Apparently not in Little League.
• The term "Horse Crap Call" became a joke for the rest of the season.  
• Elias was called out at first last night by this same umpire.  The ball clearly reached the base before he arrived and the umpire called him out, but the first baseman apparently bobbled and then dropped the ball.  Jeff was coaching first base and politely asked for a revision of the call, which was ignored.  He elected not to use the term "Horse Crap Call", and let the call go in the interest of good sportsmanship and the fact it was closing night.
• Later, Jeff said he thought I should have gone to bat for my son, and should have used the "Horse Crap Call" line myself.  

Thank you Georgetown Little League.  Thank you coaches.  And thank you boys.  From your perspective,  you are just playing a game.  From ours, you are enriching our lives.

Burning Down the House

February 12, 1979...I was sitting in Joe Palermo's Biology II class.  Mary Jean Bunting talked about just seeing the Talking Heads on Saturday Night Live singing "Take Me to the River".  She wasn't impressed.  They had just released their second album entitled "More Songs about Buildings and Food".  The album title alone was a statement of their creativity.

But we weren't in class to discuss music.  We were there to learn from Joseph Palermo.  Mr. Palermo was a relatively new teacher at Indian River High School in Frankford, De.  The first class I took with him was Biology I in the ninth grade.  My family had moved to upstate NY for two years , and when we returned home to Delaware for my freshman year, I was a year ahead in math and science.  So they put me in sophomore classes.  It was odd being a ninth grader in tenth grade classes.  The feeling of not knowing exactly where I belonged took me a couple of years to get over.  Or maybe I never did.

Mr. Palermo was a breath of fresh air in the midst of that transition.  I had my epiphany of the value of education in the eighth grade .  I had latched on to two teachers at Honeoye Falls-Lima Middle School - Kenneth Pike who taught science, and Doug Powell who taught mathematics.  Their love of the sciences had grown on me, and I started a habit of using teachers as role models.  Early in that 9th year, Mr. Palermo was one of the teachers who took that place.  He was young, energetic, and full of fresh ideas.  He didn't do things the way everyone else did.

Neither did the Talking Heads.  Their fifth album, interestingly entitled "Speaking in Tongues", contained the song "Burning Down the House."  It has an extremely interesting and complex rhythm near the end of the song with a combination of instruments, predominantly percussion.  Much of the music I listen to tells a story with words.  This doesn't.  I think the words and voices are there only to make a sound to go along with the music.  The story they tell is in sound of the instruments and voices together.  A whole nother world of creativity.

For some logistical reason, I had ended up with my given class of '79 in Biology II with Mr. Palermo.  He did not remain in high school education.  He left soon after our senior year to pursue Sports Medicine.  I'm sure he had a successful career in that field, but high school education lost a valuable asset when he moved on.  Perhaps he found where he really belonged.  Fortunately for us, my classmates and I were on the receiving end while he poured himself into teenagers for those few years.  Thanks Mr. Palermo. 

Kindred Spirits

Had lunch with a friend of mine today.  We came to the following conclusions:

• Creative people like ourselves crave more time to exercise our creativity, but we are probably better off keeping our day jobs.  Otherwise, our creative endeavors would become our jobs, and then they would be like, well, work.
• Having said that, we would both like to at least have a shot at the opportunity to just do creative stuff all the time without the nuisance of having to make a living.
• History is probably full of people doing creative things in the midst of making a living doing something else.
• Playing live music is exhilarating.  My friend knows about this extensively.  I have only done it once so far.  But addiction has already set in.
• For some people, like ourselves, Springsteen's "Born to Run" album changed everything.
• There are some things that must be universally beautiful (a phrase my friend used), one of which is Clemon's sax solo in Jungleland on the aforementioned album.  (See previous post.)
• Having four kids also changes everything.
• Creativity and the ability and energy to express it probably follows a bell curve. But we aren't going to be discouraged by trends.
• Many creative people were only recognized as great after their death.  So if recognition is the goal, there is still hope.  But recognition is a lousy goal.
• The Applebee's pick 'n pair deal makes a great lunch.  And cheap too, especially since Joe picked up the tab.  Thanks man.

We would have come up with many more interesting things, but had to go back to work.

