Tyler turns 15 today. I think that's pretty amazing, turning 15. The transition between 14 year old boy to 15 year old young man has been astonishing to watch and yet, at times, frustrating to experience. Many times, frustrating, yes...MANY times. But now, I see him stepping over into the man he is working so hard to become and I find it absolutely amazing to watch. So hard because
I imagine traveling though the teenage years is difficult, challenging, overwhelming, frightening, and so incredibly joyous that a 15 year old doesn't possess the capacity to process it all. I imagine, because I can't really remember. I remember odds and ends, bits and pieces, but nothing too impacting to remain in the forefront of my brain. I'm sure there were several character building events that now help to make up who I am, but real live purposeful choices are absent. Perhaps that's age. Perhaps that's me still processing. That's one of the reasons watching Tyler's journey is amazing to me. Watching his discoveries. The personal philosophies he's developing, his faith in himself and those around him. The dreams becoming more in focus and hopefully not fading with the realization that hard work might be involved. The pain in his face when he realizes that the world is not one big amusement park and the laughter in his voice when he let's it all go just to have a good time. His friends are talking about Skin Heads and drugs, music and girls, sports and movies. Sometime politics, not too much yet, but they dabble. Teachers are either icons or idiots and technology is the end all be all in any way shape or form. And with all this talk, and with all this texting, and I mean "ALL" this texting, to see him discovering himself and to watch the foundation that is being formed beneath....is, well I have to say...
....I'm pretty proud! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TYLER! :) (your mom)
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Grandpa's Wisdom
A man once said, "Home, in one form or another, is the great object of life". There is wisdom in that. As we grow into adulthood we "leave the nest", as it were, to find our niche in the world. But, never in our quest for the freedom and independence that we seek do we intend to leave "home". Indeed, we move from one home, that one in which we grew up, which developed and nurtured our character, which taught us about who we are, and provided love and comfort; to start another home of our own. The desire to become free and independent did not remove from us, nor alter our pursuit of the "great object of life", to have a place to settle into a place we could call our own. This quest for "Home" is not to leave behind, nor to abandon that from which we came. We still have a tether to that place, its memories, its traditions, indeed the very people within that home, that shared and taught important things to us. Rather our goal, the object of our pursuit, is to replicate all the good that inhabited that place, and to build upon that good with our own ideas and standards. We take the traditions, teachings and comforts of the past habitation and blend them into our own recipe for "home". In doing so, we forsake that which was unpleasant for us there, or what we did not agree with there, or which did not suit our fancy there, and generate our own imprint, our own definition of place, of "home". It then becomes "our home". It becomes the place where the identity of our character and our traditions are there for others to see, where they flourish. This imprint includes more than just the "things" we bring into the new home. The things make a contribution to what we are creating, to be sure. Things, too, are a part of the definition of who we are. We might be eclectic or specifically defined in our choice of decor. These are the elements of what contributes to a house being a home. But that to which I refer is measured by the intangibles. The comfort created. The charm. The personal identity that says to every visitor, "This is where I live". These elements are what really make a house a home. These elements not only define the home, they define you. Every visitor will come to know you by what they experience in your home. Will what you create be an invitation for someone to want to return again and again? Or, will their first impression be their last impression? We do not think much of our home as we abide there from day to day. But when we strike out to create a home we begin to put ourselves into it, to reveal ourselves to the creation, and to those who will soon visit. We and the home we create will be the invitation, the event, the tradition and the memory.
Grandson Justin has recently embarked on this journey. May he reach back into the recesses of his past home experiences to pull the best of them as he unleashes his creativity into the development of his first, very own dream home. I know we'll know Justin when we visit his home.
Grandson Justin has recently embarked on this journey. May he reach back into the recesses of his past home experiences to pull the best of them as he unleashes his creativity into the development of his first, very own dream home. I know we'll know Justin when we visit his home.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Grandpa's Wisdom
Well, I guess nobody but one cares about what my teacher thought was the hardest thing about driving. To that one inquiring mind, this is it: She could not see over the hood of the car from the drivers seat; she was too short, but not real short. So, for the one person who was interested enough to respond, I want all to know that that person is now the only person listed in my will as an heir. Both of my assets will be given to that person upon my death. Now I suppose all of you will try to come forth and claim that you are the one respondent. Well don't you try it, cause I had a secret identifier installed on the blog so only I would know the exact name of those who respond.
