Reaching beyond one’s self

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I stepped forward and the next thing I knew I was lying at the bottom of a flight of steps.

I didn’t know the door I opened led to the basement. But it wasn’t a moment before the reality of my mistake became a realization. The abrupt nature of my landing was certainly a rude awakening.

As a youngster at this point, about eight years old, thankfully as I tumbled quickly down the stairs at the bottom of the flight was a landing and the outside wall. When I hit the wall, somehow I stubbed my toe, busting it open on the end. Thankfully, no broken bones, just a bit of bleeding on my toe and residual pain as I picked myself up and walked back up the steps.

I was staying over night with my elderly neighbor, Millie Dobbs, who became an adopted grandmother to me. She lived with her daughter and son-in-law, who were out of town. They didn’t have any children.

Of course, my tumble upset her, but we got my to bandaged and all was good.

We had a light dinner with a warmed ham sandwich and barbecue Charlie’s chips. After dinner, we spent the evening playing games such as Chinese checkers and gin rummy while the television played a John Wayne western in the background.

As we played hand after hand, she talked about her work as a nurse in New York and asked me questions about what I wanted to do in life. Though she was a Yankee of German descent, she seemed to fit right into the contemporary Southern suburbs of Atlanta. She shared with me about meeting Marilyn Monroe during a hospital stay. She had been deceased a few years at that point but she had captivated America during her film career. Even an eight-year-old knew who she was.

Much of what we did was just be. We talked, we laughed, we had fun and enjoyed each other’s presence.

I spent much of my youth doing odd jobs for Millie. I think it was just her way to give me some money to buy things I might want, but it wasn’t a birthday or Christmas. Millie became a regular presence at our house, she spent a lot of time with my mother passing the day. My Uncle Waymond stayed with us for extended stays and Millie always came up to be the fourth in a card game as the evenings were filled by topics the adults knew more about from the shared decades they lived through.

One of my favorite things to do was on her birthday, we walked to an Irish restaurant which had opened about a mile from our homes, and had lunch. They made the biggest hamburgers and put all kinds of things I had never imagined on the burger such as mushrooms and other adds.

Why have I shared these memories, what is the point?

I didn’t have to spend time with Millie. She was not my kin. But her presence enriched my life with her experiences and the time shared. One day, her son-in-law had to move for work to Florida and of course Millie went. Letters back and forth followed until the word of her passing came by phone.

That day saddened me more than I could have imagined.

She really had become a regular part of my life. Even today, I have a storage box and if opened, one would find various crafts which her hands made and gave as gifts. These things are cherished as was she.

Is there an older person in your neighborhood, in your family, in your path which is open to sharing life experience with you and your family?

Don’t miss that chance. Share a bit of your time, and let them do the same, and what you might receive back could give for decades to come.

History can inspire

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History has always been a passion to me. I love to read about what happened and delve deeply into whatever topic of history I am learning about.

While today finds me expanding my knowledge of world history, as a youth, it was primarily the American experience which fueled my exuberance – the Revolution, the War of 1812, Mexican American War, the Civil War, WWI and WWII. These wars were all moments in time for which I sought our family connection. The young male desire to learn generally leaned more toward the physical struggles and the fighting. The sense of excitement was what drove my childhood mind. Overcoming the adversary and surviving to return successfully to your family was an enriching story and satisfying story. The deaths however always brought a sense of sadness knowing that someone would not be returning home.

The stories of home didn’t really excite me until I reached adulthood. By then I realized we each spend most of our lives repeating and doing what a child would consider mundane to keep the home fires burning.

I talked with my surviving uncles who had served in WWII. WWI was still alive for my gra ndparents as that was the war of their youth and their friends and family faced being sent to fight. I had two great uncles go, one returned in ill health and tried to get back to life but the impact of the war took a toil that saw him eventually succumb to long-term impact of his injuries. Great Uncle Tom returned in a wooden box and we always remembered his sacrifice for our country especially on Decoration Day (Memorial Day).

For their parents, it was the Civil War. Most of their children recalled more of the impact of upon daily life, the limited food and supplies long after the war, the guerrillas who raided the farms claiming allegiance to one side or another. The absence of men who went off to fight, some for North, some for South. I had grandfathers on both sides.

The oral and written history of the War of 1812 and the War of Independence were also sought. And there were stories that passed. I had grandfathers in both. Currently, I have found about 13 Patriot grandfathers who fought in the Revolution. I fondly remember getting to visit cousins, sitting by the fireplace that my Revolutionary ancestor Greenberry Wilson had sat in front of and listen to my cousins share the stories passed down. I played upon the paths and the furrows that Adam Sherrill had farmed.

