Nathaniel Sewell's Blog, page 25

World Cup Soccer v. Day Time TV

Typically, I rarely watched, or noticed daytime television, as in what the Boob-Tube offered for entertainment after the lunch time news, and let me say before 6 pm. I was working. I had a productive life.

If you are over the age of 40, you’ll understand what bunny-ears means, but fancier ears, and you’ll understand I was scanning the network stations for the USA versus Belgium – World Cup soccer match. And yes, it sucked, but then game on, and then, oh well – but that’s life. ;( See you in 4 years …

But more to my story …

I assumed, wrongly, that it would be on network TV. We just moved, so we are investigating our entertainment alternatives, streaming and the like, and we are professionally and personally busy. But today, I was monitoring our pet, Pink Petunia. She is not well, but she is our friend, and I’ll do anything to protect our friend.

I think friends are hard to come by.

First off, I freely admit I’m a band-wagon soccer fan. I’ll also admit I’ve kind of gotten hooked, after a few random folks, some from Europe and South America explained to us how the game was played. In essence, I can now understand the basic strategy.

To me, the newbie, the game seems a lot like hockey on grass, with your feet, but without the blood-sport, throw down the gloves parts and replaced with the Oscar nominations for post-injury portrayal – after a competitor whispered in their ear some sort of sweet nothing, and tripped them.  Then the scream, the beg to the sky for God’s intervention, and the winner is?

Then an official looking uniformed dude – in knee high socks – awards the other player, the bad actor award as President W would have said in Texas speak, a yellow card or a dreaded red card. The official looking dude writes it down in his handy note pad to memorialize the magical moment. He even rubs it in the bad actors face! Why not just take a photo?

“See this, I’ll tell your mother when she gets home!”

This whole process repeats like the cycle of life until by a miracle, a GOAL, GOAL, GOAL. I now understand why the announcer gets all worked up, assuming they are not Harry Caray after 10 Buds-in, and bottom of the 9th. Again, if you are over 40, you know who Harry Caray was, and why I think that was quality afternoon entertainment. The CUBS games came on the Tele, before Gilligan’s Island and my decision between Mary Ann or Ginger?

Sadly, today the game was not to be found on the Boob Tube. I couldn’t leave for a Sports Bar, or any other establishment because I was holding my sick furry friend, Pink Petunia, terrified she would have another seizure. I’m okay with staying home,  petting my friend, and making certain she takes her meds. It’s what a responsible friend does for a friend.

What I don’t understand was why the game was not on every government funded (tax-payers), or free for-profit seeking network? I mean, PBS? Where are you Public Broadcasting System – these young men were playing for my, our country? But thankfully, I had a hotspot, a Bluetooth and access to a radio.

But after a little investigation, with the exception of Ellen, I like Ellen or Dr. Oz, I like Dr. Oz, but the other shows, really? I live in a big city, my free televised options,  sans the WORLD CUP, are religious shows spoken in at least 5 or was it 6 different languages. I have a few cooking shows, boring, and I have the endless past-their prime super models – shilling their new beauty products.

And then the wannabe talk shows with addle brained, needy hosts. Who are these people? And then the piece de resistance – Jerry Springer like shows – I had two options with stand-in goofball hosts, there was only one, Jerry Springer, but check that box. A few sub-humans that I suspect are missing chromosomes within their DNA structure, check, check. And the typical story line, (insert name that I cannot spell) with several children, and a significant or current partner, cheating with either – one of the older children, a step-sister, third-cousin, a mystery uncle, or a random surfer dude met at a bowling alley. And whose the father?

Now, I really do understand what, Boob Tube, Idiot Box means. I wonder, where are Gilligan, or Fred Munster, wait, maybe the Addam’s Family? I dug that normal blonde babe. At this point, I‘ll even take a good, twisted daytime drama spoken with a language that I recognize. Maybe a WWF Jerry the King Lawler match with Rowdy Roddy Piper and then Andy Kauffman jumps off the top turn buckle wearing an Elvis costume?

At least when I was younger our daytime shows seemed – real.

Alas, I’m approaching 50 years old, and I don’t think much about Ginger or Mary Ann, but I am certain of two things, after investigating the options on network and/or free television, my brain has shrunk by 20%, and I’m thankful I am not a parent.