House Songs

I had the radio on as I washed my truck. When the song "Our House" by Crosby, Stills, and Nash came on, I immediately thought of a friend I met during my sophomore year of college.  (This is the kind of thing music can do, and what makes it so powerful.)

Jeff was a Physical Therapy student.  He told me he became interested in the field when he stepped in a hole while running cross country in high school.  He ended up in therapy, and decided he wanted to devote his life to helping others in need of care.

One thing I appreciated about him was that he sang and played guitar, and did it quite well.  One night in a coffee house he sang "Our House".   At least I think I remember him singing it.  Or perhaps it was "House at Pooh Corner" by Kenny Loggins.  Geez.  Well, now I've got to post that song as well.

Jeff is now a pastor in NYC at the Redeemer Presbyterian Church.  True to his original calling, he is helping those in need of care, which pretty much covers everyone.

Here's something I do remember.  Jeff used to sing "Vincent" by Don McLean.

And here's another thing that is unforgettable.  There was something about Jeff that made a lasting impact on me.  Perhaps it was his gentle spirit, his kindness, or the simple fact he was a believer.  I suspect it had a lot to do with the song in his heart.

Perhaps Loggins said it best in "House at Pooh Corner":

It's hard to explain how a few precious things
Seem to follow throughout all our lives

Thanks for singing, Jeff.

Tinka

I have an aunt who lives in the great city of Louisville, KY with my uncle Bud, who I suspect is a curmudgeon.  I must confess that I wasn't even sure what a curmudgeon was until I was working the other day. 

My customer and I were discussing the change in personality that occurs as we age (well, you have to do something to make repairing a crack in a ceiling interesting.)  I commented that I could already feel it coming - I was going to be a grumpy old man.  It runs in the family, on my mother's side.

After a few moments of thought, my customer says "You will never be a curmudgeon."  After I asked her to define the word, her definition of which eludes me at the moment, I explained to her that she only sees my best side, and is mistaken about the fate of my old age personality.

Jump back to this post (this is a stream of consciousness sort of post, just for the record).  As I began this post about Tinka, my uncle appears in the sentence, and the word curmudgeon bursts forth onto the page, completely out of my control.  Out of respect, I look up the exact definition of the word so as not to slander his good name.

This is what I found.  I copied it directly off of this web page.  It is a quote from Jon Winokur:

"A curmudgeon's reputation for malevolence is undeserved. They're neither warped nor evil at heart. They don't hate mankind, just mankind's absurdities. They're just as sensitive and soft-hearted as the next guy, but they hide their vulnerability beneath a crust of misanthropy. They ease the pain by turning hurt into humor.  . . . . .   They attack maudlinism because it devalues genuine sentiment.   . . . . .   Nature, having failed to equip them with a serviceable denial mechanism, has endowed them with astute perception and sly wit.
      
Curmudgeons are mockers and debunkers whose bitterness is a symptom rather than a disease. They can't compromise their standards and can't manage the suspension of disbelief necessary for feigned cheerfulness. Their awareness is a curse.
      
Perhaps curmudgeons have gotten a bad rap in the same way that the messenger is blamed for the message: They have the temerity to comment on the human condition without apology. They not only refuse to applaud mediocrity, they howl it down with morose glee. Their versions of the truth unsettle us, and we hold it against them, even though they soften it with humor."

Having read this, I realized that by this definition, the word fits my uncle perfectly. 

I also realized that I am probably a blossoming curmudgeon as well.  This is actually a great relief, as I have been thinking I was chronically depressed.  Now I realize that instead, I'm just one of these.



So, here is the actual meat of this post.  Tinka had a store in Louisville a while back.  This story ran in the newspaper. 

Tinka is the perfect balance for a curmudgeon.  She is the exact opposite in personality, which, fortunately for Bud, is what keeps him from completely losing his mind.

Things That Happen in a Bar

I read a blog entry of a friend's, and felt compelled to respond.  Bill got back to me and suggested we meet for breakfast to discuss it.  A couple of weeks later, we did.

While there, we never got around to discussing the content of his blog entry.  Instead, he told me a fascinating story about some things currently going on with John Thompson, who, with Micheal Card, wrote the song "El Shaddai", which was recorded by Amy Grant and others.