Next item: The thing I am pointing to in the photo at the right is
Next item: The thing I am pointing to in the photo at the right is
Crafty Bandits
Ok, so someone just told me a story about a woman who was recently arrested for selling stolen scrap-booking materials out of her living room. Apparently she was all the talk amongst the circles, scrap-booking that is, and everyone that was anyone knew that she had obviously stolen the goods, but the deals were so good that they all just continued to go diligently hush hush to her house to make their purchases. Hmmmmm, I mean, seriously, isn't aiding and abetting a crime, and with all those scrapbooks chock-full of evidence why weren't they all carted away to the pokey? However, on the other hand, can you blame her, or them, that stuffs expensive! Maybe she just wanted to "stick it to the man." One has to wonder; is the economy so bad that it's forcing scrap-booker's across the country into underground crime rings? After all, isn't that one of our basic rights; The Right to Bear Arms & The Right to Scrap-book. Perhaps the candidates will catch wind of it all and decide the issue needs to be added to their platforms. Hillary can demand lower prices and Obama change. Then Hillary can argue that she said "change" first and Obama can say; "ok, then lower prices." Then Hillary will say; "No wait, I said lower prices first." Obama can switch back saying; "change is inevitable", and so on and so forth until McCain, whose just waiting, can slingshot himself to the podium...who knows what he'll say, I haven't heard very much, so I guess we'll just have to wait and see. Maybe the ladies will take it upon themselves to hire Chuck Norris as their celebrity spokesperson. Ridding the country of all overpriced scrap-booking goods with a wave of his fist and a firm handshake. I hear he's looking for another gig and not to mention the fact that he may just inspire young men across the country, ages 18-22, to pick up the art of scrapbooking, creating a nationwide frenzy...but no, wait, then prices will surely skyrocket. But who cares, songs will be written and television shows produced. maybe even an action figure or two. Disney might even grab ahold of it all and produce an animated series. And don't worry about those ladies, the one's who started it all, they'll get their cut, someday...Maybe Maury Povich or Celebrity Fit Club...and we all know that Deal or No Deal ain't goin anywhere!
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Grandpa's Wisdom
As I was driving from New York to North Carolina the other night I got to thinking about Miss Buffham, my second grade teacher at Woodlawn Elementary School. It relates to driving because what I was remembering was the time she asked our class a question related to driving.
The questions was what we thought was the hardest thing about driving a car.
Miss Buffham was young and hadn't been teaching very long. I didn't think that at the time, only that she was pretty. It's hard to imagine now why she would have posed such a question to a group of second graders, let alone spend about an hour of class time on such a topic. At the time we class members didn't wonder such things, only enjoyed the challenge, especially we boys. Driving was a "boy thing" so the girls didn't really participate too much, as I recall. I remember the array of answers we offered were far reaching and demonstrated a pretty good understanding of driving a car by eight and nine year old students.
After more than an hour of rather creative possibilities, we still hadn't come to the answer Miss Buffham considered to be her greatest challenge when driving. Can you?
The questions was what we thought was the hardest thing about driving a car.
Miss Buffham was young and hadn't been teaching very long. I didn't think that at the time, only that she was pretty. It's hard to imagine now why she would have posed such a question to a group of second graders, let alone spend about an hour of class time on such a topic. At the time we class members didn't wonder such things, only enjoyed the challenge, especially we boys. Driving was a "boy thing" so the girls didn't really participate too much, as I recall. I remember the array of answers we offered were far reaching and demonstrated a pretty good understanding of driving a car by eight and nine year old students.
After more than an hour of rather creative possibilities, we still hadn't come to the answer Miss Buffham considered to be her greatest challenge when driving. Can you?
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Grandpa's Wisdom
Necco Wafers, Nehi Grape Soda, Black Jack Gum, Drive-in movies and A & W Root Beer Floats in a frosted glass brought to your car by a waitress on roller skates. Gas for .299 cents per gallon. Listening to your favorite DJ on the radio on a sunny spring day to music that you could understand the words to, that put you into a mood for something good. This was the beginning of the MacDonald's Drive-In, when the big news was when you saw the sign proclaiming "Over One Million Sold" on the golden arches sign.
Life as a teenager was good then. The transition from "Grade" School to High School was an adventure I looked forward to, as a right of passage from being a "kid" to the beginning of adulthood. In that transition summer my friends and I actually discussed how we would define ourselves in high school.
Would we be "Gunners"? They were the guys that wore Levi's, white tee shirts with a pack of cigarettes rolled up in the sleeve, a greased back "Duck Tail" haircut and a sneer of cockiness on their face. These guys roamed in groups, for strength(?), and usually hung around smoking cigarettes while in idle chatter. Occasionally one would "get into trouble" and that was considered "neat" by the group. Trouble could be anything from getting bad grades to getting caught shoplifting. In winter they wore leather jackets. Their goal was to get a job after high school, get married or join the Army or Navy.