NS

Mothers, Fathers and Facebook Friends

 

 

Did Pink Petunia’s picture cause you to smile? I think being alive, right now, at this very moment in history has magical, wonderful and terrifying qualities. But then again, other than being zapped from a drone laser beam, when in recorded history has some portion of humanity not gathered at Stonehenge certain that God was about to return at the exact moment of the winter or summer solstice, or some supreme being (evil or good) was about to alter their lives and they would instantly become – happy and full of purpose.  To me, it is a sad idea to live your life waiting for an outside force to trigger on the force that should come from inside you. It is possible to live happily poor but you do need an internet connection.

I think happiness is a choice we make each day.

It only took me 48 years to learn that my happiness was derived from telling the truth, or accepting the truth. I guess I’m a slow learner. For example, I am a pasty-white, middle-aged male blessed with a thick head of hair, I do occasionally dye it dark brown, and I like to wear bow ties and wacky socks. I like to write poetry. I use a pen name. I wrote Bobby’s Socks because I had a story to tell about child sex abuse and why many victims commit suicide. I almost did that. (I know, HEAVY!) And that’s why I wear those wacky socks- to remind me, to smile, and not take my life so seriously. I wrote the satire Fishing for Light because I think we are easily manipulated by governments and hidden organizations that want to control us, control us right down to our genetic code with the food, water and air we suck into our pie holes. And I think we fish for our purpose outside ourselves, when the light we seek is typically found behind our eyeballs, we just have to be honest, stop and listen to it. But that listening part can be scary.

I’ll cough up another truth, I like Facebook. (I know, collectively SHRUG over at the slow learner.)

I’m not sure what to think about Instagram or Twitter, or Pin interest, Google+, or any other cyber marketing platforms. I do know that LinkedIn has not helped me get a paying gig. But I do like YouTube, but YouTube might be a bit too permanent a truth for me, I don’t think people read much, but video, well, that is really easy to find and it’s passive, not active like reading. And people act odd when a camera is pointed at them, I’m already odd enough. Although I do plan to adventure into YouTube Land to share what I deem as – art. But I digress…

There has never been a time in recorded history that I am aware of, assuming the folks on Ancient Aliens are wrong about prior interstellar visitors, that allows for the instant flow of personal information. We know within moments if a country has been invaded, we get to see in almost real time human beings die on a television or computer screen. I hate violence. We know within moments when a child was born, photos taken by the parents – then the baby date-time stamped, vitals shared and social security number determined before they leave the hospital. Or we have the face shared from a high school football teammate that had died that evening. Those pictures take me back in time like vacation picture post cards – I can almost see and hear people I know, or knew as they emerge from my past. It is almost like characters I create in my novels, I have these living things saying and doing – you know, things.

For me, I have spent most of my adult life walking, not running, the other way, as I ignored social media while I chased business success. But as I approach my 50th year, to be truthful, I have found the real pot of gold comes from the eyes of my Facebook friends.  Because I think as the Biblical verse says, “The eyes are windows into the soul”, right? I know, I know, I went to the back of the book – newer part, not the older pre-Noah and the space aliens getting earth babes pregnant part, and then the reason for that nasty flood. (Say, that would be a cool rock band name – Noah and the Space Aliens?)

But I digress… sorry …sorry… but I’d buy a ticket to see, Noah and the Space Aliens!

For an artist to truly connect with their audience they have to garner the courage to bare their truth, to share their perspective, and then accept the response, good or bad. I think people, in particular children, know, and sense, when they are being manipulated and lied to. I did. If you want some examples, turn on e-television or watch TMZ and join in the fun with the current Roman mob, and point your thumbs up or down to like or unlike the realty stars primary talent which is to accidentally, on-purpose get caught on camera drunkenly stumble from a trendy night club, or get into a fight, or that needy turd share another photo of their mostly nude sub-human body with their dead eyes wistfully gazing off into deep space. (Insert – COUGH) Can someone please make it and them – to go AWAY! (Of course, I’m old and uncool, after all, this is their business brand, they, like the porn star get paid to do something – shocking- for our entertainment.  I wonder if they are the moral equivalent to the court jester.)