John now lives in the area.  Among other things, he writes and performs with a local group "The Reminders" along with Ed Shockley and Kevin Short.  A while back, John had told a story about the song "El Shaddai" on Bill's morning show on 88.7 The Bridge (listen on As heard on The Bridge, January 27, 2011 and April 13, 2012). The story involves John going on a risky trip to the Soviet Union in 1985 to meet with Vladimir Slepak, who at the time was part of a group of Jews who had been denied exit visas and were being repressed by the Soviet government.

Bill filled me in on the details of how that story was about to be made into a movie.  Part of those details involved Christian recording artist John Waller, who was being considered for the part of John Thompson in the movie.

Near the end of our breakfast, Bill asked what I was doing Friday morning.  He was going to shoot a screen test for Waller in a little bar in Bridgeville, DE - Jeff's Tap Room.  The scene was meant to portray one which would have occurred in 1985 in the Bluebird Cafe in Nashville, TN, with John Thompson describing his trip to Russia and singing a song which captured the essence of that experience.  Bill said he might need some extras sitting in the audience.

Friday morning, I found myself joining Andy Mason who was in the process of helping Bill set up his equipment.  We were soon joined by John Thompson and John Waller and his son Bailey.  Bill decided that John needed a small audience to speak and sing to, so Bailey and I sat in front of Waller as he told the Slepak story as the character John Thompson, and then sang Thompson's song "Love Has Spoken".

The song touched something in my spirit.  What I heard was not just John Thompson's experience, but an experience of humanity as a whole. I took the story and the song to be about the motivation for people doing extraordinary things without reasonable explanation.  It gave that experience a title - calling it "Love Speaking".

The idea of "Love Speaking" is a universal theme familiar to many.  While the underlying source of the sentiment may be a little different depending on the person, the key is that the effect of it is extraordinary.  A believer in Christ would call that source God living in the hearts of His people, and He speaks His presence into the world.  It is God speaking, not some emotion we call “love”.

That's the kind of life most of us desire to live.  Anything less is just common.

The Situations You Stumble Into

Today I went to a customer's home to repair a dripping faucet which I had supposedly repaired 6 months ago.  This is why I don't like plumbing.

In the six months since I was there last, the wife found out she has ovarian cancer.  Her husband shared a few of the details with me as I worked.  She was very sick, but he didn't tell me the prognosis.

Our area has had an influx of retired couples, as it is economically advantageous to retire here.  So while this couple has family, they don't live nearby.  All I could think about was what life would be like for this older man if his wife passes.

It made me wish we lived closer to the beach so I could keep an eye on the couple.  As sad as the situation is, and could become, I count it a privilege to be a small part of their world, and wonder if there may be something I can do down the road.

It made me appreciate the situations I stumble into as a result of just going to work.

Charlie Carney

He didn’t strike you as the son of a school principle.  He was disorganized.  He would bring his homework to school slightly crumpled and messy.  One day he arrived upset that he had dropped his homework in a mud puddle, after which the bus ran over it.  If he had owned a dog, the dog would have eaten his homework, probably daily, and for real. 

He had a great heart, but sort of bumbled around.  He reminds me now of a Charlie Brown type of person, without the abuse by any female peers.  A few times I referred to him as "Charlie Corny" in fun, which I thought was clever at the age of 8, but it was more unkind than clever.

Charlie asked me over one Saturday to spend the day with him at his home.  He was very excited that he had spotted a bald eagle in the area.  I failed to understand the significance of this.  I was under the impression that all those turkey buzzards flying around were actually eagles.  At the time, the eagle population was at an all time low.  They had been declared endangered just two years prior in 1967.

That second grade year, we took one of the most interesting field trips, ever.  We went to the Schmidt Bakery in Salisbury, MD.  At the end of the tour, they gave every one of us our own loaf of Sunbeam Bread.  It was the softest bread I have ever consumed in all the years of my life.  For some reason, Charlie took his loaf completely out of the bag, and then tried to re-insert it.  This presented a problem, but he did manage to stuff it back in, in a disheveled manner.  Typical.

I never saw Charlie again after the second grade.  His father must have taken another job, as Sussex County finally got around to desegregating in 1969, years behind schedule, and our school - John M. Clayton - became part of the Indian River School District.  The next year, our third grade class met in a building that the previous year had been an all-black school.