Or would we get a "Princeton" hair cut, wear white cord's, a Stradivarius shirt, the one with the pockets cut at a slant, and highly polished "Brogue" shoes that were a couple of sizes too large so they would roll up at the toe. A thin, (Half inch), belt was also an obligatory appendage to the "uniform", as were vee-neck sweaters. These guys didn't have a group name but were easily identified, too. It was expensive to be in this group. They were guys who came from families that were well off financially or they had part time jobs from the time they could work. They started with paper routes, worked the berry and bean fields in the summer and worked at their dad's business or local drive-in restaurants during the school year. Their goal was college after high school that would prepare them for the career of their choice, or the one their parents chose for them.
When I got to high school I found that there were other groups, too. I didn't have to "join" something to be someone. My identity could be defined by what I chose for myself. Some of the guys I hung out with in my early teens chose the "Gunner" group and others became "Princetonites". Although I didn't adopt the complete style, I gravitated toward that group because the idea of getting into trouble to impress my peers just didn't appeal to me. On the other hand, working toward a worthwhile goal did. I couldn't afford all the "gear"; Strad and Pendleton shirts were very expensive and since mom did the shopping at that time I had to abide by her budget. When I told her I wanted "cords" for the school year and she got me salt and pepper cords instead of white cords I decided to get a job and do my own shopping.
I wore the general style of the Princetonite group but couldn't afford most of it so I adopted my own styles. I was the only guy in Jefferson High School that wore the jacket I'd picked out. I liked it; it was comfortable, not too expensive and it identified me alone. The Brogue shoes I wore the first year were expensive, uncomfortable due to being oversized, for fashion, and hard to keep a shine on since I walked to and from school, (two miles, rain or snow, by the way). So I decided on two comfortable shoes, a loafer for spring and summer, and Converse tennis shoes for winter. Since Bill Knight was my age, Nike was not invented yet. I liked the vee-neck sweaters but soon found that my slight excess weight put bulges in the sweaters that others who wore them didn't have. It was then that I began my lifelong pursuit of a better shape. Being somewhat short, with stoop shoulders and a propensity to my mom's fatty food diet, my only recourse was exercise through school sports activities. I learned that if I kept active I could eat what I wanted and still be stylish.
These were, indeed, the good times. Life was telling me that I had choices to make. And, even though they sometimes seemed to be difficult choices at the time, they were really simple choices, but choices that could and would have life-long impact. It was telling me that things change, and being able to adapt was better than not. It was a time I learned that rewards and blessings come from correct choices that not only effect your future but mold you into what you will become. Now, in this Autumn of my life, I see the effect of those choices in myself and in the family I would create. And, the bonus of the memories I have are their own reward...Necco Wafers, Nehi Grape Soda.......
Life as a teenager was good then. The transition from "Grade" School to High School was an adventure I looked forward to, as a right of passage from being a "kid" to the beginning of adulthood. In that transition summer my friends and I actually discussed how we would define ourselves in high school.
Would we be "Gunners"? They were the guys that wore Levi's, white tee shirts with a pack of cigarettes rolled up in the sleeve, a greased back "Duck Tail" haircut and a sneer of cockiness on their face. These guys roamed in groups, for strength(?), and usually hung around smoking cigarettes while in idle chatter. Occasionally one would "get into trouble" and that was considered "neat" by the group. Trouble could be anything from getting bad grades to getting caught shoplifting. In winter they wore leather jackets. Their goal was to get a job after high school, get married or join the Army or Navy.
Or would we get a "Princeton" hair cut, wear white cord's, a Stradivarius shirt, the one with the pockets cut at a slant, and highly polished "Brogue" shoes that were a couple of sizes too large so they would roll up at the toe. A thin, (Half inch), belt was also an obligatory appendage to the "uniform", as were vee-neck sweaters. These guys didn't have a group name but were easily identified, too. It was expensive to be in this group. They were guys who came from families that were well off financially or they had part time jobs from the time they could work. They started with paper routes, worked the berry and bean fields in the summer and worked at their dad's business or local drive-in restaurants during the school year. Their goal was college after high school that would prepare them for the career of their choice, or the one their parents chose for them.