Sorry, I digressed again … sorry…

But to my shock and surprise, I have grown to like Facebook. I rather enjoy my friends sharing their life details, happy or sad. My grin or frown emerges because I can remember that mother or father as my high school locker mate, my elementary school kick ball team mate, or my Sunday school class mate. Or, the girl I had a huge crush on, but I lacked the courage to talk to her, but now I grin because she’s a proud mother of four.  Or the friend’s father, during my commercial real estate days, who I tried to lease a big manufacturing facility to, he wore round John Lennon like shaped glasses. I liked his glasses, I thought they were cool. (And for me, growing up within the Bible belt was not a cool location to be spawned onto the earth’s crust, so any moment to connect with something, or someone interesting was a moment to be remembered and savored.) Or, the statuesque friend’s mother who asked me, well, about me, because I rarely told anybody what I was thinking, but she cared because she told me she cared. And I care now because I remember her when my Facebook friend shares photos of her grandchildren. I think that’s cool.

Astronomers tell us that it takes 8 minutes and 20 seconds for the sun light we see to travel to earth. So, in a sense, we are always living in the past tense. But I think that past tense has gotten shorter, and shorter, and I don’t mean that the earth’s orbit is leaving the Goldilocks Zone and we are all doomed. But thanks to Facebook, and the like, I can stay in contact with the now mothers and fathers that I once knew as pimple faced teenagers. I get to see the photographs of their children, their vacations or they might share too much information. That’s okay with me, I’m thankful that they share, even if it is an opinion I don’t embrace.  I’m glad they decided to share. I love the pictures of happy children because it tells me there is hope for this world. I love the comments, quotes and the what-not, or them simply showing me a picture of their lunch. Why? Because it tells me they feel empowered to express their opinion, I think that’s a good thing, it tells me there is still freedom to express in this world. But, mostly I smile from those happy, soulful eyes that I see from the mothers and fathers families who are my Facebook friends. In truth, those happy eyes stir me to feel, well, happy.

NS

Orwellian?

If you happen to watch, listen or read the news, pick your own distribution channel, I recommend many options because it seems each has their own ‘bent’ on curving reality. Most of my life I was under the illusion that journalists sought facts, and reported these facts back to the general public as news, news that impacted their lives, and chronicled life on earth for future generations.

I think in reality, the term ‘optics’ seems to be a better method to describe the news. If you listen closely to any major network television reporter, they might use the phrase, “Nathaniel, they are concerned with the optics of the decision.” Have you ever heard them say that?

If you take ‘bent’ and ‘optics’, you might understand why I used the words, ‘gravitational lensing’ early in the novel, Fishing for Light. The idea stems from Einstein’s ‘Theory of Relativity’ – or, “mass bends light”. If you take the idea as a metaphor, if we willy-nilly bend our genetic code, or alter the news to fit the shape and mold we want, then what happens?

I’ll share with you an exact quote from the novel, Fishing for Light:

“Optics?” Professor Quan whispered. “Gravitational lensing, bending light, but at a subatomic level?” Professor Quan whispered. He tapped the protective glass with his fingers. “I bet that’s where God hides, right in front of us.” Condensation from his breath glossed a ghostly pattern on the glass.

“Sir?” a security guard asked.

Professor Quan glanced over at the well-built security guard.

“Just curious where they found that shiny rock?” Professor Quan asked. He nodded his forehead over at the diamond that shimmered as if a giant blue star discovered within the dark matter of outer space.” – Fishing for Light, page 39. (By the way, Professor Quan was staring at the Hope Diamond.)

Unfortunately, I think George Orwell is having a grand time laughing at us from whatever dimension his lightness has embarked as he continues his soul’s journey navigating across Dante’s nine time portals. And I shall quote Mr. Orwell from Animal Farm, “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.”

We all know words have meaning, but it is how we use those words that matters. I wish we would publish more ‘made-up’ words to convey a thought or idea. I loved the ‘jabberwocky’ from Lewis Carroll, or to ‘rant’ thanks to Shakespeare. I wonder if George Orwell realized his last name would be used to express government and societal fraud? But alas, this obsequious Richard Cranium will not be a cunning linguist any further, and not try to be a master debater or be a highfalutin, asinine, exacerbating, frickle-franc before they throw the penal code at me and encourage this homo erectus to be exiled in Djibouti or have me shipped off and turn my head, heart and hooves into glue.

NS

Aspire – Be a Dictator!