They were alive to me as a youth through the words shared. As I grew, they were not a name in a family tree, they were part of me. As real as they were standing in front of me sharing a bit of their story with one of their grandchildren. I heard the story of Adam falling from his spooked horse at the Battle of Boyd’s Creek in 1780 at French Broad River, Tenn. breaking his ribs. The Indians had laid in wait flat upon the ground for the patriots. While dazed, an Indian springs upon him with a tomahawk about to end his life. Then a musket ball from a comrade fell the Indian, saving Adam, who escaped and joined in pursuit. I heard about the march of the Over-mountain men to fight the Battle of King’s Mountain.

All these fueled a desire to find more connecting me to cousins like Davy Crockett who gave their life at the Alamo in Texas in 1836 and so many others.

I have found battles around the world where my grandfathers fought hand-to-hand against other grandfathers. I am lucky they had already had their children, or when they died, I would not be here.

I have shared all this to say, thank you to those who struggled through all that they may have faced to raise the next generation. I am here because of the mundane and the extraordinary that you experienced. For those who fell in war, thank you for your sacrifice.

Is life meant to be hard?

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Oftentimes we are blessed by a surprise. Something unexpectedly falls into our life that adds to our well being. Our mind, our heart, our hopes become enriched by the surprise.
 
We can look throughout our lives when such a surprise might come along at a point when our life seems to be foundering and we just can’t seem to put one foot in front of the other.
 
Now, I don’t mean our health is necessarily challenged. Sometimes it’s just our spirit that is discouraged by a heaping helping of what other’s throw upon our lives individually, at school, or at work. Occasionally, it is the impact of what is going on in the world that we receive from our daily dose of news.
 
We go to the mailbox, and there is a stack of bills. While they are generally expected, sometimes their constant call upon our means bring us down. Then the unexpected comes along, your vehicle breaks down, your body decides to offer a new ache, pain or illness that persists requiring a visit to a doctor, then tests are needed, and you either don’t have insurance or not paid enough of your deductible.
 
Perhaps the kids need something for school that wasn’t budgeted, or perhaps they want to go to summer camp and there’s not enough money but you will try to find a way to not disappoint.
 
Most all of these things are common to each of us. Are they hard? Yes, they can be depending on our situation and nature. But we all share these experiences in common.
Do we get to uniquely complain about any of these? Not really. There is nothing special about us in these things.
 
Sometimes we do have a unique experience that makes life especially hard. Those folks should earn a chance at least for our ear if they need it.
 
An uplifting surprise, such as a gift of attention, a word of encouragement, something handmade given, a God wink from above, can make our world more bearable even if it is just a moment in time.
 
Is life hard? It can be. But I think back upon my ancestors who I knew as a child and the lives they endured, the hardships and work we wouldn’t even be able to perform. But they managed to seem to be some of the happiest and most giving people I ever know. Now you might not see it by looking, because we Appalachians are so stoic. Our happiness is for those who we are close to.
 
Even if you are stoic too, find some happiness to share with those close to you. Every now and again reach beyond that fold and uplift a stranger. Make life less hard.

A community of discipline

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If you are of earlier generations, then you may have lived in a time when your parents actually disciplined you.

I know in my case, there were a few “Go to your room,” when I misbehaved. Of course, our rooms didn’t have TV’s, computers or other electronics. I did have a radio in there and some books and of course toys to play with, so it wasn’t so bad.

But usually, if my mother at some point in the day had said that to me. I also knew come 4:30 p.m. when my father came home, he would call me out and depending on the severity of my offense, I could here the sound of his belt being pulled from his pants at a high rate of speed. Then my posterior would receive reinforcement of the reason I shouldn’t have done whatever I did.

Of course, there were other types of punishments, extra chores, loss of allowance, grounding, removal of participation in some special event I was looking forward to doing.

As my behavior moved throughout the neighborhood, there was a team of mothers who kept a close eye on my friends and I as we played. We had no boundaries, yards where we were welcome, woods, streets, and creeks were all among our sphere of activity.

Every single house we passed had at least one adult that knew one of us, if not all by name. If any of us got out of line in public, the telephone lines would begin humming as calls began going house to house until it reached the appropriate parent. Then we would hear in the distance our name ring out. And usually not just our first name but our first, middle and last name was being yelled out by someone’s mother or father. Then we would hear our co-patriots chiding us because they knew we were about to get it as we got on our bike and peddled or ran off towards our house.