When I got to high school I found that there were other groups, too. I didn't have to "join" something to be someone. My identity could be defined by what I chose for myself. Some of the guys I hung out with in my early teens chose the "Gunner" group and others became "Princetonites". Although I didn't adopt the complete style, I gravitated toward that group because the idea of getting into trouble to impress my peers just didn't appeal to me. On the other hand, working toward a worthwhile goal did. I couldn't afford all the "gear"; Strad and Pendleton shirts were very expensive and since mom did the shopping at that time I had to abide by her budget. When I told her I wanted "cords" for the school year and she got me salt and pepper cords instead of white cords I decided to get a job and do my own shopping.
I wore the general style of the Princetonite group but couldn't afford most of it so I adopted my own styles. I was the only guy in Jefferson High School that wore the jacket I'd picked out. I liked it; it was comfortable, not too expensive and it identified me alone. The Brogue shoes I wore the first year were expensive, uncomfortable due to being oversized, for fashion, and hard to keep a shine on since I walked to and from school, (two miles, rain or snow, by the way). So I decided on two comfortable shoes, a loafer for spring and summer, and Converse tennis shoes for winter. Since Bill Knight was my age, Nike was not invented yet. I liked the vee-neck sweaters but soon found that my slight excess weight put bulges in the sweaters that others who wore them didn't have. It was then that I began my lifelong pursuit of a better shape. Being somewhat short, with stoop shoulders and a propensity to my mom's fatty food diet, my only recourse was exercise through school sports activities. I learned that if I kept active I could eat what I wanted and still be stylish.
These were, indeed, the good times. Life was telling me that I had choices to make. And, even though they sometimes seemed to be difficult choices at the time, they were really simple choices, but choices that could and would have life-long impact. It was telling me that things change, and being able to adapt was better than not. It was a time I learned that rewards and blessings come from correct choices that not only effect your future but mold you into what you will become. Now, in this Autumn of my life, I see the effect of those choices in myself and in the family I would create. And, the bonus of the memories I have are their own reward...Necco Wafers, Nehi Grape Soda.......
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Detour to Salt Lake
So I hear that some of you want to hear about my crazy flight's...Where do I begin?
It all started bad by having to leave the house at 3:30 am to get to Portland to make a 6am flight to Alabama. I got on just fine and with no problems with the exception of sitting between a couple of large people I was breathing a sigh or relief. I had my drink of soda and dove into my snack bag (dang airline with no more snacks) and got out my book to read when all of a sudden the lights and bells to summons the flight attendants started to go crazy. 5 rows up an old man fell dead into the isle. I pilot comes over the intercom and asks if there is a doctor on board and of course there is NOT! So they start CPR and preform that for about 35 minutes while they make an emergency landing to Salt Lake. I have never done a landing that fast. We made a nose dive for SL and landed a ways from the airport to meet the medics. After they got the man off the plane they had to refuel and then do a bio hazard clean up and get us off to Dallas. When I got off the plane in Dallas I had to run up to the sky train and ride for about to the next gate which was FOREVER away and run to my next gate. When I got to the gate she asked my if I was Lisa and when I said yes she told me to get on. No scanning my ticket or nothing. I got on the plane and they closed the door behind me and it was taking off before I got my buckle on. Knowing how far I had to run and that they took off before I had my buckle I thought, there was no way my luggage would have made my flight...but it did.
Flight home...delayed forever, had to change airlines, got the secondary search, flight delayed again and almost missed my next flight again.... But I made it.
It all started bad by having to leave the house at 3:30 am to get to Portland to make a 6am flight to Alabama. I got on just fine and with no problems with the exception of sitting between a couple of large people I was breathing a sigh or relief. I had my drink of soda and dove into my snack bag (dang airline with no more snacks) and got out my book to read when all of a sudden the lights and bells to summons the flight attendants started to go crazy. 5 rows up an old man fell dead into the isle. I pilot comes over the intercom and asks if there is a doctor on board and of course there is NOT! So they start CPR and preform that for about 35 minutes while they make an emergency landing to Salt Lake. I have never done a landing that fast. We made a nose dive for SL and landed a ways from the airport to meet the medics. After they got the man off the plane they had to refuel and then do a bio hazard clean up and get us off to Dallas. When I got off the plane in Dallas I had to run up to the sky train and ride for about to the next gate which was FOREVER away and run to my next gate. When I got to the gate she asked my if I was Lisa and when I said yes she told me to get on. No scanning my ticket or nothing. I got on the plane and they closed the door behind me and it was taking off before I got my buckle on. Knowing how far I had to run and that they took off before I had my buckle I thought, there was no way my luggage would have made my flight...but it did.
Flight home...delayed forever, had to change airlines, got the secondary search, flight delayed again and almost missed my next flight again.... But I made it.
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