For those that hate to read the entire story, that would be most of you, being a DICTATOR does not end well. In fact, I might recommend reading Shakespeare’s, The Tragedy of Julius Caesar. Or for a recent example, simply search for the story of that crazy kid, Colonel Muammar Gaddafi. If you remember the phrase, “et tu Brute?” which loosely translated from Shakespeare-ish-Latin, means, “come on man, that stings, and Brutus? What’s up with this dude? Look at this bloody mess, I just had my toga cleaned!”  And they said Latin was a dead language.

(Being from Kentucky, I can write about this, ‘So you don’t be thinkin’, I be gettin’ big fur my overalls, I done learnt all this to at my high school. I took a Latin class, Civics class and that Shakespeare class I done took – they be good for me’. And by the way,  I do have the genetic gift from an odd shaped protein instruction within my helical shaped DNA to write ‘Redneck’ or ‘Hillbilly’, but I will reserve that blog post for another day.)

But it all started after Julius Caesar decided to cross the Rubicon River with his armies, thus the phrase, “Crossed the Rubicon” or from that dead language, “Alea iacta est” – ‘The Die is Cast’.  Our intrepid Julius had decided he wanted to live and rule as THE dictator,  with the help of his armies, and the encouraged silence from his enemies. Of course, Julius ensured their silence by sentencing them to a one-way, not-for-profit prepaid tuition - relocation relearning centers, where they learned to fight, or better known as to die horribly on the floor of the Roman Coliseum, and of course the last thing you saw was lots pointing down thumbs from the idiot mob that believed his every decree. OR, he might have decided to have you accidentally on-purpose killed off. I would have preferred the Napoleonic option to be – EXILED. The word, exiled, just seems a lot softer, and healthier to me.

I’ll translate, as you are running for your life and yelling at the angry, gun and knife club following your every movement: “No, no, I’m good, put the hot pokers away, pa-leez. I’ve got my bags packed, take the house, it’s okay, I don’t need it. One last thing, just don’t kill me, pa-leez, I’ll go into EXILE, happily, I heard they have free internet, food and fancy shelter.”

But where would you go to be in exile in today’s world?

My point, I would rather be THE dictator. I know we all are going to die, eventually, even the Tom Hank’s character from The Green Mile knew he would eventually die, thank you Stephen King. But regardless, think about being THE dictator? I would be legally, continuously voted into office by my adoring crowd of peeps. I would roam about my lands partially waving at my subjects wearing a cool hat and bedazzled uniform, all from the comfort of a really, really awesome auto being driven by a nasty appearing dude, surrounded by an even nastier security force. I would pick my own harem of hot babes, and I would live and rule my world within a protective cocoon of government approved palace(s). I would fund my lavish lifestyle from the resources and taxed effort from the subjects that were attempting to ‘survive’,  and keep them from voting me out as THE dictator – by giving my security forces lots of free stuff, and my peeps lots and lots of free stuff. The theory being, ‘if you are fat, lazy and happy, why not remain fat, lazy and happy and ignorant to reality because you have Honey Booboo, or other vapid reality shows to choose from for your entertainment that are continuously streaming over your free, tax-payer paid, high-speed internet connection’. As Yakov Smirnoff would say with his Russian accent, “What a country!”

But I want to offer a twist to my first sentence. I don’t think it’s about being THE dictator, I think we have a bunch of wanna be dictators. But as the picture to this post shows, it is a painting of the Founding Father’s inside Independence Hall after they had debated the United States Constitution. And it was a nasty debate. If you examine the painting, there is the image of an arm chair behind George Washington, it is known as the Rising Sun Chair. It is the chair George Washington silently sat upon as the Constitution was debated, and the legend has it that Benjamin Franklin, dude seated in light blue with long hippy hair, he had named the chair, “I have often looked at that behind the president without being able to tell whether it was rising or setting. But now I… know that it is a rising…sun.”

My point, I don’t care what political flavor you prefer, liberal, conservative, libertarian, pick one, but I do not want to hear, or read the words, ‘political’ and ‘career’ together, ever, ever again. If the political caste system really provides a public service, then do what the Roman general Cincinnatus was credited with doing, and do what George Washington actually did. They served their country to the best of their abilities, with honor, integrity, and then they simply walked away from absolute power and went back to the farm.