And even beyond a mother’s and father’s discipline, they shared that authority with anyone within whose care we were placed. Aunts, uncles and grandparents were automatic, we got whatever their children got if we were out of line.

This was also true when we went to spend time at a friend’s home. Before that occurred, my folks meet the parents and soon had made a decision whether I would be allowed to spend time under their roof. If I was, I also knew that my folks had given them a blanket notice, if he gets out of line, punish him as you would your own. I can say, I always felt like all the parents’ home I stayed in, I was treated as one of their children.

Of course, as I grew I understood that there was an expectation of behavior in public, or when staying with someone else. If I had acted out to the point my parents would be told, I would not only see retribution with my guest guardians, but I would definitely see worse once I returned home.

This certainly made me and any of my fellow youth more likely not to be a problem.

If we embarrassed our folks in public, say at a store, church or some other public place by “pitching a fit” or not doing what we were told. It is safe to say that retribution was swift, we would be picked up by an arm, an ear or whatever was closest to grab and escorted to a less public place or outside where our posterior would meet with an attitude adjustment. We would then be returned to whence we came, perhaps with a few tears on our cheeks but in a much better and more respectful mood.

I can safely say that as I grew, that discipline shaped me into the respectful, law abiding adult that I am. It also placed within me a deep appreciation for what my parents and various temporary parents did to teach me how to carry myself and participate in the greater society.

While I remember the lessons taught, you know, I don’t remember any pain, or frustrations experienced during those moments of intense fellowship.

I really shouldn’t have eaten that

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Do you realize that each of us spend a large portion of our lives either eating, preparing something to eat, going to get something to eat, or thinking about eating.

When you consider the amount of time we dedicate to this practice, you would think we would each be an aficionado on the consumption of food.

We should know what to eat that makes us feel good and what to eat that doesn’t.

Sometimes however, we can easily make a few mistakes along the way.

You might decide you going to take in a meal at an all-you-can-eat restaurant.

Next thing you know, you are doing just that.

Eating all the meat, vegetables, deserts that your plate after plate will hold.

You are so full when you are finished you have to loosen your belt in hopes your pants won’t pop a button.

On another occasion you are preparing a meal at home, you fill you plate, reach into the fridge and add something that might have been there a little too long for comfort.

You smell it, its OK, so you add it to the dish, only to find the rest of the evening and night, your body is making you regret they decision that your brain justified earlier.

You have a craving for ice cream. So, off you go to the ice cream shop for a sundae or banana split only to be reminded shortly after consumption that you occasionally suffer from lactose intolerance.

I have always enjoyed my share of deserts – cakes, pies, and brownies, divinity fudge. Peanut butter squares were a holiday treat I could never miss. But wait, I have an allergy to peanuts. But they are so good.

Do you enjoy a good steak? I sure do, but I like mine well done. I like to eat it with a little steak sauce.

You know I can’t think of any good reason that I shouldn’t eat it. Wait a minute, I promised myself I would eat vegetables…. Well I guess I can put ketchup on it. That’s a tomato. Oh no, I just remembered tomatoes are a fruit.

Anyway, I will eat more vegetables tomorrow – potatoes, corn and maybe some craw fish. Oh well, I am allergic to those critters too.
I guess I will find something to eat someday. I’ll just keep thinkin’ on it until I find something that might satisfy me. I should be a true connoisseur by then.

Do you let grudges rule your life?

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As I walk down the street, I see two men walking ahead of me. At a bit of a distance they see each other, one quickly turns, looks both ways, crosses the street and continues his trek down the street.

One might conclude he was going to do something on the other side of the street, but if the observer knows the back story of the two men, he might realize this is the latest rebirth within the exiting man of a long-standing grudge.

A grudge is defined by the Cambridge dictionary as “a strong feeling of anger and dislike for a person you feel has treated you badly.”

Well, who has not had someone treat them badly in their life whether it was in personal relationships, business dealings or simply in social situations. It is for sure if you hang on to each small slight, combined with the bigger ones, pretty soon your bag of grudges that you are carrying around could be the size of a steamer trunk fully packed for a sail around the world.

What do you do with all those things in the trunk?

Is dragging it along behind you weighting down your future, your successes and your sanity?

I certainly carried grudges along with me in life. From childhood bullies to girls who did me wrong, co-workers or bosses who slighted me, or folks who attacked me publicly. It is not easy to let go of those hurts but with time and effort you can.

I will never forget when I was able to let go of those who made may youth a torment for me – fearful of of their verbal or physical abuse. For more than a decade those angers were packed away in my heavily steamer trunk, allowing me to from time to time take them out and fume over what I lost during those years.