Since then, the bald eagle has come back, Schmidt Bakery has stopped giving tours, and Charlie Carney, well, I wish I knew what happened to him.  He had a good heart, and probably continued to be the kind of person you would want to have as a friend.

Not Just a Summer Job - A Tribute to Cashar and Mabel Evans

I worked at a restaurant – The Fenwick Crab House - in Fenwick Island, Delaware, during my high school and college years (1977-1982).  The restaurant was owned by Cashar and Mabel Evans of Selbyville, Delaware, from 1962 to 1983.  In February of 2006, I sent this letter to Mrs. Evans.  It appears here in a slightly edited version.  It is long, but there's an awesome life lesson summed up at the end (if I must say so myself).

Dear Mrs. Evans,

This correspondence is long overdue.  There were a few things I have been meaning to tell you.

This is no exaggeration… I have a dream about the Crab House two or three times a year.  It is always a similar dream.  I come in to work, years after having been there, and I am expected to cook.  But it has been so long that I can’t remember what to do.  It isn’t traumatic or anything… I just realize that time has passed, and I need to re-learn the job.  Those years in the kitchen must have made quite an impression for me to still be dreaming about it.

The Crab House

I became aware of job openings at the Crab House through Michael.  It was the spring after we got our driver’s licenses… 1977 (see my first car).  We were both looking for jobs, and Mike came into school one day and said he had gotten a job at the Crab House.  I asked what he would be doing.  Washing dishes and peeling potatoes are the only two chores I recall him mentioning.  According to Mike, they needed more people to wash dishes and peel potatoes.  I could do that, I thought.  And working with my best friend Mike would be ideal. 

A nervous phone call to Mr. Evans ended with an invitation to come to Selbyville to “interview” for a job.  He told me where you lived…a white house in view of a Rick’s Laundromat - the only house with a white picket fence.  I drove to Selbyville to a house with a picket fence in view of Rick’s.  No one came to the door.  A neighbor alerted me that I was at the wrong house.  You lived in the other only house with the picket fence.  I “passed” the interview, and had landed my first job.  I think it was my relation to my mother and Grandfather Elias that made you feel obligated to give me a chance.

Despite my inability to find your house, I did find the Crab House on the first day of work.  I drove down with Mike, thinking the company would help with first day jitters.  I had known a few people who had worked there, my older brother Buddy included.  He lasted about a week.  I recall riding with mom one rainy day taking him down.  It must have been before he got his license.  Perhaps the dreariness of the rain impacted his desire to work there.  I also knew of Donald, who had talked about eating strawberries when he was supposed to be making the famous strawberry pies while standing in the walk-in cooler.  I don’t know if he quit, or was fired for eating strawberries.

Potato Peeler

The Salad Slicer        

That first summer, I washed dishes and did occasionally peel potatoes, although you had that nifty potato peeler.  I learned that if you left the potatoes in too long, you ended up with potatoes the size of golf balls and cherry tomatoes.  And I also learned, or actually re-learned, to make salad.  We made salad on the table in the back porch next to the cole slaw mixer.  I was standing there one day doing the cucumbers.  It took no great skill… cut both ends off, and force them through the slicer.  But I managed to fumble on step one.  I was cutting the ends back to where the seeds started.  Mr. Evans came strolling in to see what we were up to.  “Why are you cutting so much off the end of the cucumber?” he questioned.  “Well, that’s the way my mother does it”, I responded.  It was then I first learned about the quick wit and intolerance for impertinence of Mr. Evans.  “HOW LONG HAS YOUR MOTHER BEEN IN THE RESTAURANT BUSINESS?” he bellowed.  I don’t think I intentionally determined to cut the cucumbers in a way that was different from how I was told to, but I did learn that day the importance of paying close attention to instructions.  We have gotten many a laugh recalling that story.  My mother especially enjoyed it.

The Cole Slaw Mixer.