Another nugget to ponder, the novel that I authored, Fishing for Light was entitled Fishing for Light because I was searching for a title for the manuscript. I had created all sorts of titles, but none seemed to point exactly to the satires intent. The satire was intended to poke fun at the godless and corrupt 21st century society. But satire can be easily misunderstood, I can accept that verdict.

But then one day, I was quietly sitting in my office staring over at a gift my wonderful wife gave me from a long ago for Christmas. She had had an exact copy of the Rising Sun Chair made for me; as you might imagine, it has deep personal meaning for me.  In fact, she was inspired to seek out the artist, now deceased, to make the chair after she took a picture of me staring over at the real chair that was set quietly behind a desk in Independence Hall. It sets there to this day.

Why go to all that trouble? Because I had involuntarily begun to cry as I stared over at that chair. I guess I was emotionally moved because I understood what George Washington had sacrificed for his, and now my country, an idea, a place that I was lucky enough to be born into. And it is why I have deep respect for anyone that wore, or wears the uniform for this country. But even those that voluntarily step forward to wear the uniform have to retire.

George Washington could have been a dictator, he wore cool hats and had several awesome uniforms, he could have maintained absolute power, and he had the army behind him. But what did he do? He rose up from that chair, and he walked away.

I’m not a father by choice. But for me, since the made-up Father’s Day approaches, I think George Washington knew how to act like a gentleman, he had the visionary integrity to think beyond himself, he was a leader, and besides, he’s known as the ‘Father of our Country’, right?

NS

Mother’s Love

Time had smoothed over the once deep scar in the ground with green grass, fragrant flowers and random weeds, but you knelt down, expressed a silent prayer and firmly placed your hands on warm mother earth. As you closely inspected you discovered that the wound remained hidden in the soil, the cracks and gaps had been washed with rain and sewn back together but the wound remained. With the constant motion from day to night to day the living age forward, but the cycling of the seasons cannot move by force of nature the memorial residue marked by an exact date. A sharp, painful memory stabbed at your selfless core, so you gazed up into the white clouds to simply, humbly ask, why?

The answer came slowly, as you stopped and listened, as you gazed forward into the summer horizon at the intersection, life sparked from a grand design cast across a pale blue screen. And the evening breeze whispered to encourage you to keep listening, and to keep searching for her within your reflections.

A spirit emerged from the darkness, beneath your shoes golden fire flies lit up the haze, and then you felt a gentle, familiar hug. A presence nudged you to faintly grin, and you smelled a favorite scent that perfumed the air. As you blinked your eyelids, a memory was released as if a motion picture across your mind’s eye to a meal, laughter, and the endless conversations about family, friends and third cousins twice removed. A blink, a single crystal tear as another memory transitioned onto the internal screen, winter, family and snow angles. As you glossed your thumb under your chin, you felt a scar from your first leap toward independence, a fall, and then the kind, soft hands that cleaned your wound, wiped away your childhood tears and encouraged you to think first, but to keep leaping. A blink and then the moment you returned from a mid-night sojourn with your best friend, and received the gaze of anger, and disappointment. But then there were those sounds, the happy boisterous laugh, the gravelly voice inflection to recommend another path, and the giggly, doggie cuddles. These are all the snapshots, happy or sad from a life engaged to live. And then you breathed in a full breath, blew a butterfly kiss into the breeze and returned toward your silent car.

As you strolled away, you glanced back as a bouquet of fire flies lit up your path, and you realized we are all destined to individually forge across our own branch in an eternal river with powerful one-way currents. But even so the unexpected cruel cuts left behind for the living reveals an inner truth that only God almighty understands. Perhaps from these scars wisdom emerges to remind us how the infection fomented after the wound, and the skin still marked by discolored tattoos that had been naturally salved over after the sting. But neither Heaven nor Hell can steal away, and forget what the living heart has enraptured within love’s timeless protective cocoon. The priceless memory shards like vacation picture postcards from a mother’s love are always there, patiently waiting to be reborn each time you think of her and simply, humbly whisper into the night, “I love you.”

NS

Ask The Man Who Drinks It Black – He’ll Tell You?

“He’ll tell you?” I’ll answer that question.