One day, I realized carrying the weight was only hurting me, threw those grudges overboard, and I was freed from that emotional bondage. I forgave them all and today I could stand side by side with any of them without anger or a thought of retaliation. Other than possibly a passing thought of how surreal the renewed experience is.

Now in this case, all those people were long gone from my life, unlikely to return – that is until the advent of social media. But how do you handle the people who are still within your life? Those people you might meet walking down the street.

If you are magnanimous in your personality and your ability to forgive – as we all should be.

You would stay your course, speak politely as you pass, no matter how the other party reacts, and keep living your life. You are slowly taking take back your control and chipping away at that internal grudge making it smaller with each deed until one day, you will unpack it from your trunk.

Unless the person for which you carry a grudge has an actual perceived power over you, such as a boss or a relative who is there, this approach may sustain you.

Those who are in your life constantly, well that is a bit more of a challenge that you must handle based upon the impact this grudge is having on your life. If it consumes you every waking thought, you need to seek some professional help to learn how to get past it. Ultimately forgiveness must occur. But even if you forgive, the other party’s behavior might continue to add weight to what you are carrying.

Then I suggest, you must decide whether that impact on your well being should decide if you continue working around that person, or if family, do you choose to no longer spend time with them.

I come from a culture that holds lifelong grudges – even generational grudges passed from father to son. These sometimes take the form of what we refer to as feuds. In past generations, these did lead to physical fights, shootings, injuries and deaths. Another alternative practice is shunning – where the other party is dead to you – you did not acknowledge, recognize, respond, or see them even if they were next to you in a room.

I have chosen in my life not to feud. There are only few actions worth carrying that baggage and I pray I or my family do not suffer those. I have tried the shunning route, but that is exhausting, especially if the other person crosses your path a lot. It also give them power because you have to be conscious of them when they are around even when you are trying to ignore the person.

The best path is to destroy the grudge, forgive and move on if that is at all possible.

Prayer and Bible study as helped me accomplish my letting go. Should you have any grudges that you carry, I pray you find a path that frees you from their weight.

A turning of the soil

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I checked the oil in the engines, filled the gas, sprayed a little quick start in the carburetor. A couple of pulls of the handle and the engine was clicking.

Rolling it around to the garden, I began my efforts to break up the ground and prepare for seeding.

I had been waiting for window after rain was falling every three days. The ground had already broken from drying out after five days since rain.

It was hard at first but soon the tiller was making good work of the effort. After a few hours of turning, and some raking, the ground is ready.

Now I have to develop a new plan for what I will plant this season.

Last year was my first year back at gardening after a very long break. I always enjoyed the effort but I am using these new adventures to try new vegetables I have never grown.

I have found reconnecting with the soil, digging in the dirt, feeling the sun upon me, touches my soul. As I work, I talk, sometimes internally, sometimes out loud. I am speaking to the seeds I plant, the green that grows from them, and to God.

No matter what may be troubling my soul, the daily happenings, the news, the experience brings a peace that comes from that conversation.

Only reading the verses of the Bible have brought me a similar rest in my Spirit.

The touch of the earth upon my hands allows me to feel closer to God’s creation.

Seeing what springs forth this year I know will bring a smile to my face and allow me to reconnect to the feelings shared with each past generation in my family whose survival was dependent upon what survived to harvest.

If you do not already garden, I encourage you to make the effort this year. Even if it’s just a few plants in pots on a patio, please consider connecting to your inner farmer and reconnect with God’s gifts.

If you get more ambitious and turn your yard into an agricultural center, you might want to pull out your grandmother’s canning recipes too and brush up on those.

May the Lord bless your efforts in abundance!

From where do the words come?

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I looked between the lines in the book trying to see the meaning behind the words.

When I was in school, I was taught there was always a deeper meaning beneath the lines.

The construction of the sentences and their order held a greater importance than simply what I read.

That is one of the reasons we went through English and World Literature, wasn’t it?

Ever since I started writing many years ago, I have always tried to draw on those inspirations to find a unique turn of phrase. I tried time and time again to aggrandize with alliteration, to ease a reader into an unexpected message buried like a golden nugget glistening from beneath a light covering of soil along the creek bank just waiting to be picked up.

Beginning with pen, then the typewriter keys, and now the computer keyboard, the letters flow from my fingertips trying to inspire, amuse, engage, challenge, and reflect.

I look to those who brought me to want to write: Charles Dickens, Mark Twain, William Faulkner, and William Shakespeare and so many others.

They told stories of their times in a way that still resonates with readers as their characters jump off the page giving them a life. Those characters could almost pull up a chair and sit down next to you.