It may have been about my 2^nd year when my impertinence reared its ugly head again.  I was a slow learner.  Mr. Townsend, a very, very old man, would come in to eat several times a week.  I did not really grasp the significance of what Mr. Evans was doing for him at the time, because I was young and self-centered.  Mr. Evans would hand-prepare Mr. Townsend’s dinner.  It was usually - no, make that always - broiled chicken breasts- no skin, sautéed asparagus, and boiled potatoes.  Mr. Evans considered the task of cooking for his old friend a privilege.  I viewed it as just a chore.  Sometimes Mr. Evans would cut up the chicken himself.  But often he would come to me and ask that I go get a chicken and do the honors, as I was one of the resident chicken prep guys.  By this time in my Crab House career, I had advanced to Clam Man, a job I took over from Rex.  I thought that I was very busy one night when Mr. Evans requested that I cut up two chicken breasts for him.  A little exasperated and wondering why he couldn’t do it himself, I said “Mr. Evans I’m really busy right now.”  Wrong answer.  “You’re not too busy to work for ME!!!” he shouted.  I missed the whole point of Mr. Townsend’s dinners.  I was too young to have an old friend that I loved to serve.

I met my first love working at the Crab House.  She was a wonderful girl, and Mr. Evans loved her.  But he felt it was important to constantly tell me the hazards of first loves.  He warned me over and over about these hazards.  I ignored him, and finally figured out on my own that first loves should not occur during your senior year of high school.  A better time for a first love would be around the age of 23, after you have finished with college and have maybe worked a year or two.

I met my second love after ending the relationship with my first, also a waitress at the Crab House.  She was a wonderful girl as well, and Mr. Evans loved her as well too.  He did not warn me about second loves.  His mistake was that he should have warned the girls about me, not the other way around.  I was just too darned serious at the wrong time.  Like I said… 23 would have been a better age.  Or perhaps 31 would have been even better.

My first day on the job, I had come under the instruction of Will.  Will was only a couple of years older than I, but seemed much more mature and wise.  He became one of my mentors at the Crab House.  He seemed flawless in his job and in the way he related to the rest of the gang at the Crab House.  He was universally accepted as our peer leader. 

While Will was our peer leader, we also had our teacher leader, Dave (Dave was a school teacher, and spent his summers at the Crab House as manager).  How did you find these guys?  Dave had been there 13 years, and Will about 5, by the time I came.  They were whole-heartedly devoted to the restaurant, but most of all devoted to the Crab House family.  I had great respect for both of them.  You know as well as I that the Crab House would have been a very different place without them.  I learned from them what defined the proper relationship between us employees and you and Mr. Evans, the owners.  I never saw them be impertinent towards either of you the way I could be.  And they both became my guide in that regard.

I mentioned that I had taken over the job of Clam Man from Rex.  Rex had a way of joking and kidding that I really enjoyed.  One day, while training me on the clam steamer, he mentioned that if you aren’t sure if a clam is good or not, you can tap two together.  If they make a solid clicking sound, then both are good.  If one is dead, it won’t hold its shell tightly together, and it will make a dull thud.  It was legitimate instruction, I think.  You never knew about Rex.  He may have over-emphasized the necessity of this task, because I took him to mean that you should do this on every clam you put in a bucket for steaming.  So if you were to observe me doing clams, you would have heard an incessant tapping of clams.  I can be a little compulsive, and it became a compulsion to tap clams together.  I didn’t want a dead clam in the steamer.  Mr. Evans caught me doing this early on.  He asked why I was knocking the clams together, and I told him (not impertinently, mind you) that I was checking to see if they were good.  “Rex told me to do it” I added.  I had learned from the cucumber episode to follow directions to the “T”.  Mr. Evans roared in laughter.  From that day on, he referred to me as “Knock-knock”.  It makes me laugh just thinking about it.  The following spring, working some before the season started, he had forgotten what nick-name he had given me.  I reminded him, and “Knock-knock” stuck for the rest of my time at the Crab House.  Reminding him of the name was proof that I enjoyed his term of endearment for me.

It wasn’t until recently that I realized I wasn’t really cut out to be a line cook.  My favorite thing to do at the Crab House was to cook out of Siberia II.  That’s because I would have just a couple of waitresses, and would be able to work on one or two orders at a time.  What I realized just a few years ago is that I am not a great multi-task person.  I don’t do well trying to do a bunch of stuff all at once - thus my attraction to Sib II.  The next favorite job was Siberia I.  It was not as busy as the main kitchen, and much less chaotic.  So even when it did get busy down there, there were fewer things to distract me from cooking.  Plus, it normally meant you would be the first to get off work.  I don’t know if everyone else knew all this about my abilities or not.  If they did, they were sensitive enough not to make an issue if it.  But my guess is that you all understood our strengths and weaknesses, and put us where we would work the best.  It was wise on your part, and as I look back, much appreciated on mine.