If you take a look at the picture pasted to this blog post, if you are under the age of 40 you might not know where this comes from. It is from the top of an old coffee tin for the now defunct, Butter-Nut Coffee Company that was based in Omaha, Nebraska. The front of the coffee tin has a syntax issue: “The Coffee Delicious”, but I’ll let several smart aleck comments waft away into the Texas haze. This product comes from a time before the ubiquitous Starbucks, and Prince Albert tobacco was still in the can. If you are over the age of 40, you just chuckled. And from the novel, Fishing for Light, it was not Clevenger’s favorite coffee concoction – “red-eyed, black-eyed, frappe mocha latte frothy cream with sprinkles”.

In part the entire satire, Fishing for Light was created to poke fun at 21st Century life, culture and the current lost 20-something age group. I think that’s non-sense because I was lost when I was in my 20’s as well. The underlying themes delve into GMO’s – Genetically Modified Organisms, Epi Genetics and life trauma, faith or the lack of faith or hope (thus the reason Professor Quan stole the Hope Diamond), and the reality that hidden forces can alter our lives and bodies without our knowledge.

Now, those forces might be good or they might be evil, or they might be a combination of both good and evil, it really depends on how you view the world. The gift to live in the developed western world is that you choose to go through life like a sheared sheep, you DO have that option; think about it as you stare down at your mobile phone for the zillionth time as you whiz down the outer loop. I choose to pay attention. And I try not to stare down at my mobile tracking device per Edward Snowden’s advice. But when I was in my lost 20’s; I did not really pay good attention in class. I have no idea how I got my business degrees from an accredited university but it looks good on my resume.

But why? Ask The Man Who Drinks It Black, well, I did do that a long time ago when I was in my lost teenage years. I have a childhood friend I met in the 5th grade, and someone whom I consider a dear friend to this very day, and someone that I love, and whose father gave me the second best advice I have ever gotten. He comes in second to my grandparents, and I explained the reason why within the previous blog post, ‘Be Ye Kind’.

In fact, my friend’s father was a very kind man, a smart man, a thoughtful man, a wonderful father and husband, a former All American, a military veteran, an amazing poker player, and someone I miss even to this very moment. He died many years ago; I still have a copy of his obituary. I hold on to modest items like old newspaper clippings because they trigger memories, and sometimes they inspire me. He inspired me, if you will excuse the cliché – to be a man.

Within the novel, Fishing for Light it has several scenes that use the phrase, “Drink It Black”. As I wrote Fishing for Light, I used that phrase over and over again, in a good and evil context. I’ll quote my friend’s father, “Always drink it black, so where ever you are, you won’t be disappointed.” Obviously, I used the quote as a metaphor, but I’ve never forgotten what a kind mentor he was and who advised me to “Drink It Black” and showed me, and did not tell me, how to conduct myself as a man. I even used the quote to start the novel, Fishing for Light, below is an excerpt from the first page.

Fishing for Light, page 1:

“On December 22, 1990 inside a university hospital complex, Edward Tiberius Wilcox was born at exactly 3:07 Coordinated Universal Time. After the physician snipped the umbilical cord and untethered Edward from his mother Sophia, the obstetrics nurse inspected him. She did not document any obvious defects. His APGAR score registered as a 9, he had brown hair, blue eyes, and an average Caucasian body shape and size. She wrapped him in a soft baby blanket. Then she kindly grinned as she handed him over to his father, Adam, who immediately began to cry as he held his warm son for the first time. His mother’s brown hair tangled and matted along her sweating forehead, she simply beamed up at her men. For the departing delivery team it was just another day, but it was not just another day for Adam and Sophia. From their combined 46 chromosomes, they had created a unique life. It was as random and common as their first meeting on an early Monday morning at the curved counter within a busy Starry Eyed Coffee Hut. That day the barista had wondered who had ordered the black coffees.

“What’s up with this?” the Barista had asked.

“I like it black,” Sophia had said. She shrugged.

“Me? Oh it was my father,” Adam had said. He glanced over at Sophia. “Drink it black, so I wouldn’t be disappointed.”

“Oh?” Sophia said. She finger twirled with her straight hair. She whispered, “Mine too.”

At that moment, Adam and Sophia had an instant lover’s connection. In the blink of Sophia’s hazel colored irises, they were married. As they frolicked during their indoor Caribbean honeymoon, Edward’s conception was not the result of any selective breeding process by powerful families trying to protect vast generational wealth. For they had no kingdom for Edward to inherit, they passed on to him the only widow’s mite they equally possessed; they bathed his DNA with their unconditional love.” End.