I have always wanted to write so the characters or real-life subjects seem touchable and real.

Articles, screenplays, books and columns have led me down an amazing path that allows me to search deeper within my soul while looking at the human experience and trying to find more than the words.

As I work on one book and soon begin two others, I wonder sometimes where I will find what is needed.

Within your soul, can you find words that are more?

Can you create a story that makes people laugh with ease?

Are you inspired by those you have met within your world?

Have you ever tried picking up a pen, or sitting down and putting your thoughts into words.

Who knows maybe you could be the next writer whose words span the ages.

Give it a try. Build upon the stories and things you know. Who knows, maybe you will be the next great writer.

Walking into our memories

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Our lives intertwine with friends and family. We choose the friends, sometimes by geographical vicinity, sometimes by group participation, and sometimes by career.

Sometimes having friends is by trial and error. Relationships can offer an uplifting experience or sometimes make a toxic mix within our lives. Thus the trial and error.

Family relationships add the same opportunities for a great lifetime experience or a mixture of misery over time.

There is an old saying “You can choose your friends but you can’t choose your family.”

One of the greatest commonalities we share with family though is we often love and share in the lives of people who have invested or simply been present in our lives. Grandparents, uncles, aunts, parents or other relatives who in some way made a positive impact.

Once those folks are called to their heavenly home, our family members are usually the only ones with which we can generally share memories of those gone loved ones.

Although memories of many of my loved ones run through my thoughts and dreams, seldom may I sit down and recall a specific time, place or memory with someone unless its a family member.

I recently was able to do that and it was such an uplifting experience to smile or laugh over those missed. To share in the places, people and experiences who shaped our lives, for me it left me life in a better place. I know however there are those out there for whom such would carry them in the opposite direction. The key to a successful and happy life beyond sustaining a growing relationship with Jesus Christ, is to building a life without toxic relationships.

Allow people into your life whether friend or family based on whether their presence adds to your existence. I don’t mean financially, I mean emotionally. There are a lot of folks who bring a lot of excess baggage along with them.

Now, choosing this path does not mean you will not find loneliness in your existence. Many times we give up on some of the fun, to avoid being in the midst of some misery.

We choose what makes up our lives. If you want a happier life, gravitate towards positive people who add to your days. If you want happier memories to walk within, share them with those who can make them bring a smile.

Bluegrass is in the air

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I pulled into the gates of the festival grounds and before I pulled even a few feet beyond the entrance, I could hear the musical notes flowing on the wind from the distance of the trees.

I could see people carrying their guitars, banjos and other instruments along the dirt road as I slowly made my way through the parking field and into the campground.

I passed jam session after jam session in the campground, “Blue Moon of Kentucky,” emanated from one, “Foggy Mountain Breakdown” from another. Folks smiled and waved as I went by, as I neared the artist parking area. Those greetings made me feel right at home.

For years, this experience is one which I looked forward to almost every weekend once Spring arrived and throughout the year until the fall.

Bluegrass Festivals became a way of life and the people who attended week after week became extended family as we shared laughs, meals, talks, jam sessions and shows.

I once compared the experience like visiting Mayberry – we had our Aunt Beas, our Opies, Andys, Barneys, Gomers and Goobers.
I grew up performing at these types of events across the United States. It didn’t matter where we came from, what we believed, we were all part of the bluegrass family. We either played it or loved to listen to it and as long as we treated each other with respect, helped one another when needed, we were welcomed with smiles and usually an offer of hospitality where ever we went.

It was in this environment that I learned so much about music around campfires, listening and playing with pickers who just loved to play and occasionally the professionals who joined in the fun. As my stage opportunities grew and I performed at more and more events, I learned so much about performing and entertaining audiences. Those lessons only come by standing in front of an audience and learning what makes them smile, applaud, laugh or move to any variety of emotions.

This time of year always gets my feet to itching wanting to return to these type of environs. While these types of events are fewer and farther between than in my youth, they are still scattered across the United States. There are dozens of talented bluegrass artists entertaining audiences traveling across the country which fill the stages at these events.

If you have never attended a bluegrass festival, I encourage you to go outside your comfort zone and take one in. One you might try is the 51st Dr. Ralph Stanley Hills of Home Festival in McClure, Va. https://drralphstanleyfestival.com/ or check out https://ibma.org/ for other bluegrass info.

Bring your lawn chairs, pay your admission and a little money to buy something to eat from the concession stand, and enjoy the music. If you play, bring your instrument and find a jam session. Be friendly while there and you may just make some new friends. Bluegrass blessings!