One of the things I really enjoyed was the pre-season work.  I enjoyed going with Will and Mr. Evans down to the Crab House before we opened.  The place had a peculiar smell.  Once in a while, I will be someplace that will have that same smell.  What I liked was being in that select few who could be on the “inside”.  Perhaps I was really seeking to be a right hand.  I wanted to be a go-to guy for Mr. Evans. 

On a Saturday morning after the restaurant season had ended, Mr. Evans called me at home.  He invited me to go to a University of Delaware football game with you.  It was the same day that my grandfather chose to dig out his potatoes, a yearly task for one Saturday in the fall.  He would plant rows and rows, enough to feed everyone in the family who wanted them for the entire winter.  We would all go and dig them out after he turned over the dirt with the tractor.  It was an all-day affair of digging, loading them into baskets, and transporting them to the pump house for storage.  I enjoyed it to a degree.  But I also viewed it as sort of an obligation, partly so we could share in the free potatoes all winter, and partly because Poppop couldn’t do it alone.  The day Mr. Evans called, I can’t really say I was totally thrilled about going to the game.  I had never even been to a college game.  And there were the potatoes.  Looking back, I am sure my family would have given me the go-ahead to go to the game.  But I dug potatoes instead.  I should have gone to the game with you and Mr. Evans.  I should have accepted your generosity.  It was a great privilege to have been invited to spend the day with you, and in my foolishness, I missed it.

There is a brick wall in front of Prince George's Chapel in Dagsboro.  Sections of it have been replaced over the years due to cars driving through it.  Some of those new bricks were due to Kendra driving her car through it late one night after work.  She fell asleep on the way home to Laurel.  I don’t know exactly what you did, but I recall hearing that you either loaned her the money to buy a new car, or gave her some money towards a new car.  Either way, it was a very generous and caring thing to do, and I took note of it.  It was completely in character for both of you. (More on Prince George's)

One summer, Dorothy had a hernia repaired.  You made a place for her out front, seating customers.  Perhaps it was a wise move on your part, as she was so cheerful, chatty, and cute.  But I was very aware that you were taking care of her until she was well enough to go back to waiting tables.

While I was dating Sherry, you invited us to a New Year’s Eve party in Rehoboth, the Old Landing Country Club, I think, or perhaps it was Rehoboth Beach Yacht and Country Club.  It was a very classy affair, as one would expect.  The old folks did the Jitterbug and what not.  We felt privileged to spend the evening with you.  I knew that we were much more than a couple of kids who just worked for you. 

And that is my whole point.  You and Mr. Evans made all of us a part of your lives.  We were not just employees.  You loved us, and we loved you back, because you earned it by investing yourselves in our lives.  I learned in those 5 years that life isn’t just about work.  It is more about people.  And when you experience it in the ideal way, you end up dreaming about it for the next 24 years.

I have often wondered if I could have better spent my summers someplace other than the Crab House.  At least one spring, I was considering looking elsewhere for a summer job.  I waited until late in the spring to call Mr. Evans and let him know I would like to return to the Crab House that year.  Mr. Evans seemed to know what I had been contemplating.  He didn’t say much about it, but said just enough to let me know it bothered him that I had felt the need to consider going someplace else for summer work.  I can only recall thinking about not returning that one year.

But if I had, in fact, done something else with my summers, I would not have learned about young love, a first hand experience I shall be sure to try to relate to my own children.  I would have forfeited the opportunity to work with a wide variety of young kids of all kinds of backgrounds.  The Crab House was a training ground for relationships.  I would have missed all that. 

And I would not have had the opportunity to work with a couple 50 years my senior, and to develop a friendship with that couple that went far beyond an employee/employer relationship. 

I do not think the fruit of that experience is over yet.  I fully expect some day to have an opportunity to befriend a young man or woman 50 years my junior and be able to influence their lives as you and Mr. Evans did mine.  And at that time, I expect to hear an almost-audible bell go off in my head, and I’ll say to myself… Now this is why I spent five of the most impressionable years of my life with the Evans'.