 

And if you are wondering, yes, I always drink my coffee black.

NS

“Be Ye Kind, One to Another …”

I think being KIND is the hardest life lesson I have learned. Why? Because I have a rather sharp edged wit, and a nasty temper I keep hidden. I had to learn kindness the old fashioned way. Obviously, the title to this blog post comes from a Biblical source, Ephesians 4:32. I chuckled after I realized from where the phrase comes from because it was a constant statement my minister grandfather and grandmother would repeat to me, and advise me to remember. “Don’t let the world get you, be ye kind, one to another…” they would tell me. If you have read Ephesians, where the verse comes from it was in part, the reason my novel, ‘Fishing for Light’, was titled, well, ‘Fishing for Light’. But I digress…

Kindness is not a mushy, push-over method; it is taking quiet action.  And it does not have to be a religious or faith-based life lesson. I do not ascribe to any organized religion. My grandfather would consider me a ‘hard nut to crack’. I’ll write about that another day. Kindness, it is a simple view of the world from the inside to out. A novel project that I am slowly developing is titled, ‘Fifth & Hope’. The story is about a semi-retired middle-aged man who discovered his grandfather’s diaries, and with his wife’s encouragement they set out on a journey to discover who his grandfather really was. I know exactly how the story ends; I use that writing technique from the brilliant author, John Irving. It is a simple mental trick for anybody, if you know where you are going it makes life a lot easier. But I was having a difficult time getting started; the first sentence to any story has to almost instantly hook the reader, or the reader stops reading. And for a writer that is the definition of failure. Let me share with you how ‘Fifth & Hope’ starts – for now, it could all change after an editor gets the manuscript in their hot hands and then they delight in the literary draw and quarter method to torture my beloved words – admittedly, they are usually correct. Sorry, I digressed again, but here goes-

Excerpt from ‘Fifth & Hope’ – page 1:

“For all my fifty years I had felt the instinct that I was a tolerated hot mess. It was like the sensation you walked into a crowded party that you were accidentally invited to attend, but then realized you’re not really welcome. “What’s he doing here?” Thankfully, I had learned to manage my messes because I have always remembered the Bible verse my grandparent’s had endlessly repeated to me growing up, “Bobby, be ye kind, one to another.” Anytime I had the instinct to strike out at someone, felt cheated, ostracized, I’d whisper the words in my mind, and it kept me from making a bigger mess of my life.” End.

After I wrote the above, the concept of kindness occurred to me for a recent blog post for Memorial Day. I shared my favorite book, “The Giving Tree”, by Shel Silverstein. I used the story to say thank you to military veterans and the like for their service and sacrifice. Think about it, the courage to step forward to defend your country, and defend those that cannot defend themselves is a classic form of kindness. I think kindness is listening to someone tell you their aspirations and dreams, and not responding with verbal roadblocks. I think kindness is admitting you were wrong. I think kindness is letting someone stuck in dense commuter traffic drive in front of your car. I think kindness is paying for someone’s groceries that just ran out of money from their SNAP card, and not making it a big deal. I think kindness is telling someone they have food spackled to their teeth. I think kindness is writing a recommendation letter when unsolicited. I think kindness is giving blood. I think kindness is a foot rub. I think kindness is a quiet hug. I think kindness is silently being present for a friend after a tragic loss. I think kindness is giving and not expecting anything in return, not even a ‘thank you’.

I can go on and on with examples, but I have one last thought. I am thankful my grandparents always told me, ‘be ye kind, one to another…’

NS

I wonder about my mobile phone now …

I was watching the Edward Snowden interview, and I am not sure what to think. But I do remember what I wrote toward the end of the novel, Fishing for Light. I wrote the novel as a satire to simply create a thought provoking read. But the only part that I was quite serious about was the below excerpt from Fishing for Light. It is chilling to me that our government can easily control and inspect our lives in a country that purports to be ‘free’. I have no answer to this conundrum, but it causes me to wonder about the mobile phone I have setting on the counter next to me as I write this and edit this blog post.

Fishing for Light – Page 495:

“Evil organizations that can easily steal our identity, they can even own your body, and you don’t even know it,” Professor Quan said. He squarely faced Eddie. “They make our food, filter the air we breathe, process the water we drink. They can alter mankind, and only they would know, rather Orwellian, a vast proletariat of bunny rabbits waiting to be feasted upon.”

“Mister, I think you are out of your mind,” Eddie said.

Professor Quan gripped the cane. He puckered his lips.

“I don’t think so, listen, those thieves I mention, are not just obvious criminals. But governments that peer needlessly into innocent homes, like a nosy next-door neighbor,” Professor Quan said. He huffed. He gulped. “They tell you how to raise your children. How to think, tell us God is dead. Soon, perhaps you will be ostracized because of your DNA sample.” Professor Quan stared down at Edward’s brown shoes. “But freedom, love, trumps evil, that’s why evil hides like a snake in the grass.”

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NS

The Giving Tree, by Shel Silverstein (my favorite book)

As we unpacked our worldly possessions, it was a wondrous moment to rediscover an old treasure. It was not money, silver or gold. It was a book. If I had one book left to read before I closed my eyes for the last time it would be, The Giving Tree, by Shel Silverstein.

Why am I moved emotionally every single time I read the book?  If you remember the story, the Apple tree simply gave the boy – everything – limbs, leaves, and fruit, all the way down to being a stump for the old boy to sit on and rest. The drawings are simple, the words to the story are simple, it only takes 10 minutes to read, and yet after I read the story I either get a lump in my throat, or I want to cry. I do not know why the book hits me so hard, but for me, I think the answer hides in the deceptively simple last sentence from the book, “And the tree was happy”.

If you think about your own life, when were you the happiest? I suspect after rolling that idea inside your mind, the answer that comes back out will likely be after you gave someone something, and you received a simple response, “thank you”. I think saying, “thank you”, comes in second to only one other statement, “I love you”. But I think the lesson I get from ‘The Giving Tree’ is that sometimes, “thank you” and “I love you”, mean the same thing.

As the Memorial Day weekend continues, after reading and hearing all the tributes to friends and family who have served in the military, and remembering those who have given their lives. I remember walking throughout Arlington National Cemetery and noticing the simple grave markers, and watching the volunteer Tomb Guard sentinels simply, quietly guarding The Tomb of the Unknown Soldiers. Or, thinking about the simple white crosses pointing west toward home that covers Normandy American Cemetery. Or, I remember that I simply read the names off a simple granite wall at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall.

After I read The Giving Tree it reminds me to write using simple sentences with simple words. And that simple statements can sometimes mean the same thing, “thank you” and “I love you”. And all I have left to write and to say, “thank you” to all those that wore the uniform and defended my freedoms. And I hope and pray that any military veteran, or family member of those that gave their lives that read this simple blog post might think, “And the veteran was happy”.

Thank you.

NS

Hey Kentucky Boy, the bow tie, is it real?

What?! Of course, as you can see from my wondrous author photo, the noted bow tie ensconced beneath my pasty-white mug is quite real, it is color coordinated and I tied it myself. I think every adult male should learn how to tie their own bow tie. But a question was asked, “Dude, you’re from Kentucky, why not the – Colonel Sanders type?” (Ha, ha …)

Okay, a fair question, I shall do my best to respond. IF you have read the ending of my current novel, Fishing for Light, you might note Professor Quan transformed into a rather similar character to Colonel Sander’s appearing at a General Beauregard’s 24 Hour Fried Chicken fast food restaurant. I think a picture of the real General Beauregard would be appropriate to share.  

If you have studied the Civil War, General Beauregard fired the first shot at Fort Sumter. The similar mustache and goatee with the General and Colonel created a perfect scene twist just before the nasty, genetic mutant, shape-shifting Ms. Prosperina was about to show up to confront Professor Quan and Captain Lovins. I will discuss the scene another day, but in a sense it is Professor Quan’s opportunity to fully alter Edward’s destiny and fire a warning shot at Ms. Prosperina.

But the similar facial hair was what got my curiosity, and then I learned, I cannot possibly grow a full mustache and goatee and maintain a respectable position within my professional community. And I don’t prefer the Kentucky bow tie because it looks like a uniform that I might get stuck wearing as the general manager at a ubiquitous fast food emporium. No sir! I shall appear modern, and yet still maintain a modicum of dignity. So I wear cool bow ties, and dream of being able to grow a thick mustache and goatee.

And if you want to learn how to tie a bow tie, I have pasted a good You Tube video for your convenience.

or,

NS